Full text of "The Catholic world"

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD!

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.

~< VOL. XXVII.

1878, TO SEPTEMBER, 1878.

NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY C(

9 Barclay Street.

18/8.

Copyrighted by
I. T. HECKER,

1878.

THE NATION PRESS, 2J ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

CONTENTS.

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience in the New

German Empire, 66

Acta Sanctorum, The Bollandist, . . 756

Among the Translators, , .... 35

/* nglican Development, 3 8 3

Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum, The, . 334

Atheism, Pantheism versus^ .... 47 1

Beatitude in Human Nature, Principle of, . 333

Beneventum, The Archiepiscopal Palace at, . 234

Blessed Virgin, Breton Legends of, . . . 696

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin, . . 696

Liberty of Conscience in the New German

Empire, gg

Literary Extravagance of the Day, , . 248

Lope de Vega, 8 , 9

Mabel Wiley's Lovers,

Man's Destiny in a Future Life,

Marshall, The Late Mr.,

Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe,

The,

Montserfat, .....

My Friend Mr. Price, . . . . .519

627
145
106

7 2i

Caxton Celebration, Lessons of,
Christianity, Preparation for, .
Conrad and VValburga, . .
Coronation of Pope Leo XIII. ,

359
4

1631 3 12

Destiny of Man in a Future Life, The, . . 145

Diplomatic Service, A Sectarian, . . . 223

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth ? , 577

English Press, The, and the Pan-Anglican

Synod, ....... 850

English Statesmen in Undress, . . 549, 813

English Tories and Catholic Education in Ire-

land ......... 829

Ewer, Dr., On the Question, What is Truth ? 577

Faith, The Future of, . .
France, Respectable Poverty in,
French Proverbial Sayings,
Future of Faith,

417
276
204
417

German Glossaries, ... 2 59
German Socialism, .... 433

Have we a Novelist ? < 375

Helen Lee, 45i 454

Hell and Science, 3 21

Hermitages in the Pyrenees, . . 3 02 i 4^

His Irish Cousins, 794

Home-Rule Candidate, The, . . . '6, 210
Human Nature, The Principle of Beatitude

in, 532

Humanity, The Religion of, . 66

Italy, Regionalism vs. Political Unity in, . 27
Judaism, Relations of to Christianity, . 351, 5 6 4

Kitty Darcy, 337"

Lessons of the Caxton Celebration, . . 359

New York, The Newspaper Press of, . . 511
Newspaper Press of New York, , . .51*
Novelist ? Have we a, , . , . . 375

Pantheism vs Atheism, ..... 471

Parisian Contrasts, 597

Papal Elections, ...... 97

Pfarl 671,734

Pilate's Story, ....... 51

Pius IX., The Death of, 129

'' Political Rapacity of the Romish Church,"

Strictures on, in

Pope Leo XIII., Coronation of, ... 280

Preparation for Christianity, The, ... 4

Prohibitory Legislation, 182

Proverbial Sayings, French, .... 204

Prussian Persecution in its Results, . . 644
Pyrenees, Hermitages in, ... 302, 460

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 90

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy, . 27
Relations of Judaism to Christianity, . 351*564
Religion of Humanity, The, .... 660
Respectable Poverty in France, . . .276

Science, Hell and, 3*'

Sectarian Diplomatic Service, . . .223

Socialist Idea, The, 39*

St. Paul on Mars' Hill, 779

Thoreau and New England Transcendental-
ism, f 9

Three Roses, The B

Tombs of the House of Savoy, . . 7&S

Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the

Church, . 502

Transcendentalism and Thoreau, ... 2
Translators, Among the, ....

Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation . 608
Voltaire and his Panegyrists, &

Contents.

POETRY.

A True Lover, ....

. 777 On the Summit of Mount Lafayette,

643

S g 5 Palm Sunday,

. 104

Created Wisdom, The,

. 486,607,818

Dante's Purgatorio, 272, 498 g orrow , 336

St. Ceadda, 15

Espousals of Our Lady, The, . . . -754 St. Cuthbert 50

St. Francis of Assisi, 390

Juxta Crucem, 247

The Blue-Bird's Note, 258

Lac du Saint Sacrement, 834 The Fountain's Song, 300

Lines, l61 The Moral Law, 659

Malcolm of Scotland, 374 Unconscious Faculties, 670

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

A History of the United States, . . .857

Ancient History 858

An Introductory History of the United States, 857

A Saint in Algeria 859

Art of Knowing Ourselves, . . . . 717

Life of Henri Planchat,
Life of Pope Pius IX.,

285

Book of Psalms, 432

Books for Summer Reading, . . . . 432

Cantus Ecclesiasticus 144

Church and the Gentile World, The, . . 142

Daily Meditations 717

De Ecclesia et Cathedra, ..... 140

Divine Sanctuary, 576

Dosia, 859

Manual of Nursing, ...... 716

Mysterious Castle, The, 717

New Ireland, 137

One of God's Heroines,
Our Sunday Fireside,

Philochristus,

711

Elements of Ecclesiastical Law,
Erlestone Glen, ....
Ethics, or Moral Philosophy, .

Forbidden Fruit,
Frederic Ozanam,

"Ghosts." .
Good Things,

History of John Toby's Conversion,
History of Rome, .
History of the Middle Ages,
Holy Church,

Ireland,

Legends of Holy Mary,

Leo XIII. and his probable Policy, .

Le Progres du Catholicisme Farm! les Peu-

ples d'Origine Anglo-Saxonne, .
Letters of John Keats,

430
719

855

7-9

716

144
576

859
859
712

718

860
J 43

858

Sayings and Prayers of the Foundress of the Sis-

ters of Mercy, ...... 143

Select Works of Venerable Fr. Lancitius, S. J , 716

Seven Years and Mair, ..... 7M

St. Joseph's Manual, ..... 144

St. Teresa's Own Words ...... 7*7

St. Winfrid, Life of, ...... 7'3

Thalia ......... 718

The Christian Reformed, ..... 7 r 5

The Four Seasons, ...... "88

The Nabob, ....... 140

The Notary's Daughter, ..... 717

The Precious Pearl, ...... 718

The Young Catholic, ..... 860

Thirty-nine Sermons, ..... 288

Total Abstinence, . ...... 7 Z 9

To the Sun, . . . . .287

Vacation Days, .
Vatican Library, The.
Voyage of the Paper Canoe,

. 7 i6
. 714

Way of the Cross, 144

Wrecked and Saved, 719

Young Girl's Month of May, .... 288

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVIL, No. I57APRIL, 1878.

A SOUL'S HOLY WEEK.

PALM SUNDAY.

WHAT shall I spread beneath thy feet, dear Lord,
Meek Son of David drawing near to-day
With wide hearts' worship for thy king's array,

With love's full measure for thy blessing poured ?

How shall my weakness its deep longing prove ?
Not mine the martyr's fadeless branch of palm,
Nor mine the priestly olive giving balm,

For hearts' consoling, healing wounds with love.

Alas ! not mine baptismal robe unstained
To offer thee with pure and child-like trust :
Dark are its folds with clinging wayside dust.

Yet even this poor raiment, world-profaned,

Thou wilt not scorn, since veils it heart contrite

Grieving so sore its trespass in thy sight.

MONDAY.

Rabbi, one little moment only, wait

Till I kneel down and wet with tears of shame
Thy blessed feet, thy garment's sacred hem

O thou so long unheeded, loved so late !

Let me pour forth the ointment of my soul,

The precious store wherewith thou fill'st my vase,
My love's devotion and my sorrow's grace ;

Withholding naught from thee that givest all.

A Soul's Holy Week.

The more I give the richer grows my share,
Since unto thee one cannot give and lose.
Thou givest e'er; we but thy gifts diffuse.

Worthless all gold unless thy stamp it bear.

Worthless my tears unless their source be thee :

What gem shall, then, outshine their purity ?

TUESDAY.

I dare not wish that my life's days had been
When thou, O Christ ! didst come in human guise
As seeming weak as poorest child that lies

On mother's breast in infant sleep serene ;

When thou the Father's wisdom unto men

Didst speak with lips of little more than child ;
Didst preach the kingdom of the undefiled ;

Didst pardon sin and pity human pain.

I know thee now, although I have not seen.
Perchance in those old days I had denied,
With Bethlehem's matrons turned my face aside,

Spurned from my threshold heaven's chosen Queen,

And O dread thought ! my God a mockery made,

Even as Judas with a kiss betrayed !

WEDNESDAY.

Thy Saviour cometh." O my soul, behold !
Arise and greet Him smitten for thy sin,
Wounded for thee the Father's grace to win,

True Shepherd, stricken for the frightened fold.

Art thou asleep, my soul ? Art thou afraid
To meet the sorrow of that face despised ?
Ah ! see the love with which thy love is prized :

He bleeds for thee that hast so oft betrayed ;

His soul is sorrowful to death for thee,

For thee is borne the crown of pitying thorn,
For thee his people's cruel taunts are borne,

Carried the heavy cross to Calvary.

He weeps thy sins : weep thou his infinite woe.

What have we done that he should love us so?

HOLY THURSDAY.

Was 't not enough, dear Lord, that thou shouldst give
Thy body to the scourge, the thorn, the reed,
That thou in dark Gethsemani shouldst bleed,

The purple garment from rude hands receive,

But that thou still must give thyself to bear
New stripes, new Calvary in that dim life
That is our refuge in the weary strife

Earth offers all who seek thy life to share?

A Soul's Holy Week.

O Love divine! was 't not enough to hold
Thine own so dear thou lovedst to the end,
Deep-wounded hands on Calvary to extend,
Seeking poor earth in Love's wide arms to fold,
But still thou giv'st thyself, Love's sacrament,
As with thy love and sorrow uncontent ?

GOOD FRIDAY.

Dear Mother, unto thee I come to-day,
Because I dare not look upon the face
Of Him in whose least wound my sins I trace :

Dear Mother, for his love's sake bid me stay.

He calls : " I thirst." Ah ! offer him my tears
Repentance hath made pure of all their gall.
Tell him, who nothing has would offer all,

But yet to bring the gift unworthy fears,

Lest so some added thorn be wreathed within

The crown wherewith the wounded brow is bound,
The mocking people's sovereignty's round

That saints, with joy, shall lose all life to win.

Mother, thy Son gives me in thy fond care :

Fold thou my helpless hands in perfect prayer.

HOLY SATURDAY.

"This day in Paradise." O fortunate thief!

What strange surprise, what happiness, was thine
In that dim land to see the Sun divine,
To win so soon the crown of late belief.
This day in Paradise ! O soul released
By cleansing sign of Resurrection cross,
Earth may bewail thy Lord: thine is no loss,
With fresh forgiveness holding wealth increased.
Soul, hast thou hung on Calvary's cross with him,
Thou, justly, like the thief, for thine offence,
Breathe thou thy prayer of humble penitence :
Glory of dawn shall break thy shadows dim,
'Mid which the Sun of Justice glad shall rise-
Poor pardoned thief ! this day in Paradise !

EASTER SUNDAY.

Through Lent, dear Lord, I seemed to walk with thee
As thy disciples once; thy tender voice,
From Mary won, making my soul rejoice

E'en through the sorrow of Gethsemani,

Though oft I wept such infinite love to grieve.
And seemed thy human life to mine so near
That ever shadowed all my joy the fear

The end must come, and thou that life must leave.

The Preparation for Christianity in

To-day with Magdalen I weep once more
My Lord is risen and my life's love lost.
O silly soul, on sorrow's ocean tossed,

Does he not tell thee, as to her before,
" Be not afraid "? to thee is he less near ?

Dead, yet arisen ; crucified, yet here !

THE PREPARATION FOR CHRISTIANITY IN THE SIX CEN-
TURIES BEFORE CHRIST.

THE period of six centuries before
Christ may be taken as the immedi-
ate period of preparation for Chris-
tianity not in a precise numerical
sense of exactly six hundred years,
but as a general term denoting an
epoch whose beginning is somewhat
vague and indeterminate. Some of
the great events are prior to B.C.
600, and the larger number of those
which are important are much later.
What we would do is to describe an
historical cycle including the great
prophetic cycle of Daniel, which em-
braces seventy weeks in the mystical
numeration of Holy Scripture i.e., a
period of four hundred and ninety
years; beginning at the rebuilding
of the city and temple of Jerusalem,
and ending with the promulgation
of the New Law to the nations of the
earth by St. Peter. We consider
this last event as the culmination
and ultimate term of the preceding
historical period of preparation, from
which history takes a new point of
departure, thenceforward moving di-
rectly towards its final consummation
through its last period, the one in
which we live. These six centuries
comprise what is specially the pre-
Christian historical period. The
greatest part of ancient profane his-
tory is taken up with the record of
its events. The history of the ages
.going before is vague and scanty,

and even the chronology is uncer-
tain. A few dates will show how
great a portion of what is known to
us from childhood as historical an-
tiquity is comprised within this rela-
tively recent and modern period.

Herodotus, the father of history,
is said to have recited parts of his
history at the Olympic games, B.C.
456, and Thucydides, who was then
a boy, to have heard him ; and this
is also the date of the death of
^Eschylus. The date of the battle
of Thermopylae is 480, of the death
of Socrates 399, of the birth of Alex-
ander 356. The period of Confu-
cius, Lao-Tseu, and Pythagoras is
in the vicinity of the year 550. The
beginning of the Persian Empire
under Cyrus was in 559. The com-
mon date of the building of Rome
is 753 B.C. Carthage was destroy-
ed in 146. Julius Caesar began his
career in the year 80. Within this
period occurred also the restoration
of the Jews to their own country,
the founding of the Jewish temple
and community at Alexandria, the
translation of the Hebrew Scriptures
into Greek, the rise and triumph of
the Asmonaean dynasty of the Ma-
chabees, the usurpation of Herod,
and the beginning of Roman su-
premacy in Palestine.

We now proceed to show the re-
lation between this period and its

the Six Centuries before Christ.

great events, as making the most im-
portant chapter in ancient universal
history, with the origin and exten-
sion of Christianity. The modern
rationalist theory of a purely natural
origin of the Christian religion by
development from previous stages of
purely natural phases of the human
intellect, should be refuted by a true
exposition of the connection between
the natural and the supernatural
causes which concurred in producing
the great historical phenomenon of
Christianity. The history of the one
true and revealed religion, and spe-
cifically of its latest form in Chris-
tianity, is not isolated and separate
from the general history of mankind.
It is a topic in universal history.
The Christian era succeeds by a
close historical connection to the
period which preceded it, and that
period was the outcome of the ages
going before. These preceding ages
appear to us historically under a
merely natural aspect. That is to
say, the nations of the earth have
no divine revelation or religion.
Their religions are different and na-
tional, mere human creations, and
their polity, morals, philosophy, and
literature are products of natural in-
telligence. Their early history loses
itself in obscurity or fable. Hence
the manifest connection of the
Christian period with the ages fore-
going gives some plausible ground
for the hypothesis that the origin of
Christianity is natural, that it is only
an outcome of mere natural progress
and development. When we pro-
ceed to show a preparation for
Christianity in the ages immediately
preceding, we may be asked if we
do not thereby tacitly admit and
argue from this hypothesis. If God
created all mankind for a superna-
tural destiny, under a supernatural
providence ; needing a divine revela-
tion, in which a divine religion, one,

unchangeable, demanding absolute,
universal faith and obedience, is
made known and imposed on the in-
tellect and will of man as obligatory ;
how is it that we seek for the causes'
and events which prepared the way
for its promulgation in a previous
state of things so unlike that which
we declare God intended to produce
by Christianity ?

The answer to this is easy. God
began by giving a revelation and a
divine religion to all mankind. The
general falling away from this primi-
tive religion was not so far advanced
as to make it necessary for God to
select a special race as the recipient
and preserver of a renewed form of
the divine religion until two thousand
years before Christ. The period of
the old and universal form of reli-
gion, therefore, embraces all the time
from the calling of Abraham to the
creation of man, at least two thou-
sand years, and, according to the
opinion of many, from two thousand
five hundred to four thousand years.
During the entire period of human
history, therefore, from the creation
of man to the present moment, em-
bracing from sixty to eighty centu-
ries, the divine religion derived from
revelation has been more or less
universally promulgated, with the ex-
ception of its mediaeval portion that
is, during a time including from two-
thirds to three-fourths of the whole
time in which the human race has
existed. The period in which the
mass of mankind was left to itself
apparently, without the law of God
manifested by revelation the period
called by St. Paul " the time of ig-
norance which God winked at " em-
braces only the remaining third or
fourth part of time, that is, twenty
centuries. This state of ignorance
was not original, and not natural in
the sense of being conformed to the
exigencies of human nature and hu-

The Preparation for Christianity in

man destiny, or intended and direct-
ly produced by the Author of nature.
It was the result of an apostasy, a
degeneration, a wilful departure, a
-rebellion, a schism, a voluntary fall
from the primitive state. Moreover,
in this very state of apostasy, the
principles of all the good which re-
mained, the principles of civilization,
science, virtue ; political, social, and
personal well-being and improve-
ment; were all remnants from the
first period in which the divine
religion was universal. Therefore,
when we point out in heathendom
the preparation for a new promulga-
tion of the universal religion, we are
not tracing Christianity back to its
natural causes and to its origin, but
are tracing the movement of human-
ity along its re-entering curve, from
the ultimate term of its departure, to
its point of contact with a new mo-
tive power, the true and divine cause
of the re-conversion and restoration
of mankind through Christ, qui re-
stauret omnia.

In addition to this, we must re-
member that it is only wilful igno-
rance and sophistical perversion of
historical truth which assigns the
origin of the human race and its in-
stitutions to an unknown, pre-histo-
ric chaos. Far back of the period of
written, profane history, of hierogly-
phic and cuneiform inscriptions, of
the scattered, uncertain records of
every kind which we can gather up
from the remote past, the authentic,
written documents of the people of
Judea throw a clear light on the be-
ginning of things. Divine revelation
is in possession from the beginning.
Profane history is modern history. We
alone are ancient ; and we may say
to the infidel, as the Egyptian said
to Solon : " You have neither know-
ledge of antiquity, nor antiquity of
knowledge."

Even during the period of the

universal excommunication of man-
kind from the church of God that
church existed, the divine revelation
was preserved and increased, and the
line of continuity between the past
and the future was kept unbroken,
in the nation of the children of
Abraham. It was from Juda that
the Lawgiver and the law came forth
to the subjugation of the nations.
The historical and rational basis of
the supernatural origin and power of
Christianity reaches down, there-
fore, to the first foundations of the
world and the human race. So,
then, we can have no fear of search-
ing after and pointing out any natu-
ral and concurrent causes in the pro-
gress of human events which have
prepared the way for Christianity and
facilitated its universal conquests.
The state of heathendom is not to
be considered as a normal, natural,
and necessary stage in the evolution
and progress of mankind, from which
Christianity was educed. The plan
of divine Providence proposed to
conduct mankind from one degree
of development to another, until the
perfection of religion and civilization
was attained in the Catholic Church
and carried forward to its last results
in the universal resurrection and the
everlasting kingdom of heaven, for
which all the progeny of Adam, with-
out exception, were destined. Ac-
cording to this plan, the church
would always have been one and
universal, and whatever might have
been the special mission and privi-
leges of the people of Israel, the co-
venant of God with them, and the
possession of divinely-revealed doc-
trine, discipline, and worship would
not have been exclusive. The na-
tional and exclusive constitution of
the church in the posterity of Abra-
ham and Jacob through the Law of
Moses was a dispensation established
on account of the general apostasy

the Six Centuries before Christ.

of mankind, a measure of protection
against an absolute and final defec-
tion of the human race. And the
preparation which went on in heath-

ing out its narrow and ascending
course before him. Instead of pur-
suing this path steadily from the be-
ginning, he is seduced to turn aside

endom for the new promulgation of and wander over the more pleasant

4-V* * /^iirir^a 1 i \\r f/-\ oil 4-lt y-% -.T.^,.1,1 1^_- 1 1 t i

the divine law to all the world by
Jesus Christ was also a measure of
remedy and rescue, a " second plank
after shipwreck," thrown to the na-
tions who were drowning in a sea of
errors and miseries.

The object of that preparation was
to furnish a sufficient ground and
territory for the kingdom of Christ,
the Catholic Church ; to make ready
the people who were fit to receive
his law and doctrine ; to produce the
conditions and circumstances requi-
site for the universal conquest and
permanent dominion of Christianity
in the world. The discipline of divine
Providence over the nations during
the long centuries of their wander-
ing through the waste and howling
wilderness of ignorance, error, sin,
warfare, and misery of all kinds, is
like that over the children of Israel
during their wandering of forty years
in the desert which lay between
Egypt and Palestine. They were
condemned to this wandering as a
punishment for their unbelief and
disobedience. This punishment was
nevertheless made the means of their
training and education as a nation,
and a better generation, born in the
wilderness, was formed, which was fit
to go into, conquer, and possess the
Promised Land. We can also draw
an illustration from individual exam-
ples, of which history furnishes a
great number. A youth, highly gift-
ed, brought up in faith and virtue,
well educated, and with every kind of
means and opportunity for pursuing a
noble career to the glory of God, the
welfare of men, and his own highest
advantage both in time and eternity,
comes to the morning of his manhood,
with the straight path of duty stretch-

lands which are on the border of his
right road, following the illusions of
ambition, of pride, and of pleasure.
For a while God leaves him to his
wanderings, but his mercy does not
abandon him. Through circuitous
paths, through the lessons of experi-
ence, through trials, disappointments,
and sufferings, he is led back to the
right road. He becomes a hero, a
saint, an apostle. The science, the
fame, the influence, the wealth, the
experience he acquired during those
years, and which he labored to ac-
quire for a low and unworthy end,
are all now made the means and in-
struments of fulfilling a noble and holy
purpose. Even his errors and sins
serve as a warning lesson to others,
and cause in himself a more vivid
appreciation of the goodness of God,
the value of divine faith and grace,
and the happiness of a holy life.

In like manner the human race,
in its youth, went forth from the
cradle-land of Armenia to take pos-
session of the wide inheritance of
the earth. Carried away by the il-
lusions of the senses and the imagi-
nation, in the pride of its youthful
strength, the human race sought to
find its destiny and create its para-
dise on the earth, forgetful of God,
of his law, of his doctrine, and of
his promises. The colonization of
new countries, the foundation of em-
pires and cities, the cultivation of
science, literature, art, and every
sort of commerce, handicraft, and
industry, all that is included in the
term civilization, employed the en-
ergies of that portion of mankind
whose doings find a place in univer-
sal history, until everything was ac-
complished which was possible to

The Preparation for Christianity in

man and God saw fit to permit him
to achieve. As for his relations with
the world above this earth, with the
duration which is beyond time, and
with superhuman and divine powers,
since he could not ignore them or
confine his intellect of divine origin
and immortal destiny to merely tem-
poral and earthly things, he invented
religions, or sought by the light of
reason to discover the truth about
the supersensible world. The result
of all was that a state of things was
produced in which mankind, unable
to proceed further, dissatisfied and
sighing after something better, cried
out for God to come and accomplish
the work which was too much for
man. A young man or a young wo-
man, feeling deeply the emptiness of
all the enjoyments to be obtained by
wealth, gives up his or her fortune for
charitable purposes. A prince, tired
of war and politics, devotes his castle
and domain to the foundation of a
monastery and assumes the religious
habit. An artist, a poet, an orator,
a great scholar, convinced of the fu-
tility of chasing the shadow of earth-
ly glory, consecrates his gifts and
acquisitions to religion. In like
manner all that the human race
had gained in civilization, in em-
pire, in wealth, in philosophy and
literature and art, was so much ma-
terial accumulated for the spirit and
genius of Christianity to appropriate
and employ in the work of the re-
generation of mankind.

This statement is, of course, re-
stricted to that part of the human
race which forms the principal sub-
ject of universal history and is in-
cluded within the sphere of the Gre-
co-Roman intellectual and politi-
cal dominion. The Chinese, and
the nations of similar origin and
character, are a nullity in universal
history. The Hindoos have remain-
ed to this day outside of the current

of the catholic movement of Chris-
tianity. The barbarian and savage
races have only been capable of
receiving Christianity together with
civilization from nations previously
civilized. What conquests Christi-
anity may yet make among the great
mass of the heathen who constitute
the numerical majority of mankind,
only the future can disclose. Proba-
bly the dominion of European in-
telligence and political power will be
a necessary condition for the exten-
sion of the spiritual dominion of the
Catholic Church in those regions of
the world, if it is ever accomplished.
Leo says of the Mongolian races :

" It seems to us that it is only their
conversion to Christianity which can en-
title them to admission into the domain
of universal history as we have conceiv-
ed its plan, and this conversion can
hardly become general except through
some kind of political subjugation and
dependence. Certainly, the place of
these nations in history is one foreseen
by God ; but the period of their intellec-
tual importance for us has not yet ar-
rived, and will perhaps never come un-
til they are conquered by the Caucasian
race and mingled with it. It is therefore
only upon the Caucasians, in their great
division of Semites, Japhetians, and
Chamites, that we can direct our view,
as being hitherto the workmen whose
labors are recorded by universal his-
tory."

It is only with the past history of
that select portion of the human
race which has advanced steadily on
the road of progress toward the com-
pletion attained in Christianity that
our theme is concerned. Even some
portions of the Aryan race, as the
Hindoos, have but little connection
with it. And in that later period
upon which our attention is at pre-
sent specially directed, the Jews, the
Greeks, and the Romans make the
principal factors in producing the
result which we wish to estimate
viz., the preparation for the actual

the Six Centuries before Christ.

conquest and extension of Christiani-
ty as a universal religion, which has
been thus far achieved, and has be-
come an historical fact. Jewish faith,
Hellenic intellectual culture, Roman
polity, were the chief agents in pre-
paring the way for Christianity as
the world-religion and the world-sub-
duing power. The Hellenic philoso-
phy and literature we leave aside for
the present. The Roman imperial
and universal monarchy is the topic
to be specially considered in this arti-
cle. This great world-subduing pow-
er is historically and logically con-
nected with the great monarchies of
a similar character which preceded
it, and which are all presented under
one figure, that of a colossal statue,
whose members are cast from differ-
ent metals, in the celebrated vision
of Nabuchodonosor, interpreted and
recorded by the prophet Daniel. It
is remarkable that this vision, which
presents emblematically a summary
of the universal political history of
the world in prophecy, was given to
the monarch of the great Assyrian
Empire, yet in such a way that it
passed before his mind like an evan-
escent flash. He could not under-
stand or even remember it until the
great prophet of Juda repeated and
explained it. The date of this vision
is a little later than B.C. 600, just at
the beginning of the period we are
considering. " Thou, O king ! didst
begin to think, in thy bed, what
should come to pass hereafter : and
He that revealeth mysteries showed
thee what shall come to pass.
Thou, O King ! sawest, and behold
there was, as it were, a great statue :
this statue, which was great and tall
of stature, stood before thee, and the
look thereof was terrible. The head of
this statue was of fine gold, but the
breast and the arms of silver, and
the belly and the thighs of brass:
and the legs of iron, the feet part of

iron and part of clay. Thus thou
sawest, till a stone was cut out of
a mountain without hands : and it
struck the statue upon the feet there-
of, that were of iron and clay, and
broke them in pieces : but the stone
that struck the statue became a
great mountain and filled the whole
earth."

Daniel then interpreted the vision
as a prophecy of the destinies of
the world under four universal
monarchies, the Assyrian being the
first, represented by the head of gold.
The other three are manifestly the
Medo- Persian, Macedonian, and Ro-
man. The weak feet and toes of
the statue are the extension of the
empire among the barbarians of the
West. The prophet finishes by de-
claring that after the decadence of
the last empire God will set up a king-
dom which shall never be destroyed
or transferred to another power, but
which shall destroy entirely the
whole fabric of world-monarchy
which was represented by the statue
of gold, silver, brass, and iron, ter-
minating in clay />., the Babylo-
Roman Empire. Thus, at the very be-
ginning of the course of events which
took place during the six centuries of
the period preceding the Messianic
epoch, the great prophet who is in-
spired to foretell with minute dis-
tinctness the times of the Messianic
kingdom is made the counsellor and
prime minister of the last monarchs
of the Assyrian Empire, and of the
first of the succeeding Medo-Persian
kings, and Nabuchodonosor and Cy-
rus are instructed by divine revela-
tion in the designs and purposes for
which God has raised them up to
prepare the way for the coming
and reign of his Son upon the earth.
The great world- empire, whose seat
is first established in Babylon, and
afterwards transferred to Rome, has
a mission to accomplish, and, when

The Preparation for Christianity in

that has been fulfilled, it is finally
abolished to make way for the Catho-
lic Church and the Christendom of
which it is the nucleus, the Christian
political, social, and moral order, the
unification and restoration to one
universal fraternity of the regenerated
human race.

The Roman Empire, th% inheritor
of all the power, the civilization, the
intellectual and material wealth and
grandeur of its predecessors, with its
own new and specific force in addi-
tion, made of fhe whole world one
dominion, brought the East into
subjection to the West, and estab-
lished in Rome, the Eternal City,
the permanent capital of the earth.
Thus the way was prepared, by the
general diffusion of the Greek and
Latin languages, by universal com-
merce and communication between
all nations, by the organizing and
educating force of political and mili-
tary discipline, and by many other
efficient agencies, for a rapid and ir-
resistible transmission of the spirit,
the doctrine, the moral law, the en-
tire supernatural and regenerating
grace of Christianity throughout the
civilized world. At the same time
the civilizing power was brought in-
to contact with that great mass of
European barbarians who were des-
tined to form the most vigorous por-
tion of Catholic Christendom. Ju-
lius Caesar is considered as the great
author of modern European civiliza-
tion. The empire reached its acme
in the reign of Augustus. Near the
close of his reign, and somewhere
in the vicinity of A. u. c. 747, the
Temple of Janus was closed, and
the epoch of universal pacification,
the effect of irresistible, triumphant
Roman power, came to a world
which was expecting the advent of
the Prince of Peace, and made a
moment's stillness, a brief pause of
silent wonder through the universe,

while the mystery of the incarnation
and human birth of the great King
was accomplished.

Let us turn now to Judea, whose
mission was much higher in the or-
der of moral grandeur, though not
so dazzling to the imagination as
that of Rome. Daniel foretold the
end of the captivity of the Jews
when a period of seventy years
should be completed, and the birth
and death of the Messias after an-
other] period of seven times seven-
ty years from the rebuilding of the
city and Temple. The schism and
captivity of the ten tribes had freed
the kingdom of David from putres-
cent parts and given a more pure
and healthy life to Juda. The cor-
ruption of Juda found a severe
and efficacious remedy in the cap-
tivity which befell that tribe also at a
later period. A purified remnanj,
the elite of the nation, were restored
to their own land under Cyrus. The
city and temple were rebuilt. Alex-
ander the Great extended the same
favor to the Jewish nation which had
been granted by the Persian mon-
archs. Under his successors, the
kings of Syria and Egypt, Judea
flourished both in a political and a
religious sense for three centuries,
although not exempt from vicissi-
tudes, a second temple was estab-
lished in Egypt, and in Alexandria,
the new capital founded by Alexan-
der, the Jews became numerous and
attained to great consideration and
importance. The Hebrew Scrip-
tures were translated into Greek and
the important books of the second
canon were written. Under Anti-
ochus Epiphanes a new crisis arriv-
ed, which threatened the total ex-
tinction of Judaism. A large por-
tion of the priests and people were
infected with the corrupted Greek
civilization of that period, the prac-
tice of the Mosaic law was forbidden

the Six Centuries before Christ.

and suppressed by the most oppres-
sive edicts sanctioned by the most
cruel penalties, and Jerusalem was
changed into an apparently heathen
city. The sacred ark containing all
the hopes of the world in the ages
to come seemed about to be wreck-
ed. But God raised up the heroic
family of the Machabees to rescue
once more Jerusalem and Judea
from the ruin which seemed to be
imminent.

There is no greater and more won-
derful hero in all history than Judas
Machabeus, a new and more sublime
Leonidas, standing with his small
but invincible host in the world's
Thermopylae, as the defender, even
unto death, not of Greece but of all
mankind ; the saviour, not of mere na-
tional and temporal interests, but of
the precious inheritance of faith, the
supernatural treasure by which all
men were to be enriched with those
blessings which are eternal. The
history of the Asmonaean dynasty, its
period of glory and of decay, and,
next, of the Idumaean usurpation in
the person of the cruel tyrant, Herod
the Great, a mere creature and de-
pendent viceroy of the Roman em-
peror, brings us to the end of the
dispensation of Abraham and Moses,
to the epoch of the new Prophet,
Priest, and King, who teaches, sanc-
tifies, and rules mankind by his own
personal and inherent might and
right, as the Emmanuel, who is both
the Creator and the Redeemer of
the world.

St. Paul declares that the mystery
of divine Providence respecting both
the Jews and the Gentiles, made
known in the full Christian revelation,
was to " establish all things in Christ,
in the dispensation of the fulness of
times" (Eph. i. 10). We infer from
this statement, that all the ages pre-
ceding the birth of Christ were a
preparation for the foundation of the

Catholic Church, which was complet-
ed at the epoch of his coming. The
work of Judaism was done and its
mission completed. Henceforth it
was only an obstacle in the way of
the universal religion which it had
been created to serve. The oracles
of God which it preserved and trans-
mitted, the faith which it inherited
from Abraham, its genuine spirit, the
essence of religion which had been
embodied in its outward organization,
were transmitted to Christianity.
The lifeless mass which was left
behind was only fit to be buried
as a putrescent carcass. The mis-
sion of the Roman Empire was also
completed, its destruction decreed,
and dimly foretold by the apostles.
The entire Greco-Roman civiliza-
tion, with its philosophy, its literature,
its religious superstitions, had run its
course, and its ultimate result was an
intellectual and moral abyss of va-
cancy and unfulfilled longing for the
truth and the good which alone can
fill the frightful void in the human
soul and in universal humanity caus-
ed by the absence of God. St. Paul
says that Christ, having first descend-
ed to the lowest depth, ascended to
the highest celestial summit, "////>/*-
pkret omma " that he might fill all
things. The Emmanuel, the God in
humanity, the very sovereign truth
and sovereign good impersonated in
a twofold nature, divine and human,
is the only fulfilment of universal his-
tory, of human destiny, as the term
and expression of the thoughts and
purposes of God. His kingdom on
the earth, the Catholic Church, is
the instrument and medium by which
he extends his action through time
and upon universal humanity during
the period of universal history which
is now in the process of fulfilment.
The material part of the substantial
essence of this new Messianic em-
pire was furnished by the comming-

The Preparation for Christianity in

ling of the elements of Judaism and
Greco-Roman civilization. The vital
and informing principle was superna-
tural and divine, inspired into the
now organic structure by a new out-
breathing of ,the creative and life-
giving Spirit.

This supernatural character of
Christianity is capable of a rigorous
historical and rational demonstration.
Rationalists, as they call themselves,
having first made themselves their
own dupes, have duped the great
mass of the unlearned and the un-
thinking in this age, and even im-
posed to a greater or a lesser de-
gree on numbers of Catholics whose
instruction in sound Christian know-
ledge is defective and superficial,
by a shallow and pretentious sys-
tem vaunted under the name of
scientific criticism. Like the pseudo-
Smerdis, its pretence to be the true,
legitimate possessor of dominion, and
heir to the acquisitions of reason
and experience historically trans-
mitted from the past, is founded on
an illusory semblance of likeness to
genuine science. As the impostor
who passed himself off on a credu-
lous people for the son of Cyrus was
detected and exposed by stripping
off the royal head-dress which he
had stolen, and showing that his
head had long since been deprived
of the ears as an ignominious pun-
ishment for crime, so this base-born
rationalism, when the logic of facts
and sound reasoning seizes hold of
it, meets the fate which befell the
Persian usurper under the iron grasp
and death-dealing sword of Darius,
the son of Hystaspes. It is an old
culprit,, long since marked by the
sword of truth, and doomed to per-
ish under the blows of the genuine
offspring of the noble, ancestral
chiefs in the intellectual kingdom.
Christianity is historical and rational,
resting on the principles of contra-

diction and of the sufficient reason.
That which has occurred and which
exists cannot be denied or doubted,
and must be referred to a sufficient
reason and an adequate cause. The
facts and events of the religion of
Christ, as well those which pre-
ceded as those which have followed
his human birth, are historically cer-
tain. The flimsy hypotheses of
sceptical criticism have been destroy-
ed by critical science. The pene-
trating acid of critical investigation,
a solvent which is destructive of all
counterfeits and semblances, has
only made more manifest and clear
of all accidental adhesions the real
substance and imperishable solidity
of the great historical structure of
the primeval and universal religion.
The books of Moses and his succes-
sors, the four Gospels and the other
apostolic documents, together with
all else that is accessory and corro-
borative of sacred history in the
genuine records and works of anti-
quity, have come unscathed, and
with brighter and clearer evidence
than before, out of the restless and
audacious researches of that mod-
ern school of rationalists who have
sought to destroy all ancient science
and belief, to make way for a new
fabric of hypothesis which they call
modern science and philosophy.
Their visionary systems stand con-
fronted with unassailable facts and
convicted of falsehood. These great
facts, from the creation of man to
the resurrection of Christ, and from
his resurrection to the present, actual
existence of the Catholic Church, ir-
resistibly, and with all the force of
invincible logic, demand the recog-
nition of their sole, assignable suffi-
cient reason, a supernatural cause.
It is because of this necessary con-
nection of the great facts upon
which Christianity is founded with a
supernatural cause that rationalists

the Six Centuries before Christ.

deny, in so far as that is possible,
these facts. But, as they cannot
deny altogether the reality of all,
they deny the principle of causality
itself, like Hume and the whole
sceptical sect of pseudo-philosophers,
or, at least, by their hypotheses, ig-
nore and subvert the principle of
causality, through the contradiction
of necessary deductions from the
principle which is contained in these
hypotheses.

The fact of Christianity cannot
be denied, because it is too immedi-
ately present and evident before the
minds of all men. Unless one avow-
edly abjures reason, it must be
accounted for. The hypothesis of
the rationalists supposes that a young
man of Galilee, without education,
evolved out of his own mind and
the Scriptures of the Old Testament
a doctrine which he taught for about
one year to the people of Judea and
Galilee, and was then crucified as a
teacher of false doctrine and a dis-
turber of the religion of his country.
The effect of his moral excellence
and heroism in dying for his convic-
tions, together with that of his teach-
ing of a few simple and sublime doc-
trines of theology and ethics, was
the astounding revolution which has
resulted in historical Christianity.
This is a theory of lunatics. The
birth of Jesus precisely at the period

he accomplished. The precise na-
ture and comprehension of that mis-
sion and work, as God intended it,
and as Jesus Christ revealed it to
his apostles, is proved by the effect
actually produced, by the argument
a posteriori, from the effect to the
cause. The religion which actually
became universal is the religion
which is founded on the confession
of the Trinity, the true and proper
divinity of the Son of God, his as-
sumption of human nature by a mi-
raculous birth from the Virgin, his
redemption of the human race, fallen
through the sin of the first Adam, by
the cross, his absolute sovereignty
over the earth and the whole uni-
verse, and his delegation of authori-
ty to the apostles under their prince
and head, St. Peter. The conver-
sion of the Roman Empire to this
religion demands a sufficient cause,
and the only cause to which it can
possibly be traced is the divine pow-
er of its founder, Jesus Christ. The
law did not go forth from Sion and
Jerusalem to the whole world by
virtue of any power which Judaism
put forth. The Roman imperial
power did not undergo a transmu-
tation into the kingdom of Christ.
Catholic theology was not the fruit
of Greek philosophy, and the regen-
eration of mankind was not the na-
tural result of Greco-Roman civili-

ed the human race ; and all the p- which

nomena of the origin and progress o J^*** * to P prepare his
; prove the mtervenU 01 of had emp toy P.,? ^

The Preparation for CJiristianity.

Rome was made the seat of his own
Vicar, the monarch of his spiritual
kingdom. The thirteen great dio-
ceses of the Roman Empire were
parcelled out to the great princes
of the church, the patriarchs, exarchs,
and primates, who received a dele-
gated share of the supremacy of the
Sovereign Pontiff of the city of Rome.
The great provincial cities were
made the seats of the metropolitans,
and the thousands of minor cities
the sees of the bishops of the Catho-
lic Church. This great work was
substantially accomplished within
three centuries from the death and
resurrection and ascension of Jesus
Christ. One must be demented not
to recognize a supernatural cause
for this effect, and, as directed by and
concurring with this first, supreme,
efficient cause, a chain-work of se-
cond causes extending through all
previous history backward to the
origin of the human race and of the
great nations of the earth.

Mgr. Delille, Bishop of Rodez,
thus contrasts the theory of universal
history which presents the incarnation
of the divine Word as the central
fact of the whole circle of human
events with that of modern rational-
ism :

" In presence of all the remains of the
past actions of the human race which are
buried in the catacombs of history, only
two theories can be found by which to
account for them the theory of chance
or fatalism, and the theory of a divine
plan.

"The first explains nothing, because
it professedly ignores the final destina-
tion of humanity. Sitting amid the
ruins, with its back turned to the future,
it contents itself with making an inven-
tory of the bones of the defunct genera-
tions, and weighing their dust. As the
conclusion of this fruitless and melan-
choly work, it says : Things were thus
and so, because they had to be so ; they
are either games of chance or evolutions
of the universal substance. It is quite
otherwise with that theory derived from

the revelation of the divine plan by the
way of faith, in which all the events of
the world are viewed as an execution of
a pre-conceived design of ProvidenctJ,
being nothing else than the restoration
of fallen humanity by the Mediator.
This is the true philosophy of history,
illuminating the past of which it furnish-
es the explanation, and the future of
which it gives foresight. In accordance
with its results, the ancient era of the
world can be defined, the preparation
for the reign of the Messias, and the
modern era, the reign of the Messias."

In this present article it is espe-
cially some parts of the preparation
which immediately preceded the
epoch of the Messias that are present-
ed to the reader's consideration. It
is one of the most interesting and use-
ful fields of exploration upon which
any one who has taste and time for
solid reading can enter. There are
not wanting in our modern literature
some excellent works in which the desi-
rable information can be obtained.
In the German language the Univer-
sal History of Leo, in the first part,
on ancient history, presents a con-
densed but most complete, learned,
and philosophical sketch of the great
historical events of the pre-Christian
period, conceived entirely in ac-
cordance with the idea we have here
endeavored to present. In French,
the History of the Universal Churchy
by Rohrbacher, has remarkable merit
in this respect and is very full in its
details. This subject is treated most
explicitly and comprehensively in a
work by M. 1'Abbe Louis Leroy, en-
titled Philosophic Catholique de VHis-
toire. In English the learned works
of Father Thebaud, and a recent one
entitled De Ecclesid et Cathedra, by
Colin Lindsay, are especially valua-
ble. As a French bishop, Mgr. Ange-
bault, of Angers, has said : " For
the last hundred years an effort has
been kept up to make history lie
by perverting it; it is requisite that
men of learning and sound faith

St. Ceadda.

should bring it back into the right
path from which it has been drawn
away."

History, like all the treasures of
the past, belongs to Christianity and
the Catholic Church. A few years
ago some marbles belonging to
Nero, which had been laid aside and
become buried under the accumulat-
ed deposit of ages, were unearthed,

and became the property of Pius IX.
as sovereign of Rome ; who made use
of them for decorating a church.
In like manner it is our right to claim
all the costly materials we can find
and dig out of the dust of all forego-
ing centuries, and our duty to use
them in adorning the walls of the
temple of God on earth, his univer-
sal and eternal church.

ST. CEADDA.

HARK ! what sweet sounds beneath these lonely skies !

St. Mary's Convent deep in yonder dell

Lies hidden. Echoes thus the minster bell
Through the thin air? or hear we litanies
That, sung by monks at even-song, arise

And heavenward, full of holy rapture, swell ?

No ; but within the walls of yonder cell,
Where, near his death, God's faithful servant lies,
Led by his brother's soul, an angel throng

Welcomes St. Chad, whose prayerful life is o'er.

His feet shall tread the Mercian vales no more.
His work is done. Hark ! fainter sounds their song,

While his glad spirit leaves its frame outworn,

And homeward turns, on seraph-wings upborne.

The Home-Rtile Candidate.

THE HOME-RULE CANDIDATE.

A STORY OF " NEW IRELAND."

BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE LITTLE CHAPEL AT MONAMULLIN," " THE ROMANCE OF A PORTMANTEAU,"

ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER III.
THE RIVALS.

ON the return to Kilkenley I
placed my guest beside Father
O'Dowd in the car, as I saw that the
former was bursting with impatience
to get at the Home-Rule question.
During the luncheon he had made
several ineffectual attempts at draw-
ing out the priest, which were deft-
ly shunted off in favor of light-
er subjects; but having extracted
a promise from Father O'Dowd
that during the drive he would dis-
cuss the " idea " with him, no
sooner had the horse commenc-
ed to tear up the gravel in the lit-
tle lawn than the member for
Doodleshire opened fire by asking
if there was any real issue at stake
in the question.

"What is Home Rule? Is it
Fenianism veiled or unveiled ? Is
it Repeal? Is it less than Repeal
or more than Repeal? Is it a sur-
render or ahem ! a compromise of
the national demand, or is it a de-
mand founded upon the ahem !
supposed necessities of the country
at this present time ?"

" I must go back a little in order
to reply to your queries ; as the
French say, // fant reculer pour
mieux sauter one must draw back
a little, in order to make a better
spring. You have heard, Mr. Haw-
thorne, that the law of defeats sepa-
rates the vanquished into two or
three well-defined parties or sec-
tions : one party more bitter in

opposition than ever, one party
quietly put out of the way, who re-
tire upon their shields, and a little
party who recognize no defeat.
This is just the outcome in Ireland
of forty-eight and forty-nine. The
Young Ireland movement in forty-
eight was never national in dimen-
sions or acceptance "

" Thrue for ye, father darlint,"
exclaimed Peter O'Brien from his
coigne of vantage, and whose heart
and soul were in the discussion.
" The boys wasn't riz properly."

Without noticing the interrup-
tion Father O'Dowd continued :

" O'Connell's movement was from
forty-two to forty-four; but from
that date, although Smith O'Brien
and John Mitchel came to the
front, the country was not at their
back."

" Did not the Young Irelanders
break with O'Connell on a war po-
licy ?"

"That is a fallacy. They had
no war policy, nor had he. It
was the blaze of revolution lighted
in Paris in forty-eight that set men
on fire here. They seceded from
O'Connell on the point of the cele-
brated test resolutions, which de-
clared it would not be lawful to
take up arms for the recovery of
national rights. The non-accep-
tance of this declaration led to the
Irish Confederation. The confed-
erates were decidedly unpopular.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

especially after the death of O'Con-
nell, whose demise was laid at their
door, and they themselves became
the victims of secession* John
Mitchel and his following were for
preparing the people for war against
England. Thus we had three par-
ties and no real national movement.
When Paris hurled Louis Philippe
from the throne, the pulse of Ire-
land became intensely agitated, and
two schools of insurrectionists were
to be found in the new insurrec-
tionary party : one that declared that
Smith O'Brien wanted a rose-water
revolution, the other that Mitchel
was a Red and wanted a Jacquerie.
The refusal to rise for the release
of Mitchel led to bad blood, and
the subsequent rising resulted in a
fiasco. The men who ordered it had
no command from the nation, and
were but a fraction of a fraction."

" Were you opposed to them, fa-
ther I mean your order ?"

" Assuredly not in a combative
sense, but in the sense of a decid-
ed disapproval of the insurrection.
They had also against them the
bulk of the Repeal millions."

' But the cities"

" Yes, the cities became imbued
with the spirit of the revolution
and a desire to see it out, but, be-
yond their national antipathy to
English rule, the rural population
had little or no participation in the
forty-eight movement."

"They wor aisy enough beyant
in Kilpeddher, where they bet
Mickey Rooney wud his own pike-
handle an' called him a bladdher-
um-skite, no less," cried my coach-
man.

" Peter, be good enough to keep
your observations to yourself," I
said, struggling with a laugh.

" Faix I will, thin, Masther Fred-
dy, for sorra aword the darlint father
is spakin' I'd like for to lose. But
VOL. xxvii. 2

as for th' other omadhaun" lowering
his voice to a confidential whisper,
" I'd as lave be spakin' to "

" Silence!"

" After the forty-eight movement
had exhausted itself in transpor-
tations and expatriations," con-
tinued Father O'Dowd, " and the
flower of Ireland's intellect and pa-
triotism was literally pining away
in England's penal settlements, the
gaze of the country turned instinc-
tively toward one man, Charles Ga-
van Duffy, and behind him crouched
the terrible problem : ' What next ?' "

" Is this ahem ! the Mr. Duffy
who holds a somewhat prominent
position in Victoria ?"

" Only that of prime minister,"
laughed the priest.

" And what was his ahem !
policy in the crisis you mention ?"

"A retreat all along the line. He-
tried the original Irish Confedera-
tion policy, but received no support.
He at last got together a party un-
der the banner of 'tenant right.'
This was a move that brought the
Presbyterians of Ulster to take
counsel with the Catholics of Mun-
ster ; it brought Repealers, and Anti--
Repealers, and men of every shade
of politics and religion upon one
common platform, and an organiza-
tion was formed to compel Parlia-
ment to pass a measure which would
prevent the eviction of the tenant
farmer, except for the non-payment
of rent, and to prevent also the arbi-
trary raising of the rent."

k ' That's me jewel !" cried Peter,,
in an ecstasy of approbation. "Faix,
ye'd think it was on th' althar he
was." This latter observation be-
ing addressed to me.

" You flooded us in the House, if
I remember ahem ! rightly, with
a very strange set of representatives
as the outcome of this movement,"
observed Mr. Hawthorne.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

"Yes, we sent you about thirty-
five or forty members, returned at
the instance of the Tenant League
and to work out its programme.
They used the new shibboleth to
suit their own ends, and many of
them being both corrupt and dis-
honest, the pass was sold and the
party bought up through its leaders,
Sadlier and Keogh. Some of us
thought it was a goodly step in the
right direction to see Catholics on
the bench, and lulled our con-
sciences with this soporific ; but the
-cause of the poor tenant was lost,
.and we grasped the shadow while
the substance floated beyond our
a-each."

" The curse o' Crummle on Sad-
lier and Billy Keogh ! Amin,"
muttered Peter.

" A cohort of the exasperated sec-
tion of the forty-eight party now came
to the front, who, seeing the utter
.and shameful defeat of the Gavan-
Duffy following, instantly raised
their voices for war to the knife, war
to the bitter end, and out of this
-cry arose the Fenian movement."

" I should like to hear your ideas
upon this insane movement," ob-
served the M.P., endeavoring to
face Father O'Dowd, and succeeding
>only in jerking himself partly off
the car, to the hand-rail of which
he clung with the tenacity of an
octopus. " What support did it
receive ?"

" It did not represent anything
like the full force of Irish patriot-
ism, or even, indeed, a considerable
portion of it. The bulk of the
millions who believed in O'Connell
and Smith O'Brien stood with fold-
ed arms outside this movement. Its
policy was disbelieved in, although
the Fenians worked with an energy
worthy of the highest admiration,
while an honest, manly, self-sacri-
Acing spirit of patriotism marked

the men who were its martyrs.
Never did braver men stand in the
dock; and to the Fenians Ireland
owes that stirring up -of public opin-
ion upon Irish subjects which
hitherto had slumbered in a master-
ly inactivity. You see, Mr. Haw-
thorne, as we say at whist, I am
leading up to your strong suit, and
if I have been a little prolix "

" My dear sir, I am receiving
more information than the Bodleian
Library or all the blue-books could
possibly give me."

" Sorra a lie in that ! Ah ! wud
ye ?" The latter addressed to the
horse, in order to parry my inevita-
ble censure.

" Well, sir," continued the priest
after he had duly acknowledged the
compliment bestowed upon him by
my guest, " we had arrived at that
stage when, as Phsedrus says :

Gratis anhelans, multo agenda nihil agens.

We had been checkmated, and Bri-
tannia smiled contemptuously at us
from behind the glistening bayo-
nets of the regiments with which
she flooded the country. It was
again the horrors of the lash and
triangle, loathsome details of
the treachery of informers and
prosecutors, the chain-gangs at
Portland and Chatham, and the
terrible outrages inflicted upon
men whose only fault lay in loving
Ireland not wisely but too well. I
shall pass over that, because there
is a wicked beat underneath my
waistcoat, and cur a leves loquuntur,
ingentes stupent. I shall come at
once to the question of Home
Rule and dismiss it briefly; for there
is the stable dome of Kilkenley right
over beyond that group of firs."

" Yev more nor a quarther
av an hour, yer riverince, for the
baste's purty well bet up."

" Five minutes will do me, Peter,"

The Home-Ride Candidate.

laughed Father O'Dowd. " The
Irish passion for national existence
still glowed in our bosoms, and we
cried for light. A field for Irish de-
votion and heroism was what was
wanted. We were sick of the heca-
tombs of victims offered up by the
last sad effort. As you are well
aware, Mr. Hawthorne, the Tory
party came into power during the
Fenian scare, and they went to
their work in a spirit which would
have shamed Oliver Cromwell him-
self. They fined, fettered, imprison-
ed, and hanged, until a glut of ven-
geance seemed an impossibility.
' This is my chance,' says Mr. Glad-
stone. 'I'll make capital out of
this Fenian scare, and, dashing at
the Church Establishment, I'll ga-
ther in the straying bands which
once formed the rank and file of the
liberal party. England wants a
salve, and when she finds herself
doing a virtuous thing she will
purge her conscience of all her
recent evil-doing."

" I never heard of Mr. Gladstone's
having used those words," exclaim-
ed the member forDoodleshire pom-
pously. "If he had used them in
the House, they would have been
ordered to be taken down by the
Speaker."

" They are my words, not Mr.
Gladstone's."

" Blur an' ages !" began Peter
O'Brien, but, upon my administer-
ing no light touch of the whip to
his shoulders, he suddenly pulled
himself in. " Now, I ax ye, Mas-
ther Freddy, isn't that the hoighth,
now the hoighth av an ignoray-
mus ? Why, a turf creel "

"Silence, sir!" I exclaimed, in a
frenzy of terror lest my guest should
by any possibility overhear him.

" With the war-whoop of * Down
with the Irish Church!' Mr. Glad-
stone bounded into office at the

head of a majority only equalled
by that of Sir Robert Peel in forty-
one, and, with the faculty of per-
suading himself into a fervid con-
scientiousness upon any subject he
likes, he flung himself body and
soul into the disestablishment of
the church established in Ireland.
At this uprose the Irish Protes-
tants, who declared that, as faith
had been broken with them by the
English government, they would
repeal the Union by way of retalia-
tion, and kick another crown into
the Boyne. * Break with us,' said
they, 'and we'll break with you.
We'll become Irishmen first and
anything else afterwards.' Well,
Mr. Hawthorne, the Irish Church
was disestablished "

" I am happy to say that my
humble vote was recorded in favor
of that measure," interrupted the
M.P.

" More power to ye for that, any-
how," muttered Peter.

" And a good vote it was, Mr.
Hawthorne. Well, sir, the Irish
Protestants were in a craze of in-
dignation, and eagerly sought a
vent for their feelings of revenge.
They wouldn't touch Fenianism.
and their minds insensibly reverted
to eighty-two, and to such Protes-
tants as Grattan, Flood, Curran,
and Charlemont. Some of our
most influential Protestant coun-
trymen were now prepared to take
up the cudgels peers, dignitaries of
the Protestant Church, large land-
ed proprietors, bankers, merchants,
deputy lieutenants, and even fel-
lows of Trinity College. This was
no Falstaffian army, no mere food
for powder, but a band of men who
had a vast property at stake in the
country, who saw a thousand rea-
sons why Irishmen alone should
regulate Irish affairs. And now
Mr. Butt comes upon the stage."

The Home -Rule Candidate.

" The sorra a shupayriorer man
in the counthry," observed Peter,
despite my previous admonition.
" An', be the mortial, me own first
cousin wud have got six months
for delay in' Jim Fogarty's ould
ram from goin' home wan night, an'
he as innocint as a cluckin' hin,
av it wasn't for the shupayrior
spakin' av Counsellor Butt. 4 There
isn't a bigger rogue in the barony,
me lord,' sez he, addhressin' the
binch, 'but this wanst, me lord, he
wasn't in it at all, at all.' That's
what / call spakin' up."

"Mr. Butt, in addition to de-
fending Peter O'Brien's kinsman,"
said Father O'Dowd, " was called
to the front from an obscurity into
which a wild recklessness had hurl-
ed him, to defend the Fenian pri-
soners in sixty-five. Mr. Butt be-
came then a centre figure, and
through the meetings of the Am-
nesty Association, larger than any
since Tara and Mullaghmast, a
centre figure he remained. The
Protestants, who now chafed under
the disestablishment, were many of
them Butt's old comrades, college
chums, and political associates, a*hd
to them he turned, urging them no
longer to act the secondary role of
an English garrison. 'Act boldly
and promptly now,' he said in one
of his powerful addresses, ' and you
will save Ireland from revolution-
ary violence on the one side and
from alien misgovernment on the
other. You, like myself, have been
early trained to mistrust the Ca-
tholic multitude, but when you
come to know them you will ad-
mire them. They are not anarch-
ists, nor would they be revolution-
ists if men like you would but do
your duty and lead them that is,
honestly and faithfully and capably
lead them in the struggle for con-
stitutional liberty.' Mr. Butt made

a great impression, but of course
was met with the old cry of ' wolf,'
' Catholic ascendency,' ' the tools
of the priests,' ' yoke of Rome,' and
all that sort of low Orange clap-
trap. The incidents of the defeat
of ' honest John Martin ' for Long-
ford are too recent to bore you
with now, but in that election you
saw a Catholic people fighting their
own clergy, who had foolishly pledg-
ed themselves to support the Fulke-
Greville-Nugent candidate, as ve-
hemently as they and their own
clergy had ever fought the Tory
landlords. It was an exceptional
and painful incident, but it vindi-
cated both priests and people from
the unworthy sneers to which I
have just alluded. You are fami-
liar with the meeting in Dublin
held under the presidency of a Pro-
testant lord mayor, and the resolu-
tion enthusiastically adopted that
the true remedy for the evils of
Ireland was an Irish Parliament.
And now, Mr. Hawthorne, having
given you an owre true but also an
ovvre lang tale, I am happy to find
ourselves within hail of the hospi-
table roof of Kilkenley, and yes, to
be sure, there are the ladies await-
ing our arrival upon the steps."

" Av that discoorse isn't aiqual
to the House o' Lords, I'm an
omadhaun" was Peter's muttered
observation as we rattled gaily up
to the house.

" Papa is enchanted with the
priest," said Miss Hawthorne.

It was just before dinner, and we
were standing upon a small balcony
overlooking the lawn.

The moon was rising in all the
consciousness of her harvest beauty,

" I am so glad."

" He says that his reverence has
the Irish question at his fingers' ends,
and gave him more information

The Home-Rule Candidate

than a dozen Commons debates or
ten dozen editions of Hansard.
We are going over to visit Father
O'Dowd, are we not?"

What induced me to say: "I
shall send you with great pleasure " ?

" Send us ! Are you not coming ?"

" I fear not. Welstone will go.
He is much better company."

What a boy I was !

She looked at me in a puzzled,
inquiring sort of way.

" What a glorious moon !" I said,
bitterness in my heart.

" Don't you find it a little chilly?"
was her reply, as she turned into
the drawing-room.

My own, shall I call it temper, or
insanity, or what? lost me this
chance, for which I had been longing
with such fervent yearning. I felt
terribly irritated with myself and
angered against her. She should
have expressed sorrow at my being
prevented from going over to
Father O'Dowd's. Had she cared
one brass farthing she would have
declined the expedition ; but instead
of this she silently accepted Wei-
stone's ciceroneship, and exclaim-
ing, "Don't you find it a little
chilly ?" left me standing all alone,
like the idiot that I was. And yet
had I not acted strangely, rudely, in
intimating my intention of remaining
at Kilkenley ? Was I not her host,
and should I not make every effort
within the scope of my power to
render her visit as agreeable as
possible ?

I followed her into the drawing-
room. The light of two rnodera-
teur lamps muffled in pink shades
threw a delightfully tender glow all
over the apartment. Our furni-
ture was very old-fashioned. It
had all been purchased when
my great-grandmother had been
brought home, and was esteemed a
wonder of its kind then. The rose-

wood settees and spider-leveed
chairs were upholstered in the rich-
est flowered brocade, very faded
now, but highly respectable in their
antiquity. The mirrors were oval
in gilt frames, an eagle holding a
chain, to which was appended a
golden ball, surmounting each. A
sofa large enough to seat a dozen
people in a row graced one wall,
while a thin old-fashioned card-
table, over which many hundreds
of guineas had changed hc^ds,
adorned the other. In the alcove,
in a stiff, formal, uncompromising
arm-chair, so utterly different from
the inviting lounges of to-day, sat
Mabel, turning over the leaves of
a scrap-book that had been made
up by my grandmother.

Dressed in simple white, with a
sprig of forget-me-not in her golden
hair, she looked so lovely that my
heart flew to her.

" I hope you haven't caught cold.
Shall I close the window, Miss
Hawthorne ?'

" Oh ! dear, no ; it was just a pass-
ing sensation, a shiver."

" Somebody was treading upon
your grave," I said, alluding to the
popular superstition.

" What do you mean by that ?"
she asked.

When I had told her, " I should
like to know where I shall be in-
terred."

" I know where I shall be, if I
am not hanged or lost at sea."

"Where?"

" In the little churchyard close
by; it's in the domain."

" Are all your family interred
there?"

" We have head-stones since
1650. Cromwell's troopers de-
stroyed everything, digging up the
graves in the hope of finding arm-
lets and golden ornaments of our
race."

The Home-Rule Candidate.

" I should like to visit the church-
yard."

"By moonlight?" I said laugh-
ingly.

"Oh! yes.

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight, 1

sings Scott."

" Your wish shall be gratified."

"When?"

AT this moment Mr. Hawthorne
entered the room, carrying in his
hand two telegrams.

" Startling news !" he exclaimed.

"What is it, papa?" asked his
daughter somewhat affrightedly.

" Nothing alarming, my dear."
Turning to me, " Your county mem-
ber is dead."

" Dead ?" I cried.

" Dropped dead on the steps of
the Carlton Club."

" Is it Mr. Bromly de Ruthven ?"

"Yes."

" That's awfully sudden. I had
a visit from him not ten days ago.
He was quite a young man, and, for
his party, a rising one."

" I cannot agree with you there,
Mr. Fitzgerald," said my guest in
his usual pompous style. " His speech
if speech it might be called on
the malt question was a tissue of
illogical absurdity. But now, Mabel,
I have a big surprise for you. The
great conservative party I call
them great, sir, although in opposi-
tion have not been idle, and al-
ready has a candidate been se-
lected."

" That's rather quick work, Mr.
Hawthorne."

" Military machinery, sir one
man down, the next man forward.
And whom do you think they have
selected, Mabel ?"

" How should I know, papa ?"

"Guess."

" I cannot. Some of the rejected
at the last dissolution."

" No ; guess again. A friend of
yours."

"A friend of mine?" somewhat
surprised.

" A particular friend, who tele-
graphs me to say that lie will arrive
here to-morrow," with a knowing
smile.

I guessed the name. My heart
told it me with a pang of envy.

"Not Wynwood Melton?" she
said.

" The very man !"

/ knew it.

"I'm so glad!" she cried, clap-
ping her dainty hands together.
" It will be great fun to have him
in the house! What capital imita-
tions he will give us of Gladstone,
Disraeli, Bright, and Whalley ! And
what stories ! Mr. Fitzgerald," she
added with considerable earnest-
ness, "you must vote for him."

I think I was about to pledge
myself to do so, forgetful of the
dire consequences of such a pro-
ceeding on my part, when her fa-
ther interrupted :

" He cannot, my dear. Mr. Fitz-
gerald is one of us a liberal."

"I am a liberal," she laughed.

" I presume he will have a walk-
over," said Mr. Hawthorne.

" Who will have a walk-over ?"
asked Father O'Dowd, who had en-
tered unperceived.

" My friend, Mr. Wynwood Mel-
ton."

"For a seat in Parliament?"

"Yes."

" Is there a vacancy ?"

"Yes."

" In an Irish constituency?"

" You have not heard the news,
then ?"

" Not a word ; and I may exclaim
with Horace, Est brcvitate opus, lit
cur rat sentential

The Home-Rule Candidate.

" Well, reverend sir, your county
member, Mr. Bromly de Ruthven, is
dead."

"Dead!"

" Dead, sir. And Mr. Wynwood
Melton is to have a walk-over."

"Is he?" asked Father Dowd
with a quiet smile. " Who says
so ?"

" Well, I suppose so. He is
young, clever, rich, and, better than
all, the nominee of the Carlton
Club, which means, of course, the
De Ruthven interest."

The priest gave a short laugh.

" Mr. Wynwood Melton will not
have a walk-over ; / promise you
that. Neither will he win the elec-
tion ; /promise you that, too."

" Is there another candidate in
the field ?"

" There will be, please God."

" Are you at liberty to name
him ?"

" I shall name him now, as I
mean to carry the county for him ;
and," taking me by the shoulder,
" a very good figure he will cut in
St. Stephen's."

My heart gave one beat back-
ward. Of name and fame I thought
nothing. To defeat Wynwood Mel-
ton I would give half my life. Here
was a chance one of those marvel-
lous chances which the whirl of
the wheel turns out occasionally to
fit into the exact moment. It was
a high stake, but I would play for
it. It was my solitary hope for an
advantage over the man whom
Mabel Hawthorne loved. Yes, I
would stand the hazard of the die.

" Mr. Fitzgerald dislikes poli-
tics," observed Mabel.

"You may bring a horse to the
water, but you can't make him
drink," added her father.

" Besides, he will not be ungal-
lant enough to oppose my nominee,"
she laughed.

" I shall be greatly disappointed
if my young friend will not stand
in the gap for the old county and
the old faith," said Father O'Dowd.

" How can you expect to carry
him in the teeth of the overwhelm-
ing majority which the conservatives
possess in this county ?" asked the
M.P.

"Thank Heaven! we have the
ballot, and now or never is the time
to try its efficacy."

"Well, Mr. Fitzgerald, may I
hope to meet you in St. Stephen's?"
asked my guest.

"You may."

"To oppose my nominee ?"

" Yes."

I braved even her displeasure
in my agony of anxiety to cross
swords with my rival.

"Bravissimo /" cried Father
O'Dowd. " The day is ours. I
knew you had the Fitzgerald pluck,
dashed with the hot blood of the
Ormondes. I look upon victory as
certain. All the tenants on the
De Ruthven estate are good Ca-
tholics and will vote with us /
know it. All the Derryslaghnagaun
people will come up to a man. Fa-
ther Brady and Father Tim Duffy
will work the northern side of the
county ; Father Quaid and Fa-
ther Ted Walsh will carry the
southern side ; I'll take the Bally-
tore district, and but no details
now; dinner, and then I'm off. We'll
send the 'hard word' round like
wild-fire, and, Miss Mabel, you'll
see real Irish bonfires on the hills
to-morrow night. Tell your friend
to stay where he is, Mr. Hawthorne ;
for with Virgil I may say, Ani-
mum pictura pascit inani. Why, I
feel like a war-horse :

" ' My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray.' "

"What's all this about?" asked
my mother.

2 4

The Home-Rule Candidate.

" Allow me to present to you
the Hon. Frederick Fitzgerald Or-
monde, M.P.," gaily exclaimed Fa-
ther O'Dowd, informing her in a few
words of what had happened and
what was expected to happen.

" God bless my boy !" she falter-
ed, and, bursting into tears, kissed
me as if I had been in my cradle.

It was a moment of fierce inner
glow. I almost tasted the sweets
of victory of victory over Mabel,
for whom, had I consulted my own
self, I would have sacrificed any-
thing everything.

" We haven't a minute to lose,"
exclaimed my Mentor, all ablaze
with excitement. " We shall have
to rush out and fight helter-skelter.
A surprise has been sprung upon
us. Oh ! for one week. My brave
people will be taken at a disadvan-
tage if we be not up and stirring.
Every dexterity will be used to
outwit us, every dodge resorted to,
bribery especially. We must ar-
range committees in every town and
village to sit en permanence until
you are elected. We must have
special messengers by the hun-
dred. Ormonde, you will place all
your horses at my disposal. North,
south, east, and west we must
nail the Home-Rule flag to the
mast. North, south, east, and
west the cry Pro arts et foe is must
go forth. This is our first genuine
election under the ballot. We al-
lowed ourselves to be cozened by
false promises when Mr. Gladstone
sprung his mine last year, but now
the ballot, and free and fearless
voting. No more coercion, no
more intimidation by landlords, no
more bullying or bribing. At last
we have a chance of freeing the
country from the yoke which has
been put upon its neck for centu-
ries, and now we have a chance of
letting its voice be heard and to

pass a verdict on the Act of
Union."

" I do wish Mr. Melton was not
in the field against you!' almost
whispered Mabel as I led her into
dinner.

There was a something in her
tone, like a faint note in melody,
that vibrated through me. What
was it ?

Father O'Dowd would only swal-
low a few mouthfuls of food. " Up,
guards, and at them ! Eh, Mr.
Hawthorne ?"

" The duke never uttered those
words. I can give you exactly
what occurred. When Napoleon
was advancing at the head of the
remnant of his shattered army the
duke"

" Excuse me, my dear sir, but I
have to marshal an army for my
Waterloo. Animum curis ?iunc hue,
nunc dividit illuc this way and
that way my anxious mind is turn-
ing. Ormonde, you'll come over to
me to-morrow, and be prepared to
address a meeting of your consti-
tuents. Don't be later than one
o'clock. And now sans adieuxaM !"
And the worthy priest, buttoning up
his ulster, sprang upon the car.

In vain we implored of him to
stay. In vain I asked to be per-
mitted to accompany him. No.
"I am all aflame," he cried. "1
go to light a fire that will not be
extinguished until the high-sheriff
is compelled to declare a Catholic
and a Home-Ruler the member for
this Orangest of all Orange counties.
I feel like one inspired. Nemo vir
magnus sine aliquo afflalu divino un-
quamfuit" And with this quotation
ringing in our ears Father O'Dowd
sped upon his mission out into the
night.

"An' so yer goin' for to be the
mimber ? Good luck to ye, Masther
Fred darlint !" exclaimed Peter

The Home- Rule Candidate.

O'Brien, who was wild with de-
light at the intelligence, regard-
ing the election as a foregone
conclusion.

"I hope so, Peter."

" For to repale the Union, Masther
Fred?"

" Not quite so fast, Peter."

"Och,murther!" he groaned, with
disappointment delineated in every
feature. " I thought ye wor for tee-
total separation like Dan."

"I'll go as near to it as I can."

" Do,avic ; an' begorr, av ye don't
take the consait out av some av
thim on th r other side, I'm a bo-
neen, no less. Mind the dalin'
thrick, and keep your thumb on the
ace av hearts the card that always
is thrumps."

On the following morning, as I
was preparing for my drive over to
Father O'Dowd's. and endeavoring
to pull my ideas together on the
burning topic of the hour, my mind
being a prey to love, jealousy, pol-
itics, and despair a crushing me-
lange an outside car whirled up
the avenue, and gracefully lounging
upon the back cushion, attired in
the fulness of fashionable travelling
costume, a cigar in his mouth, and
dainty lavender-colored kid gloves
upon his hands, sat, or lay, Mr. Wyn-
wood Melton. I recognized him
even before he came within clear
eye-shot, and, despite my bitter feel-
ing against him, could not help pay-
ing him an involuntary tribute of
admiration.

I knew what brought him to
Kilkenley. It was not to seek my
vote, it was not to visit Mr. Haw-
thorne it was to see Mabel; and
now, with a dull, dead ache at my
heart, I should play host to my
rival in love and my opponent in
the hustings. I hastened down-
stairs and met him in the hall. I
resolved that no one should come

between me and my devoir as a
gentleman.

Melton was a pale, finely-fea-
tured, almost effeminate-looking
young fellow, whose Henri Quatre
beard and thin, dark moustache
set off a round, carefully-groomed
head one of those heads that re-
veal the execution done by double
brushes and hand-mirrors, as a wo-
man's bespeaks the delicate mani-
pulations of the fille de cJiambre.
He was quite pictorial in his get-
up, from a Vandyke collar to black
velveteen coat, knee-breeches, pur-
ple stockings, and shoes with great
strings almost resembling those
coquettish rosettes so much in
vogue with ladies whom nature
has blessed with Lilliputian feet.
He might, but for his soft plaid
woollen ulster, have represented one
of the old portraits of my ancestors
that hung in the dining-room ; and
as he stood thus I could not avoid
contrasting my own homely ap-
pearance with his, and bitterly
flinging the heavy odds into the
scale against myself.

" Mr. Melton ?" I said.

" Yaas," with a drawl and a
bow.

" You are welcome to Kilkenley,"
extending my hand.

"Mr. Ormonde! Ah! glad to
meet you. What a drive I've had,
over such roads and such a vehi-
cle ! Caun't say I like your cars.
Per Bacco ! one's spine gets divid-
ed into sections during the drive.
You've got old Hawthorne here.
I suppose he has bored you to
death. I expected to find this
place like the enchanted wood
everybody asleep, even the prin-
cess."

u Whom you would like to awak-
en as in the fairy tale," I added
bitterly.

" Don't care for kissing. How

The Home-Rule Candidate.

does Miss Hawthorne like this pre-
cious country?"

" I assume she will like it all the
better for your arrival."

"l was going to resent the imper-
tinence, but withheld the burning
retort that rose to my lips.

A self-sufficient smile appeared
as he almost yawned :

"I should hope so."

At this moment Mabel appeared
upon the steps.

"Ah! Mr. Melton," she exclaimed,
a bright, happy flush upon her love-
ly face; "this is a surprise," shak-
ing hands with him.

" Agreeable ?"

" Of course. You have intro-
duced yourself, I see, to Mr. Or-
monde."

" How's the governor ?" not notic-
ing her observation.

" Papa is wonderfully well ; his
trip has agreed with him a merveille.
He will be able to encounter the
late hours of the coming session
without flinching."

"They shau'n't catch me sitting
up, except at the club. You know
what brought me over ?"

"Oh! dear, yes."

" I saw the De Ruthven lot, and,
as I could have been elected with-
out leaving London, I'm doosid
sorry I came away, except," he
added, " for the pleasure of seeing
you."

" Are you quite sure of being re-
turned ?" she asked.

" Rather," with a quiet, self-sat-
isfied smile.

Miss Hawthorne glanced at me.

"You are to be opposed," I said.

" Haw ! haw !" he laughed. " That
for opposition," flinging away his
cigar-butt.

" But I tell you it will be a fierce
fight, Mr. Melton," exclaimed Ma-
bel. "You've got a foeman worthy
of your steel."

" Some cad of a farmer's son or
a briefless Irish barrister. Ireland
wants Englishmen to sit for her
and upon her."

" I am going to oppose you, Mr.
Melton," my heart beating very
fast as I uttered the words.

"Aw!" And extracting an eye-
glass from the folds of his coat, he
deliberately stuck it in his eye
and coolly surveyed me from head
to foot.

I would have knocked him heels
over head, if Miss Hawthorne had
not been present.

" Fire away," he said ; " but, if you
take my advice, you will not run
your head against a stone wall."

" And if you take my advice," I
hotly retorted, " you'll take the
next train en route for London, for
you have come upon a bootless
errand."

"Nous allons voir" with a shrug.

" Yes, we shall see the outcome."

" You don't mean to go on ?"

"To the bitter end."

" The sinews of war are at my
command."

" The sinews of the county are at
mine ; but come," I added, sudden-
ly recollecting my position of host,
"let us talk the coming cam-
paign over a cutlet and a bottle of
champagne."

We entered the house together.
Mr. Hawthorne met us in the hall.

" Glad to see you, Wynwood, al-
though," with a ponderous laugh,
" I find you in the camp of the ene-
my."

As I proceeded cellarwards to
look up the wine I heard Mr. Mel-
ton say : " That cad ; I'll lick him
into a cocked hat."

" You'll eat those words, my fine
fellow," I muttered, " or my name
isn't Ormonde ; and for every sneer
against Ireland you'll have my rid-
ing-whip across your shoulders."

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

I couldn't play the hypocrite, I
couldn't act the Arab, and, while
sharing bread and salt with mine
enemy, plot his downfall as soon as
he quitted my tent ; so, making a
very plausible excuse, I betook
myself to my gay little dog-cart,
and was about to give the mare her
head when Peter O'Brien whisper-
ed to me :

u Isn't that the spalpeen that's
cum over for to thry a fall wild ye,
Masther Fred ?"

" That is Mr. Melton," I replied.

" That's enough. The boys is
waitin' for to ketch him below at
the crass-roads; and faix it's little
he'll be thinkin' av Parlimint if
Teddy Delaney wanst gets a rowl
out av him."

" Peter," I said, " if there is any
insult offered to Mr. Melton while
on my land, I'll take it as to myself,
and I will not contest the county.
I pledge my honor to this."

2 7

bit av a fight

" Share a little
wudn't be amiss."

" I won't have it."

" The pond below is con vaynicnt."

"Silence, sir!"

"Tim Moriarty, the boy that
dhruv him from the station, only
wants the word for to land him in
Brierly'sPool " a great slimy ditch
about half a mile from the gate
lodge.

I'm afraid I swore at my re-
tainer.

" Wirra,wirra ! is there to be no
divarshin at all, at all?" he mutter-
ed to himself as I ordered him to
let go the mare's head.

Miss Hawthorne suddenly appear-
ed upon the steps.

" Bon voyage" she gaily cried.
" Go where glory waits you."

" I am going to lick that cad into
a cocked hat!" I fiercely shouted,
dashing from her presence like a
lightning-bolt.

[TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.]

REGIONALISM VERSUS POLITICAL UNITY IN ITALY.*

MATTERS do not run smoothly
in United Italy. There is a
screw of considerable magnitude
loose in the national machine. It
jerks in its motion, pitches, stag-
gers, and men who affect a know-
ledge of the mechanism of nations
predict for Italy unless the scre\v
adverted to receive proper atten-
tion a dead, disastrous stand-
still. There are fashions in poli-
tics nowadays, as there are in the
styles of dress, just as capricious,
just as irrational, equally expensive
in their own sphere, but uncon-

* Del Regionalismo in Italia Civilta Catto-
lica, Quad. 656.

scionably malicious. It is the fash-
ion, then, in the politics of Italy, to
attribute to the Papacy the only
obstacle to the full enjoyment of
political unity and its consequent
blessings. The deep-rooted anti-
pathy of the Vatican to a nationality
in Italy, its traditional hatred of
new institutions, and its equally
prolonged and powerful influence
over the people who, after all, are
the mainspring of action all this
is adduced by the liberal party in
explanation of the palpable want of
unity in Italy.

The explanation may be satis-
factory to conceited sciolists, espe-

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

cially if a hatred of the Papacy be
one of the component parts of their
moral constitution. Latterly, how-
ever, a veritable enemy to the po-
litical unity of Italy has begun to
assert itself, in a manner so strik-
ing as to alarm even the most
sanguine liberals. Not a spectre
but a startling reality assists at the
deliberations of the Italian legisla-
ture, and, insinuating itself with
deadly effect into every depart-
ment of governmental administra-
tion, produces jealousies, feuds,
and schisms which threaten ulti-
mately to dismember the nation.
This danger is what is called Re-
gionalism.

Solomon's apothegm on the new-
ness of nothing under the sun is
applicable to Regionalism. It is
of ancient birth in Italy, albeit of
recent i manifestation, at least in
its present form. It may be
defined as the interested affec-
tion which an Italian has for the
geographical part of the Peninsula
in which he was born for the
abode of his domestic gods, so to
say, with its surroundings. The
affection must be interested, and of
its very nature aim at effecting the
prevalence of the interests, moral
or material, of his own region over
those of the others. A Platonic
affection for one's own natal region
does not, according to the liberals,
constitute Regionalism ; for, say
they, such an affection merely con-
templates historical rights, and the
love of one's rights is purely Pla-
tonic. Moreover, this affection
should be directed to the region
and not to the city or town of one's
birth. An interested affection for
the latter has its own appellation
already, being known as amore di
campanile, and bears the same rela-
tion to Regionalism as a part to a
whole. But the Regionalism of to-

day, which threatens to produce
fatal consequences in Italy, is re-
ferable to those portions of Italy
which in times past formed sepa-
rate states, or at least notable por-
tions of an independent state,
which, in its history, its traditions,
its genius, its style of speech, and
its interests, differed from the other
states of Italy as, for instance,
Tuscany from Piedmont, the two
Sicilies from Lombardy and Venice,
or even the island of Sicily itself
from continental Sicily, Venice
from Lombardy.

Having explained our terms, we
would remind the reader of the
fact that, when the question of
uniting Italy into one body with
Piedmont at the head was first
mooted, a formidable obstacle at
once presented itself in the shape
of the difficulties arising at once
from the different and almost contra-
dictory elements to be united. It
was argued and with reason, too
that to build up a new state upon
the foundation of new institutions,
and annul disparities which had ex-
isted for centuries, was easier to
plan than to carry through. The
conflict of interests, of local affec-
tions and jealousies, notoriously
characteristic of the Italian states,
was pronounced by the distinguish-
ed statesmen of Italy and Europe a
fatal obstacle, if not to the forma-
tion, at least to the preservation, of
unity. Count Cavour himself was
of the number of those who pro-
posed such a consideration, and, for
his own part, expressed himself per-
fectly satisfied if Lombardy and
Venice were but annexed to Sar-
dinia. But the liberals and sec-
tarians were urged on to the unifi-
cation of Italy by the irresistible
force of Mazzini's mind, and to do
so quickly, even without Venice
and Rome, because the arms of

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

Napoleon III. were at their dis-
posal. A happy opportunity had

one else the majority of the lil )0 -
rals who labored in the construe-
presented itself, and they seized it. tion of the national fabric had very
They obviated the difficulties alieg- little of their own to sacrifice, but

everything to gain all went well,
especially while the novelty of the

ed above by a heroic compact.
Arrogating to themselves the right
of representing the sentiments of
the Italian people at large, and as-
suming the moral personality of the mation of the nation had subsided,
various regions to which they be- people began to perceive that the

political

situation lasted. But when the ex-
citement consequent on the for-

longed, they proclaimed to the
whole world that the all-absorbing
desire of the people was to be unit-
ed in one nation, and that they
sacrificed for ever upon the altar
of their country the interests, tra-
ditions, jealousies, and local affec

much-vaunted political unity of
the country was not real. The
promissory notes of the liberals
touching the eternal sepulture of
provincial differences remained un-
honored. The practical sacrifice
was impossible. It is now more

tions which had hitherto divided than eighteen years since the pro-

,t j i . i '

them, and swore to seek no other
glory for the future but the one
only glory of Italy united.

Cavour resigned himself with so
much tact to the situation that he
seemed to have created it. And

mise was given, and during that
time Venice and Rome have been
added to the kingdom of Italy,
with a view of consolidating for
ever the nationality. But the great
obstacle remains unmoved, ay, and

thus, by assiduous application of avows itself, by the eloquence of

his maxim, that, in order to make
Italy, morality must be put aside, and
of that other, promulgated by Sal-
vagnoli, one cannot govern and tell
the truth, the great undertaking was
accomplished. Two Italics soon
began to exist, the legal and the
real, which, as lacini, a minister of
the Italian Cabinet, wrote, are di-
rectly contradictory to each other.
Legal Italy, the supplanter, con-
quered, and real Italy had to bow
the head and submit to a series of
civil and fiscal persecutions with-
out example in modern history.
But Regionalism was immolated to
unity, and the world lauded the
sacrifice.

Italy is a land of promise, or
rather a promissory land. Promis-
es are given with amazing facility
only to be equalled, however, by
the reluctance with which they are
fulfilled. While it was a question
of sacrificing the interests of some

facts, immovable.

We assert this much on the au-
thority of a member of the Italian
Parliament. In an address to his
constituents, delivered on the pth
of September last, Federico Gabelli
said : " Do differences and divisions
exist in the country ? Yes, great
ones ; and no wonder. We have had
in Italy different histories, different
glories, different sufferings, and dif-
ferent styles of education. We have
ideas, habits, tendencies, and char-
acters, different in different regions.
For many years we were unknown
to one another. The sole fact of
our accomplished unity the living
together, so to speak has revealed
to us the existence of these great
diversities. But the most pro-
found diversity has been consti-
tuted by the material wants of the
different parts of Italy. I do not
take into account the petty desires
of municipalities. I look at the

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

matter very broadly. A real dif-
ference exists between the wants of
the northerners and southerners,
greater still between the demands
of the two parties. There, the
great word is said, the fearful phrase
pronounced a real and profound
disparity between meridionali and
settentrionali (southerners and nor-
therners). But why hide it ? Is it
possible to hide it ? This division
is felt by all, but all are afraid to
declare its existence. They are
afraid (and their fear is honorable,
because inspired by the holy love
of country) to compromise, by the
declaration, the grand fact of the
unity of Italy."

Great was the scandal produced
among the liberals by this de-
claration of Gabelli, and greater
still when he subsequently made
a careful diagnosis of the evil,
and prescribed a remedy noth-
ing less, by the bye, than a con-
federation similar to that proposed
by Pope Pius IX. thirty-one years
ago.

When the first Italian legislature
assembled in Turin it was observ-
ed that nearly all the deputies form-
ed themselves into groups, separate
and divided, not politically in par-
ties, but geographically in regions.
There was the Tuscan group, the
Sicilian group, the Neapolitan
group, and later on the Lombard
and the Venetian groups, which
were the occasion of constant la-
mentations on the part of the Pied-
montese. Then began the general
struggle for power, to the almost
incurable laceration of poor, real
Italy. All the martyrs and confes-
sors of the country clamored for
offices in compensation for their
heroic sufferings. As their number
bordered on the infinite for such a
puny state as Italy, so infinite was
the number of positions created,

and, consequently, infinite was (and
continues to be) the number of pe-
culations. But with masterly tact
the Piedmontese element maintain-
ed the preponderance in power,
and so great was the fury of the
other patriots that they finally,
with one accord, devoted all their
energies to the extermination of
Piedmonteseism* The molestations
and bitternesses which fell to the lot
of Count Cavour in the struggle
that ensued were, in the opinion
of many Piedmontese, among the
causes which hastened his death.
Whenever a new ministry was to
be formed, to the personal rival-
ries which are inseparable from
such an occasion were superadded
the jealousies, the intrigues, and the
pretensions of the different regions.
Every region clamored for the exal-
tation to the ministerial bench of its
own representative, not as the expo-
nent of a political principle, but as
the defenderof some provincial inte-
rest. The Unifa Cattolica, apropos
of this, observes (September 21,
1877): "When it is a question of
forming a cabinet in England, in
France, in Spain, do they take care
to have representatives of the vari-
ous English, French, and Spanish
regions ? Certainly not. Person-
ages are chosen according to their
opinions, not according to the re-
gions from which they come. But
here in Italy a ministry cannot
spring into existence but there
enters at least one Piedmontese,
one Neapolitan, one Lombard, one
Sicilian, one Tuscan. Examine all
our ministries, from 1861 down,
and you will find that they were
formed more on a regional than a
political basis." This is quite true
as regards the past few years. For-
merly, however, as we have already
intimated, the Piedmontese held the
majority in the cabinets, to the un-

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

quenchable ire of the other provin-
cials.

Another cause of jealousy to the
provinces, and the occasion, at
least, of the pre-eminence of the
Piedmontese, was the existence of
the capital at Turin. The Peruzzi-
Minghetti ministry, however, ac-
cording to the convention with Na-
poleon III. of September 14, 1864,
succeeded in having the capital
transferred to Florence. This rous-
ed the hatred of the Piedmontese
against the Tuscans, and was the
cause of some bloody scenes in
Turin. But Lanza and Sella, both
Piedmontese, vindicated their coun-
trymen by bearing the national
lares away from the banks of the
Arno, and enshrining them for ever,
as they thought, on the banks of
the Tiber. Nor did the evil disap-
pear with the annexation of the
Venetian province and the Pontifi-
cal territory. The Venetians con-
stituted another group in Parlia-
ment, and, if the Romans did not
do likewise, it was simply in default
of the necessary elements, consid-
ering the aversion of the Eternal
City and the neighboring provinces
for the invaders. Rome became
what the Baron d'Ondes Reggio
predicted a very Tower of Babel.
The war of interests broke out
afresh and was carried on with re-
doubled fury. The combatants
ranged themselves into two grand
divisions of northerners and south-
erners. The Tuscan group alone
enacted the part of moderator.
The Piedmontese element asserted
its pre-eminence anew in Rome, and
invaded not only every depart-
ment of state, but extended its rul-
ing influence even over municipal
matters. The patriots of meridional
Italy prepared themselves, during
the intervals when a common at-
tack"" against the church did not

withdraw their attention from pro-
vincial feuds, to give battle to the
Piedmontese, whose ascendency was
stoutly maintained by Ponza di San
Martino, Lanza, Sella, and Gene-
ral Cadorna. The language of the
southern papers was in something
like the following tenor : " Here \ve
are at last in Rome ! It is high
time now that the patronage of the
Piedmontese should be suspended,
and a check put upon that political
monopoly which they arrogate to
themselves as a right of conquest.
They gave us a dynasty good.
They also gave us a constitution,
but we mean to perfect it and
adapt it to the demands of pro-
gressing civilization. But in Rome
Italy belongs to the Italians, not to
the Piedmontese. Piedmonteseism
oppresses us. Everything in the
kingdom has a subalpine odor the
organic laws, bureaucratic systems,
fiscal arrangements. The adminis-
trative machine is run entirely by
Piedmontese. The ministers, their
secretaries (with rare exceptions),
the supernumeraries who lackey
these all Piedmontese. The secret
offices are given to Piedmontese, and
the .Piedmontese enjoy the sine-
cures of the secret funds. The
national bank itself is but a trans-
formation of the old subalpine
bank. The army is in the hands
of the Piedmontese, with a Pied-
montese as the Minister of War. In
short, the nerve and fibre of gov-
ernment is Piedmontese. There
must be an end of this !"

It took seven years of labori-
ous intrigues, amalgamations, and
combinations of parties to effect
the downfall of the Piedmontese.
Their obituary notice is dated
March 18, 1876. On the same
day began the reign of the Neapo-
litans, and within the short space
of nineteen months they have

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

so thoroughly disposed of Pied-
monteseism in every branch of civ-
il and military administration that
even the word JBuzzttrri (chest-
nut-roasters), applied seven years
ago by the Romans to their new
masters, has become obsolete.
The Venetian Gabelli has given
us a description of the condition of
affairs at present. In the discourse
alluded to he proposes a league
of the septentrionals. He says:
" There is nothing, gentlemen, that
drives people to an abuse of power
more than the certainty of having
so much of it that there is no dan-
ger of being made responsible for
the abuse. The meridionals are
in this position to-day, because
they are supported therein by the
division of the septentrionals. A
part, and a great part, of our votes
and forces is subordinate to the
votes and forces of the meridion-
als. But is it true that in Parlia-
ment they vote for regional inte-
rests ?" He answers in the affirma-
tive, and adduces a series of amus-
ing yet startling facts to prove his
assertion. He then continues: "I
might go on indefinitely with the
enumeration of facts proving the
existence of the struggle of inte-
rests between the northerners and
the southerners. This struggle is
real and active. Many preaclt
that, even admitting the unfortu-
nate existence of these divisions in
the country, they should be kept
secret, should not be proclaimed
or discussed ; above all, they
should not be considered as a test
in government. What would you
say, gentlemen, of the logic of a
physician who would reason in
this wise : 'I have a patient pros-
trate with typhoid fever. But, as
this disease is very serious, I will
hide it from myself, deny its ex-
istence ; and because this disease

can termirra.te fatally for my pa-
tient I will treat it as a simple in-
flammation of the bowels.' That
physician would be a fool. But
would those rulers be more logical
who, recognizing the existence of
a condition so serious for the coun-
try, would persist in governing
without taking it into account ?
The struggle of interests is an evil.
Let us cure it. But to cure it let
us begin with an exact diagnosis,
and with a recognition that the
evil exists. Without an exact di-
agnosis an efficacious cure would
be a miracle. I am for unity.
But the unity, and even the exist-
ence, of Italy might be threatened
by mistrust in our systems of gov-
ernment, by the ever-increasing
discontent. The country will al-
ways be governed badly, unless
consideration be had for its actual
condition. I am for unity. But
I hold it to be fatal for Italy to
pass through a crisis determined
by the war of northern and south-
ern interests. What the vicissitudes
of this war will be, or who will pre-
vail, no one can foresee. If we
northerners remain united and
form a compact party, our more
advanced civilization, and, let us
speak frankly, our honesty, more
extensive and serious, will ensure
for us a just predominance. If we
continue to be divided, while the
southerners form one phalanx, we
will have to submit to the law of
their interests, to the influence of a
social condition entirely different
from our own."

We have said nothing in refer-
ence to Regionalism of that faction
in the liberal camp which is always
conspiring against the monarchical
unity of Italy, with a view of sub-
stituting a regional confederation
of independent republics ; nothing
of the multitude of liberals who

Regionalism i>s. Political Unity in Italy. ^

are clamoring for administrative Our conclusion does not assum.
decentralization's a restoration, in a more favorable aspect fur the
part, of the independence in ad- unity of Italy if we consider its

passive subject that is to say the
immense number of Italians who
Avere united against their own

ministration which was taken from
the individual regions by political
unity ; nothing of the absolute im-

possibility of having a territorial who never entered into the calcu-

army in Italy, for the reason that latiohs of the demagogues ; who in

Regionalism might assert itself in a deference to the Unity described

more material style, to the immi- above, have been outraged in the

ttent peril of the government. We tenderest affections of the heard

have simply narrated facts furnish- and in the most sacred rights of

ed by the liberals themselves by nature * who have gathered no- oth-

iegal Italy, which assumes to be er fruits from unity than regional,.

the nation. Narration has the force municipal, and domestic impover-'

of demonstration in this instance, ishrrient ; who perceive that, in the

find clearly establishes the fact that name of this unity, their nation is.

Regionalism exists in the very core perverted and their religion vili-

of Italy, nay> rules supreme, regli- fied, and who consequently recog-

lating politics, constituting parties, nize in the government naught but'

biassing every discussion* and an enemy of their purse, their con-

threatening, in the long run, not science, their family, and their li-

only the unity of the nation but
the monarchy personified in the
unity.

This much established, a very
reasonable doubt may be put forth

berty.

From what has been said already
the absurdity and, we will add, the
malice of the accusation that the
Papacy is the only obstacle to the

as to whether the unity of Italy be perfection and enjoyment of poli-

accomplishedj even among the li- tical unity in: Italy become quite

berals, who arrogated to themselves apparent. The most powerful ob-

the right and the faculty to unite stacle to* such unity is not in the

it> spite of the nature, the history, Papacy, but in the very nature of

the traditions, the genius, and the things; it is in the history of ages,,

diverse and contrary interests of in the varied character of the peb-

the Peninsula. That there is a
species of unity we do not ques-

ple, in the contrariety of the mate-
rial and moral interests of the dif-

tion. But it is neither moral nor ferent portions of the country. Let

organic unity, such as forms one
whole, ordained to a living pwr-

liberalism eradicate from its bo-
som the gnawing worm of Region-

pose, founded on the same princi- alism ; let it reconcile opposing

pie, agreeing in its opera' lions-, har-
monious in its members. It is a
mechanical and artificial unity,
without bonds of life, without or-
der in purpose, without concord in
action, without harmony in its parts ;

interests, quiet regional passions,,
which are the seeds of civil war;,
and, having done this much, let it
effect a unity with the real country
Until this much be accomplished,
to charge the Papacy with the ill

in short, it is merely fiscal, not na- success of the national unity is ab-

tional, unity. This is a logical con- surd. It is malicious, also, inas-

dusion, derived entirely from a con- much as it manifestly tends to se-

sideration of legal Italy. parate the people from the Catholic

VOL. XXVII. 3

Regionalism vs. Political Unity in Italy.

Church, making them regard the
spiritual head of the church and
their father in the faith as an ene-
my of their country. Nay, were
the liberals successful in effecting
their daring purpose, which is the
separation of the people from the
see of Peter, then indeed would
the political unity of Italy receive
its death-blow ; then indeed
would the bond which unites the
Italian people be severed, the bond
of one faith, the bond of the only
unity they really can boast of re-
ligious unity. It were well if the
demagogues of Italy bestowed the
necessary consideration upon the
incomparable uniting force of reli-
gion to a people, instead of pro-
moting and hailing with delight
-every measure devised to destroy
it. Since they deem it advisable
>to affect Prussian and Russian ways
and means, why do they not per-
ceive the manifest wisdom of Bis-
marck's measures against the Ca-
tholic Church? measures the fun-
damental purpose of which is not
the extinction of the church, as
imuch as the establishment of a firm
and lasting basis to the unity of
the empire in a uniformity of wor-
ship Protestant, of course. And
with this intent were the Falk laws
promulgated. Russia, too, fully
alive to the importance of a reli-
gious uniformity as the indestruc-
tible basis of political unity, has
peopled Siberia and the squalid
prisons of the .empire with non-con-
formists to 'the so-called Orthodox
creed of the land. Never yet was
there a dynasty which did not find
its main support and perpetuation
in the religious unity of its subjects.
True or false though the religion
may have been, the principle of
support was there. And Italy's
patriots, with the connivance, not
to say the active concurrence, of a

petty provincial dynasty, would per-
petuate unity by sowing religious
discord among the people ; by mak-
ing of a people, one in faith, in
baptism, and actual religious pro-
fession, a discordant, divided mul-
titude of Evangelicals, Calvinists,
Waldensians, Quakers, Presbyte-
rians, and Methodists. The dis-
cord produced in Italy to-day by
Regionalism is a great and, in all
probability, a fatal evil to the unity
of the country. Add the religious
disunion of the people to that caus-
ed by Regionalism, and the result
will be simply chaotic.

The reader may add to these
conclusions : If the Pope came to
terms with Italy, as she now exists,
would not the political unity of the
country improve, not to say re-
ceive its formal perfection, in con-
sequence? We answer, the hy-
pothesis is inadmissible. Waiving
the fact that, as governments are
conceived nowadays, the Pope
cannot be the subject of any one
of them, and that he cannot in
conscience accept terms from the
Italian government without com-
promising rights which he is bound
to maintain though in fact they
be trampled under foot and no
human probability predict their re-
storation it is sufficient for us that
he declares a Non possumus. But
admitting the supposition of a re-
conciliation, of a cession of impre-
scriptible rights, would the confu-
sion which now predominates in
Italy give place to order ? Would
the only beatitude to which Italy
now aspires be realized ? Would
the political unity of the nation be
established for ever ? Would the
war of interests cease ? Would the
interests themselves change their
nature? Would the "more civiliz-
ed " northerners of Italy leave off
increasing their prosperity at the

Among- the Translators.

expense of the southerners, and
these be content with contributing
as taxpayers of the land, not as
rulers? Would Sicilians and Ca-
labrians live enfamille with Vene-
tians and Ligurians? Would Tu-
rin, and Venice, and Modena, and
Parma, and Florence, and Naples
forget that they were once the flour-
ishing capitals of separate, indepen-
dent states, and be beatified in
their present condition, simply the
residence of a prefect, and he a
favorite of an ill-favored ministry?
The glory of being made the ca-
pital of Italy presumably satisfies
Rome. Think you, however, that
the old city is never retrospective?

If the puny provincial cities and
regions, in struggling for their own
regional interests and asserting
their importance, cause people to
yield to dark forebodings, and to re-
peruse and reflect upon the history
of the Italian states, what confusion
could not the mistress of the world
produce, were she to fall back upon
her eighteen centuries of glory as
the centre of Christendom ?

The great obstacle to the enjoy-
ment of political unity in Italy is
not in the Vatican, but in the cha-
racter, genius, history, traditions,
and conflicting interests of the Ital-
ians themselves, and it is called
Regionalism.

AMONG THE TRANSLATORS.

VIRGIL AND HORACE. IV.

IN passages of quiet beauty such
as the first six books are full of the
Odyssey, we may call them, of the
sneid t as the last six are its Iliad
Conington. is almost always happy.
Take, for instance, the picture of the
happy valley in Elysium (book vi.
703) '

*' Meantime, JEneas in the vale

A sheltered forest sees,
Deep woodlands where the evening gale

Goes whispering thro' the trees,
And Lethe river which flows by
Those dwellings of tranquillity.
Nations and tribes in countless ranks
Were crowding to its verdant banks ;
As bees afield in summer clear
Beset the flowerets far and near,
And round the fair white Hlies pour,
The deep hum sounds the champaign o'er."

In such lines, too, Mr. Morris,
judging from his own poetry, should
be at his best; and here again it is
hard to choose between him and
his predecessor :

44 But down amid a hollow dale, meanwhile,

sees
A secret grove, in thicket fair, with murmuring of

the trees,
And Lethe's stream that all along that quiet place

doth wend ;

O'er which there hovered countless folks and peo-
ples without end.
And as when bees, amid the fields in summer-tide

the bright,
Settle on diverse flowery things, and round the

lilies white
Go streaming, so the fields were filled with mighty

murmuring."

Hypercriticism might here point
out as a blemish the use of the
same word " murmuring " to express
the different sounds indicated in
the Latin by the words sonantia
and murmure; these are just the
delicacies to be looked for in Vir-
gil and not to be overlooked by
his translator. Moreover, the line,

" A secret grove, in thicket fair, with murmuring of

the trees,"

asks considerable good-will and

Amon? the Translators.

knowledge of the Latin to make it
sound quite reasonable, and " di-
verse flowery things " we have some
private doubts about. But " hover-
ed " is certainly a better equivalent
for " volabant " than "crowded,"
which gives no hint of the shadowy,
unsubstantial nature of these dwell-
ers in the realms of Dis aniincz,
quibus altera fato corpora debcntur :

" La, les peuples futurs sont des ombres Ig6res,"

as Delille puts it by an anticipative
paraphrase. Here Mr. Cranch
may meet his antagonists on some-
what better terms, though still we
seem to miss in his lines the poeti-
cal flavor, which he rarely catches
throughout :

" Meanwhile, ^Eneas in a valley deep
Sees a secluded grove, with rustling leaves
And branches ; there the river Lethe glides
Past many a tranquil home ; and round about
Innumerable tribes and nations flit.
As in the meadows in the summer-time
The bees besiege the various flowers, and swarm
About the snow-white lilies; and the field
Is filled with murmurings soft."

The pathos, too, of his author
that exquisite pathos of Virgil
which pervades the ^Eneid like a
perfume, which one feels not more
in the eloquent compression of the
En Priamus wherewith ^neas re-
cognizes his country's painted woes
on the walls of the Carthaginian
temple, or the passionate heart-
break of the

" O patria, o divum domus, Ilium, et incluta bello
Moenia Dardanidum, 1 '

or the subtle, touching beauty of
the epitaph on y^Eolus, scarcely to
be read even now without a quiver
of the eyelids :

" Domus alta sub Ida,
Lyrnessi domus alta, solo Laurente sepulcrum,"

than in the

" Vivite felices, quibus est fortuna peracta
Jam sua,"

of the farewell to Helenus, or the

manly fortitude of the hero's ad-
monition to his son : x

" Disce, puer, virtutem ex me verumque labo'rem,
Fortunam ex aliis "

the pathos of the sEneid Prof.
Conington has not been unsuccessful
in preserving, as we might show in
more quotations than we have room
for. But for the expression of sub-
limity or intense emotion the oc-
tosyllabic verse is scarcely so apt ;
and in striving to do justice to
the tragic grandeur of the second
book, the passionate despair of the
fourth, and the elevated majesty
of the sixth, or even the splendid
rhetoric of Juno and Turnus in the
tenth and eleventh, Prof. Coning-
ton must often " have been made
sensible," as he says in his preface,
"of the profound difference be-
tween the poetry of Scott and the
poetry of Virgil." In the battle-
scenes, however, he takes his full re-
venge, and in his nimble-footed verse
Turnus falls on with a fire and fury,
or swift Camilla scours the plain
with a grace and lightness, which
most of his competitors toil after
in vain. And in rendering those
epigrammatic turns of phrase of
which the JEneid is full, and which
are so characteristic a feature of
Virgil's style, we know of no version
which surpasses his. Take such
examples as these :

' Una salus victis nullara sperare salutem '' :

11 No safety can the vanquished find
Till hope of safety be resigned " ;

" Mixtoque insania luctu
Et furiis agitatus amor et conscia virtus " :

11 A warrior's pride, a father's pain,
In mingled madness glow " ;

"Sed neque currentem se nee cognpscit euntem
Tollentemve manu saxumque immane mover.-
tem "

(how well in the heavy move-
ment of the last line the sound
echoes the sense ! a beauty which
the translator certainly misses) :

Among the Translators.

11 Running, he knew not that he ran :
Nor, throwing, that he threw " ;

the description of Turnus' horses
in book xii. :

" Qui candore nives anteirent, cursibus auras " :

" To match the whiteness of the snow,
The swiftness of the breeze " ;

or Corcebus' appeal to his com-
rades in book ii. :

lk Dolus an virtus, quis in hoste requirat?"

" Who questions, when with foes we deal,
If craft or courage guides the steel ?"

Have we not here all needful
fidelity united to the air of genuine
poetry ? Compare Mr. Cranch's
versions of the first and last of these
examples :

and

k< The only safety of the vanquished is
To hope for none" ;

" Whether we make use
Of stratagem or valor who inquires
In dealing with an enemy ?"

If ./^Eneas and Coroebus had ha-
rangued their fellow-Trojans in
this wise, we doubt if they would
have helped them so gallantly to
make some of the finest poetry in
the jEneid. There is no trumpet
in such lines as these.

Nevertheless, in spite of many sus-
picious flavors of prose in his ver-
sion, Mr. Cranch, we suppose, is to
be called a poet. The Boston muses
are liberal to their votaries, and do
not ask that a man shall be Shak-
spere or Milton before crowning
him with all their laurels. At least,
we may fairly say that he is a gen-
tleman of accomplishments and
we should be tempted to add cul-
ture, the proper term, we believe,
for a person " in society " who
knows all the things that are pro-
per for " persons in society " to
know, were it not that glib dilet-
tanteism and newspaper sciolists
have well-nigh sent that much-
abused word into the Coventry
of cant. Mr. Cranch is, moreover,

a writer of much poetic taste and
no little poetic faculty, as he has
shown in many pleasant essays in
many varieties of metre. Among
the kinds of metre which he can
write, however, his version of the
jEneid has not convinced us that
blank-verse is included ; or, to put
it more agreeably, if not more just-
ly, we are not persuaded that the
kind of blank-verse he writes is
best fitted to do justice to Virgil.

So much we are led to say, be-
cause in his preface Mr. Cranch
hints that only a poet can or should
attempt to translate the ^Eneid, and
asserts that only in blank-verse can
it be fitly translated at all. Into
that interminable controversy as to
whether any but a poet can trans-
late a poet, or whether rhyme is a
curb or a spur, a help or a hin-
drance, to the judicious translator
who knows how to follow its in-
spiration, we do not propose to
enter. But Mr. Cranch, in declar-
ing against the rhymed couplet of
Dryden and his followers, delivers
himself in a way which to us seems
to imply a curious misconception
of Virgil's manner, and leads us to
anticipate on the threshold one of
the points in which Mr. Cranch's
version most strikingly fails. "The
incessantly-recurrent rhyme," he
says, '" gives an appearance of anti-
thesis which disturbs the very sim-
plicity and directness of the ori-
ginal." Adjectives are apt to be
used somewhat vaguely or, as our
Western friends would say in their
delightful, breezy idiom, "to be
slung about with a looseness " in
speaking of the style of ancient
writers, of which so few of us nowa-
days know enough to be justified in
speaking at all. We have no de-
sire to meddle more than is need-
ful with these dangerous epithets,
double-edged weapons as they are.

Among the Translators,

But unless we have read Virgil
quite amiss, he is especially fond
of antithesis, which Mr. Cranch
seems to think he is not ; and he
is not especially simple or direct,
which Mr. Cranch seems to think
he is. Not that he cannot be, as
in truth he often is, both simple
and direct; but that simplicity and
directness are not the features of
his style which we should select to
characterize it, as we should select
them, for example, to characterize
the style of Homer. Whatever
simplicity Virgil has belongs, we
think, to the general conception
and conduct of his story, by no
means to the manner of his telling
it, to the general quality of his
thought or style. What directness
he has belongs to the general move-
ment of his verse and the necessi-
ties of epic composition, and is in
spite of a tendency to dwell curi-
ously on incidents not in the track
of his narrative, to turn, as it were,
from his epic path and linger over
wayside flowers of rhetoric or sen-
timent a tendency illustrated by
that subtlety of allusion which all
his critics have remarked, and the
habit of hinting at two or three
modes of expression while employ-
ing one. These characteristics of
his poetry would naturally have re-
sulted from the quality of his gen-
ius the genius of taste the Abbe
Delille calls it ; he was the first of the
racinien poets, says Sainte-Beuve *
and the character of his time. The
age he wrote for was one of ex-
treme literary and social refine-
ment, of keen philosophical specu-
lation ; the Latin he wrote in was
already a literary language as
much so as the French of Racine
or the English of Pope. The age

* Cf. what Joubert says of Racine : that " his ge-
nius, too, lay in his taste," and that he is " the
Virgil of the ignorant." _

of Augustus, in many points, was
strikingly like that of Louis XIV.
in France and of Charles II. or,
still closer, of Queen Anne in Eng-
land, as has been more than once
pointed out. Sainte-Beuve, with his
usual insight, has seized upon this
resemblance to explain why Virgil,
in the account of the shipwreck in
the first book (vv. 81 seq.), which
is an ingenious cento from the
Iliad and Odyssey t should have
dropped two of Homer's most strik-
ing similes : that the pilot, struck
by the falling mast, went over-
board "like a diver," and that the
scattered swimmers rari nantes in
gurgite vasto were borne like sea-
birds on the wave. Virgil omits
these images, says the French critic,
just because they are so salient, so
life-like, so frank and real. " Com-
parisons of that sort the age of
Augustus, like the age of Louis
XIV., rather eschewed. They were
by no means to the taste of French-
men in the days of Saint-Evremond
and Segrais (I use extreme terms
purposely) men of society, of the
drawing-room, nice scholars who
had been often in the Hotel Ram-
bouillet but little at sea, and to
whom divers and sea-birds were
unfamiliar sights. The Frenchman
of that time preferred general de-
scriptions to images too minutely
particularized, and so, too, in a mea-
sure, did the Roman of the time
of Augustus and the circle of Mae-
cenas. Maecenas is not so far,
either in taste or philosophy, from
Saint-Evremond."

With some reservations, much the
same thing applies to the -ages of
Dryden and of Pope to Pope's
age and to Pope himself more
strictly, perhaps, than to Dryden or
his time ; so that one is half inclin-
ed to think it a caprice of literary
destiny that Pope should have been

Among the Translators.

set to translate Homer, and Dryden
Virgil, rather than the reverse.
Not that the result would have been
a better Homer, if we may judge
from Dryden's sample work in the
first book of the Iliad ; a better
Homer than Pope's was perhaps
not to be looked for in an age
which in its poetry thought it fine
to call a spade about which it was
apt to be only too plain-spoken in
free fireside prose an agricultural
implement, and the bucolic person
who wielded it a swain. Pope's fa-
mous ironical essay in the Guardian
on his own and Ambrose Phillips'
pastorals is a curious illustration of
the then passion for putting Nature
into hoops and periwig. Phillips,
in a dim, blundering way, is nearer
right with his Cecilias and Rogers,
who talk at least like ploughmen
and milkmaids, than Pope with his
gentle Delias and sprightly Sylvias,
who converse like masquerading
duchesses ; but as all the world hap-
pened to be masquerading, the
laugh was with Pope.

Yet, as between the Greek and
Roman poet, it should seem that the
former ought to have been more
congenial to Dryden, and the latter
to Pope. In many of the points
where Pope was farthest from Ho-
mer he was nearest to Virgil not
least in his love of antithesis, his epi-
gram and point, his brilliant rhetoric,
the studied elegance, nay, the arti-
fice, of his style. Even in his most
didactic vein he would scarcely
have been so far from Virgil as in
his most epic strain he was from
Homer. Virgil is not averse to a
bit of sermonizing sub rosa ; he
writes with a moral ; his ^Eneas is
a sort of fighting parson born before
his time. One cannot help feeling,
too, in his most impassioned mo-
ments, that he is writing with his
eye on his style, as Pope always is,

as we can never fancy Homer do-
ing. Is the rhetorical artifice any
less plain in

"O dolor atque decus magnum rediture parent!"

than in

u Daphne, our grief, our glory, now no more " ?

Is the antithesis less pointed in

' Qui candore nives anteirent, cursibus auras "

than in

" Sees God in clouds, and hear.-, him in the wind" ?

There are hardly more lines of the
kind in Pope than in the &neid.

When, therefore, Mr. Cranch tells
us that he has taken blank-verse
rather than the rhymed couplet in
order to avoid the appearance of
antithesis, and to secure the clear
simplicity and directness of his
original, he shows us where to look
for some of his failures. His sim-
plicity is too often baldness, his di-
rectness not seldom prose, and to
the pointedness of the Latin he
does much less than ample justice.
His blank-verse seems to us mono-
tonous in its modulation and is not
always correct. Lines like the fol-
lowing occur too often :

11 Thou seekest counsel, gracious sovereign,
In matters which to none of us are dark
Nor needing our voices. All must own
They know what best concerns the public good,
Yet hesitate to speak."

Indeed, we must confess that
we are at a loss to know what
Mr. Cranch means by saying : " I
am far from pretending that my
versification may not frequently
fail to convey the movement of the
Latin lines to the ear of those to
whom they are familiar." If he
means that his versification often,
or even sometimes, or at all, con-
veys the movement of the Latin
lines to his own ear, then his ear
must be as curiously constructed
as the " arrected ears " he bestows

Among the Translators.

on ^Eneas in the famous shepherd
simile in the second book.*

But it is ungracious to linger on
faults which we have only dwelt on
because they seemed to flow from
what we must take to be a mis-
conception on the part of Mr.
Cranch of the true spirit of his au-
thor. His version has certainly the
merit of fidelity to the sense of the
original, though this, it seems to us,
is sometimes bought by a sacrifice
of the spirit. His verse is, for the
most part, what he claims it to
be, smooth, flowing, and compact,
though it does not recall to us, as to
him, the best models of blank-verse,
and he does not sin, as one other of
our translators does, against that
"supreme elegance" which is Vir-
gil's chief fascination. We find him
best in the least essentially poetic
passages, which is, perhaps, not so
bad a sign as it appears. The
speech of Juno in the tenth book is
no unfavorable specimen of his
best style :

**"... Then, stung with rage,
The royal Juno spake : ' Wherefore dost thou
Force me to break my silence deep, and thus
Proclaim in words my secret sorrow ? Who
Of mortals or of gods ever constrained
JEneas to pursue these wars, and face
The Latian monarch as an enemy?
Led by the fates, he came to Italy ;
Be it so : Cassandra's raving prophecies
Impelled him. Was it we who counselled him
To leave his camp and to the winds commit
His life? or to a boy entrust his life
And the chief conduct of the war? or seek
A Tuscan league ? or stir up tribes at peace ?
What gods, what unrelenting power of mine,
Compelled him to this fraud ? What part in this
Had Juno or had Iris, sent from heaven?
A great indignity it is, forsooth,
That the Italians should surround with flames
Your new and rising Troy, and that their chief,
Turnus, should on his native land maintain
His own, whose ancestor Pilumnus was,
Whose mother was the nymph Venetia.
What is it for the Trojans to assail
The Latins with their firebrands, and subdue
The alien fields and bear away their spoils ?
Choose their wives' fathers, and our plighted brides

* " And stand and listen with arrected ears "
atque arrect/s auribus adsto. We may add that
to our mind Simmons' version of this simile, which
we regret net to have space to quote, is one of the
very best.

Tear from our breasts? sue with their hands for

peace,

Yet hang up arms upon their ships ? Thy power
May rescue ./Eneas from the Greeks, and show
In place of a live man an empty cloud ;
Or change his ships into so many nymphs.
Is it a crime for us to have helped somewhat
The Rutuli against him ? Ignorant
And absent, as thou sayst, ./Eneas is ;
Absent and ignorant, then, let him be.
Thou hast thy Paphos, thy Idalium too,
And lofty seat Cythera. Why, then, try
These rugged hearts, a city big with tears ?
Do we attempt to overturn your loose,
Unstable Phrygian state ? Is it we or he
Who exposed the wretched Trojans to the Greeks ?
Who was the cause that Europe rose in arms
With Asia, or who broke an ancient league
By a perfidious theft ? Did I command
When the Dardanian adulterer
Did violence to Sparta ? Or did I
Supply him weapons and foment the war
By lust ? Thou shouldst have then had fear for

those

Upon thy side ; but now too late thou bring'st
Idle reproaches and unjust complaints."

In rendering the phrase fovive
cupidine bello (" or battles flame with
passion fanned," says Conington)
Delille has a characteristic touch
almost worthy of Segrais :

" Me vit-on allumer, pour embraser les terres

Au flambeau de 1'amour les torches de la guerre."

In the speech of Turnus in the
eleventh book the Trojans become
" brigands " and " barbarous assas-
sins," quite as if the Rutuli chief
were a deputy of the Left Centre
addressing his friends on the Right.
If the good abbe had written a
few years later he would no doubt
have made them Communists. But
his speech of Juno, though rather
free, has many fine touches; and, in-
deed, the French seems to hit off
the women's part of the sEneid
better than our English. Thus, the
dumb rage with which Juno must
have listened to Venus is well hint-
ed in the line,

" Junon muette e*coute aupres de son epoux," '

though it is by no means so literal
as Cranch 's.

Of the three translators of Vir-
gil we are now considering, Mr.
Morris certainly brought to his
task the greatest natural and ac-

Among the Translators.

quired gifts. Nay, had we been
asked from the ranks of living Eng-
lish writers to pick out the one
who could give us Virgil most fitly,
with least loss of majesty or beauty,
in an English dress, we think we
should have named the author of
Jason and the Earthly Paradise.
For M.r. Morris is not only a poet
a poet of very nearly the first order ;
whereas Mr. Cranch, we are con-
strained to say in the teeth of the
Boston muses, is hardly more than
a poet by brevet he is also a clas-
sical scholar who, in point of gene-
ral acquirements at least, is a rival
whom even Prof. Conington would
respect. Since the time of Dryden,
and not excepting him, we know of
no English poet unless, perhaps,
Pope and the present laureate
whose natural genius should seem
to have fitted him so well as Mr.
Morris to interpret the sEneid.
His own poetry shows many of the
most distinctive qualities of Virgil's
verse : its elegance, its pathos, its
pregnant allusiveness, above all the
pensive grace, the under-note of
tender sadness, that runs through
all the strain of the ^Eneid, the
underlying motif of its theme.
And though the form of narrative
verse, in which Mr. Morris has
chiefly exercised his powers, is
sufficiently remote in tone and
spirit from the tone and spirit
of epic narrative, yet here and
there, as in passages of Jason and
of the Lovers of Gudrun^ he has
come as near to striking the true
epic note as any modern poet we
recall, unless it be Mr. Matthew
Arnold in his admirable and touch-
ing fragment of Sohrab and Rustum.
Add to this his minute and well-
digested knowledge of classic my-
thology and legend, and his rare
mastery of the Saxon and Romance
elements of the language, in which

so much of its tear-compelling
power resides what Joubert might
have called les entrailles ties mots
his possession of the secret,
hard to learn, of the sweetness of
short and simple words,* and we
had every reason to expect from
Mr. Morris a version of the jEneid
which should be in the highest
degree original, elegant, and fresh,
which should even take rank as
the best English translation of Vir-
gil's poem that had yet appeared.
That pre-eminence, indeed, has by
many English critics been assigned
to it ; -but to their verdict we can-
not assent.

Fresh and original this version
certainly is ; for it is altogether un-
like any that has preceded it, in
conception, in method, in treatment,
we might almost say in metre,
since Mr. Morris* long Alexan-
drines are, in metrical effect, no
more the Alexandrines of Phaer
than those of Chapman. Elegant
it is, too, so far as regards artistic
workmanship and finish ; that every-
thing that Mr. Morris sets his hand
to is sure to have. But it is not
the elegance of Virgil; it is not
even the elegance of the Earthly
Paradise. The final grace of pro-
portion and fitness it has not, and
in spite of many and singular beau-
ties of beauties which scarcely any
living English writer that we know
of ; except Mr. Morris, could give
us it is not to us, upon the whole,
a satisfactory version. Nay, it is
most unsatisfactory, and it is so
because of the two qualities which
should otherwise have made
chief charm its freshness and Us
originality; because to the attain-
ment of these Mr. Morris seems to
us to have sacrificed the most im-

* Dr. Johnson never learned it. " His heroic
lines," he said of Cowley, k 'are often formed
monosyllables ; but yet they are often sweet and

Among the Translators.

portant quality of all in a transla-
tion fidelity to the spirit of his
author.

We need go no farther than the
title-page to read the story of his
design and, as we incline to hold,
his failure. " The JEneids of Vir-
gil done into English verse " is what
he offers us, and the affectation of
the title runs through the perform-
ance and mars it. If from the re-
sult we may derive the intent, Mr.
Morris set out to produce such a
version of the ALneid as might have
been written anywhere between the
time of Chaucer and Phaer, had
any poet then lived who joined to
the simplicity and freshness of his
own age the culture and self-con-
sciousness of ours. At least, this
is the only way we can account for
Mr. Morris' choice of the peculiar
style in which he has seen fit to
couch, we might almost say to
smother, his version a style which
is not, indeed, the style of Chaucer,
or of Phaer, or of Chapman (to
whom it has been rashly referred
by an English critic in the Satur-
day Review], or, for the matter of
that, of any other English author
we are acquainted with, living or
dead ; but which is nevertheless
plainly inspired by the same effort
in the direction of medievalism
and the earlier manner that has
borne such pleasant fruit in the
author's former productions. But
the effort is here carried, it seems
to us, to " a wasteful and ridiculous
excess," and is, besides, quite out of
place in a translation where the
writer is not free to form his own
manner, but is bound to the manner
of his original; unless, indeed, Mr.
Morris finds in the style of Virgil
the same effect of quaintness and
antiquity which he has striven but
too successfully to give his transla-
tion, and that he is too good a

scholar to permit us to believe.
Virgil's style was 'that of his age,
and his unfrequent archaisms, such
as faoco for fecero, aulai for aulce,
and the like, can scarcely have pro-
duced on the reader of the Augus-
tan era any stronger impression of
quaintness than such poetical forms
as "spake" and " drave " and
" brake " produce on us when we
meet them in English poetry to-
day. We must, therefore, assume
that Mr. Morris aimed at some
such reproduction of the literary
manner of a past age as Thackeray
gives us in Esmond, or Balzac, with
still greater ingenuity but much
worse art, in the Contes Drolatiques.
This, and a resolve to use only
Saxon words as far as possible a
right idea in the main, perhaps, for
translation from the Latin, certainly
a most interesting and instructive
one and (a less useful idea) to say
nothing in the common way which
could at all be said out of the com-
mon, seem to have been his con-
trolling influences. To these he
has subordinated all else but verbal
fidelity, and the result is a queer
composite production of a strong
mediaeval flavor a romanticized
&neid which one of the seekers
after the Earthly Paradise might
have told his comrades

" Under the lime-trees 1 shade
By some sweet stream that knows not of the sea,"

but which, except for fidelity to its
meaning, seems to us hardly nearer
being Virgil's JEneid than Pope's
Iliad was to being Homer's. Close
it certainly is ; we may say mar-
vellously close. Indeed, so far as
we have been able to collate, it
surpasses in this respect all pre-
vious rhymed versions, even Con-
ington's, and falls but little below
any of those in blank-verse. Not
only does it render the Latin line

Among the Translators.

for line no trifling task, even for
the Alexandrine, with its unvary-
ing fourteen syllables against the
average fifteen of the hexameter
but not seldom word for word.
Moreover, notwithstanding its ex-
actness, it reads as smoothly and as
spiritedly as an original poem ; it is
everywhere set off with those ver-
bal graces of which Mr. Morris is
a master, and the metre, which has
many merits for the purpose, is
throughout handled with admirable
skill. Wherein and how, then,
does it fail of giving us Virgil ?

Because, we answer, not only is
Virgil's tone his coloring, his lo-
cal atmosphere conspicuously ab-
sent from Mr. Morris' translation,
not only is the tone of the latter as
unlike the tone of the &neid as
can well be, but it is even carefully,
studiously, nay, laboriously, removed
from it. It may be taken as a rule
in translation that any word is out
of piece which violently disturbs
the associations that belong to the
original, the train of ideas raised
by the original in the reader's mind.
For instance, when Mr. Theodore
Martin makes use of the word
"madrigal" in his translation of
the Carmen Amcebceum of Horace,
we somehow feel that he has struck
a false note ; we are sensible of a
discord. The word to the English
reader brings up associations wholly
foreign to Horace and his time,
turns the thoughts of the English
reader into a widely different track,
and dispels the Horatian effect.
Mr. Morris not only does this in
single words, but his very design is
based on doing it as often as he
can ; his entire vocabulary is care-
fully selected with a view to doing
it uniformly throughout his work.
From the stately towers of Ilium,
city of the gods, the arces Pcrga-
VKCZ and incluta bello mania Dardan-

idum; from the splendid temples of
Carthage; from the fertile plains of
Hesperia, the royal city of Lauren-
turn, and the mighty hundred-pil-
lared palace of Picus ; from the
Ausonian battle-fields, ringing with
the clatter of chariots, the clang of
sword on helm and spear on buck-
ler, the shouts and shocks of the
contending heroes from all the
scenes and characters so familiar
to us in the Virgilian story, Mr.
Morris ushers us into a strange,
remote, wild Westland, where all
the famous doings we thought we
knew so well are transformed in
the most grotesque fashion. It is
a land of "steads" and "firths,"
of "meres" and " leas " and "fells,"
he takes us into, inhabited not by
a people but by "a folk,' 1 who are
not named but "hight"; who dwell
in "garths " and " burgs" and wor-
ship " very godheads " in " fanes " ;
who never by any chance go any-
where, but either " wend "or "fare"
when they are not engaged in
" flitting " a mysterious kind of
locomotion which they sometimes
achieve by means of " wains "
and who hold converse among
themselves not in words but in
" speech-lore," which they at
times condescend to speak, but very
much prefer, when the rhyme will
give them the ghost of a chance,
"to waft" through "tooth-hedge"
(ore locutus}. In this mysterious
region are neither times nor num-
bers, but only " tales " and " tides ";
what would be mere tillers of the
soil (agricolce] in Virgil are here be-
come " acre-biders " or " field-folk,"
who for cattle have " merry, whole-
some herds of neat" (Iteta bourn ar-
menta), and for horses "war-threat-
ening herd-beasts." Here things
are rarely carried, but, like the
" speech-lore " above spoken of, are
"wafted" whenever humanly possi-

Among the Translators.

ble, and are never done or made when
they can by any means be " dight."
Here we are puzzled to recognize
our old friends, the Muses, under
the disguise of "Song-maids " ; we
fairly cut those amiable sisters,
the Furies, when they areintroduced
to us as the " Well-willers " ; and
of the heroes who roar and ruffle
so gallantly through the battle-
fields of \.\\tALneid we have scarce-
ly a glimpse, but instead a " tale "
of " lads of war," " begirded " with
" war-gear " and led by " Dukes of
man," who are for ever fallingon and
smiting or being smitten by a "sort
of fellows " dight in "war- weeds,"
who fare around in " war-wains "and
" deal out iron-bane " (dant funera
ferro] with "shot-spears" or "wea-
pon-smiths" and "wound-smiths "in-
stead of simple javelins and swords.
Following Mr. Morris' lead, in
short, we find ourselves in a land
where Virgil would be as much at
home as he would in Asgard or
Valhalla, or as the hero Beowulf
might be in Elysium. It is a plea-
sant land enough in its way, and
the folk are entertaining folk, but
we feel that we have left \htALneid
behind us.

It is far from our wish or aim to
set Mr. Morns' work in an un-
worthy or ridiculous light. Our
respect for him is too great, our
admiration too sincere, to treat any
performance of his lightly. But
some such impression as that we
have given above is the chief one
left on our mind by reading his
jEneids. We are no longer in Italy
but in Norseland, or, if in Italy, an
Italy after the Gothic irruption ;
yEneas and Turnus, Pallas and
Lausus, fortisque Gygas fortisque
Cloanthus, are no longer Trojans
or Rutules, but Norse jarls and vi-
kings. They bear their Latin
names, but that is all that is Latin

about them : the hand is the hand
of Esau, but the voice is the voice
of Jacob. What associations con-
nect themselves in the mind of the
English reader with such words as
" garth " and " burg " and " firth " ?
Are they not as unlike as possible
to any that belong to Virgil ? Do
they not disturb and trouble, even
totally obscure, the effect the Eng-
lish reader habitually derives from
Virgil these incongruous words
dropped into the clear current of
the poet's manner as a stone flung
into a limpid pool may trouble and
obscure it? What is there in com-
mon between Morris' " lads of war
in vain beleaguered " and Virgil's
neqiiidquam obsess a ju vent us ? be-
tween Morris' " very Duke of
man" and Virgil's ipsis ductoribus?
(v. 249). What impression is the
English reader apt to get from
phrases like " flitting by in wain "?
It is certainly not that of a hero
rushing to battle, but, if any and
we are not sure that upon our own
mind any very tangible impression
is left at all rather of a bucolic
ghost disappearing somewhere in a
spectral hay-cart. To say Car-
thage is to be " Lady of all lands"
is surely to produce an utterly
different effect from that of dea
gentibus esse (i. 17) ; and they must
have shrewder eyes than ours who
can find in such lines as

" Lo ! what was there to heave aloft in fashioning
of Rome,''

' Those fed on good hap all things may because
they deem they may,"

anything more than the shell of
Virgil's

lk Tantae molis erot Romanam condere gentem "

or,

u Hos successus alit ; possunt quia posse videntur,"'

where the pretence of verbal
fidelity only makes the verbal af-

Among the Translators.

fectation more annoy in gly weak.
These ever-recurring eccentricities
of phrase tease the reader and
spoil half his enjoyment. In a
translator whose daily speech was
of " trowing " instead of " trusting,"
of '* tale " for number or " sort "
for company, of "wending" and
" wafting," and " folk " in the sin-
gular, and who used " very " ra-
ther profusely, and on slight pro-
vocation, as an adjective, and
"feared" and "learned" as tran-
sitive verbs, and agreed with some
modern great men in thinking
grammar generally a bore, such
lines as

" O Palinure, that troived the skies and soft seas
overmuch";

" These tidings hard for us to trow unto our ears do
win";

" In all thou needest toil herein, from me the deed
should ivend " ',

A hundred more, and youths withal of age and
tale the same ";

' : There with his hand he maketh sign and mighty
speech he wafts" 1 ;

"' From the open gates another sort is come ";

" And her much folk of Latin land were fain enow
to wed";

" Hard strive the /"<?/. in smiting sea, and oar-blades
brush the main ";

* The straits besprent with many a./W& v ;

" To Helenus hia very thrall me very thrall gave
o'er";

1 ' So with their weapons every show of very fight
they stir";

" But" fearn me now who fain the sooth would
wot";

11 About me senseless, throughly feared with mar-
vels grim and great ";

" And many a saying furthermore of God-loved seers

of old
Fears her with dreadful memories ';

' N'or was he ivirser than himself in such a pinch
bestead "

such lines in a translator ^ to
whom this dialect was still a living
language would not seem unnatu-
ral. They would be simply the
expression of the effect made by
Virgil on the mind of that age, and

so far, since every age has its
own idiom, they would not necessa-
rily be un-Virgilian at all.
such extraordinary phrases as

"An ash . . .

Kound which, sore smitten by the steel, the acre-
Aiders throng,
And strive in speeding of the axe, 1 '

for

" Ornum

Cum ferro accisam crebrisque bipennibus instant
Eruere agficoke certatim ";

"When Jove, a-looking down
From highest lift on sail-skimmed sea, and lands

that round it lie,
And shores and many folk about in topmost burg of

sky,
Stood still,"

for

" Cum Jupiter, aethere summo
Despiciens mare velivolum terrasque jacentes
Litoraque et latos populos, sic vertice coeli
Constitit";

" An ancient mighty rock, indeed, which lay upon

the lea,
Set for a landmark, judge and end of acre-strife

to be"

for

" Saxtim antiquum, irtgens, campo quod forte jaec-

bat,
Limes agro positus, litem lit discerrieret arvis ";

or,

" No footstrife but the armed hand must doom be-
twixt us twain, 11

for

" Non cursU, certandum ssevis est comminus ar'

mis "

such phrases as these, if to any
translator at any time they could
have seemed a natural way of say-
ing things, would not then, in such
a translator's version, have struck
us with more than the passing and
not unpleasant sense of quaintness
which is part of the charm we find
in the diction of a past age when
used by its lawful owners. But
when a poet of the nineteenth cen-
tury sacrilegiously invades the
tomb and seizes upon this cast-
off and moth-eaten verbal bravery
of buried ages to bedeck himself
withal, it is 'much as if he should
come to make his bow in a modern

4 6

Among the Translators.

drawing-room arrayed in the con-
ventional dress-coat, Elizabethan
ruff and trunks, Wellington boots,
and a Vandyke hat. The novelty
might please for a moment, but
the incongruity must offend in the
end. In the very time which Mr.
Morris so much admires they
knew this to be false art. " That
same framing of his stile to an old
rusticke language," says Sir Philip
Sidney in his Apologie for Poesie,
speaking of The Shepherd's Calen-
dar, " I dare not alowe, since nei-
ther Theocritus in Greeke, Virgile
in Latin, nor Sannazar in Italian
did affect it."

Still worse is it when our ama-
teur of second-hand finery, the
bric-a-brac of language, selects
such a poet as Virgil Virgil, whose
name is a synonym for supreme,
for perfect elegance, whose " taste
was his genius " as a lay figure
to drape with these shreds and tat-
ters of an obsolete, fantastic ver-
biage, "mouldy-dull as Eld her-
self" to quote and illustrate at
once from Mr. Morris* and smell-
ing of the grave. This persistence
in going out of the way to hunt for
archaisms at once to repeat a
word which best hits our own feel-
ing teases the reader and dis-
tracts him. We seem to feel Mr.
Morris amiably tugging our coat-
sleeve at every turn to point out
this or that fresh eccentricity of
language. We fancy we see him
chuckling and rubbing his hands
gleefully here and there over the
discovery of some more than usu-
ally exasperating way of violat-
ing the usages of modern speech.
So vexed and harassed, it is impos-
sible to get much taste of the
JEneid ; through this word-jug-

* " Eld the mouldy-dull, and empty of all sooth, 1 '
is Mr. Morris 1 equivalent for " verique effeta se-
nzctus" sEn. vii. 439.

glery we catch such glimpses of it
as of the painted scene a conjurer
has set behind him to throw his
tricks into relief.

Of a piece with this laborious
renaissance of a forgotten tongue
are the studied mispronunciations,
such as ^Eneas for tineas and Era-
to for Erato :

" So did the Father ^nSas, with all at stretch to
hear";

"To aid, Erato, while I tell what kings, what deed-
ful tide 1 ' ;

the false rhymes, such as " wrath "
and "forth," "poured" and
"abroad," "abroad" and "re-
ward," which might be forgiven
to the stress of so long and dim-
cult a task had we not such reason
for suspecting them to be intention-
al ; the occasional use of phrases
familiar, even low, and totally at va-
riance with Virgil's lofty and culti-
vated style, such as "gobbets of the
men" tor frusta, iii. 632; "Phry-
gian fellows " (Phrygii comites) ;
" those Teucrian fellows"; "the
other lads" for juventus ; "but as
they gave and took in talk" (hac vice
sermonuni)\ " he spake and footed it
afore " (dixit et ante tulit gressuni) ;
" unlearned JEneas fell aquake "
(Horruit . . . inscius *Eneas]
surely a most undignified proceed-
ing for a hero; "so east and west
he called to him, and spake such
words to tell" (dehinc talia Jatur)
the list is long, scarce a page but
would swell it; or the compound
epithets which Mr. Morris herein,
no doubt, taking his cue from
Chapman, but not so happily or
with such good reason has coined
profusely. " In the Augustan
poets," says Prof. Conington, "com-
pound epithets are chiefly conspi-
cuous by their absence, and a trans-
lator of an Augustan poet ought
not to suffer them to be too promi-

Among the Translators.

nent a feature of his style." This
assertion must be qualified with
regard to Virgil, who, in imitation
of his model, Homer, and in obedi-
ence, perhaps, to a supposed law
of epic composition, has too many
compounds to permit it to pass un-
challenged such, for instance, as
armisonus (P alladis armisoncz " Pal-
las of the weapon-din "), velivolus
("sail-skimmed"), legifer (legiferce
Cereri " Ceres wise of law"), letifer
(" deadly "), cxlicolus (" heaven-abi-
der "), laniger ("woolly"), noctivagus
("nightly-straying"), and the like.
Yet, not content to render these by
English compounds even where it
is not always expedient since the
compound form in our own lan-
guage will often, from its strange-
ness in a familiar tongue, seem
strained and awkward, where in
the less familiar Latin it seems
only natural and elegant * Mr.
Morris has introduced many other
compounds of his own invention
for which there is no authority in
Virgil at all, which in many in-
stances are discordant with his style
and not seldom downright grotes-
que such combinations as "hot-
heart " for ardens, or " cold-hand
in the war " (frigidus bello), or even
" fate-wise," " weapon-won," " war-
lord," " battle-lord," " air-high,"
" star-smiting," " outland-wrought,"
"heaven-abider " (ccelicolus), "like-
aged," "goddess-led," etc., which
meet us at every turn. And what
are we to say of such inventions as
" murder-wolf," " death-stealth "
(" on death-stealth onward the

* Mr. Matthew Arnold's remark to a like effect
in his admirable essay on translating Homer was
curiously anticipated by Tickell in the preface to
his (or Addison's) version of the first book of
the Iliad, where he says the double epithets of the
Iliad, u though elegant and sonorous in the
Greek, become either unintelligible, unmusical, or
burlesque in English." He adds: "I cannot but
observe that Virgil, that sunge in a language much
more capable of composition than ours, hath often
conformed to this rule."

in went "hie furto fcn-idus
), " dream ing-tide " for somnus,
- Fumus," " wennnn-m-oaf "

Trojan went "
instat]

" war-Turnus," " weapon -great,
" helpless-fain " for mquidquam
avidus, " hero-gathered stone "
(lapis ipsi viri), "anger-seas,"
*' wounding-craft," " bit-befoam-
ing," "speech-masters," or those
others, if possible still more ex-
traordinary, already mentioned,
" weapon-smith," " wound-smith,"
"tooth-hedge"? These, and
scores of other such we have
marked for notice, aie surely as lit-
tle like Virgil as they are like any
English that is spoken to-day; and
they are scarcely less potent than
Mr. Morris' archaisms in dis-
turbing and altering the Virgilian
tone. Of a like effect are the
quaint and unconsequential trans-
lations now and then of Latin
names as of Musa into "Song-
maids," Eumenides into " Well-
willers," Avernus into " Fowlless,"
and soon whereby for a perfectly
familiar and intelligible term of
the Latin is substituted in the
English a grotesque and puzzling
word, and which again stops the
current of the story until the
reader can readjust his mind to
the novel ideas it awakes. The
most unclassical of readers has
his notions formed of the Muses
and the Furies, at least, if not of
the Eumenides; but of these Song-
maids who might as well be milk-
maids and of these Well-willers
who rather suggest well-diggershe
must form a new notion as he reads.
And one might add, at the risk of
seeming to split hairs, that in thus
translating the word Eumenides we
lose much of the effect of that eu-
phemism with which the Greeks,
like all strongly imaginative peoples,
sought to keep disagreeable sub-
jects at arm's length the form ri
, as a synonym for dying, is

Among the Translators,

exactly paralleled by the Irish
phrase "suffered," applied to an
executed rebel or perhaps to
ward off the wrath of these ticklish
neighbors, as Celtic races, again,
are in the habit of calling fairies
"the good people." A more sub-
stantial objection is that Mr. Mor-
ris seems capricious in the matter,
for we see no particular reason for his
translating one such name and others
not at all- why he should not give
us Quail-land for Ortygia, of Chalk
Island for Crete, as well as West-
land for Hesperia, or Fowlless for
Avernlls,

It is a result of these affectations,
or for we are loath to pfess the
charge of affectation against a poet
whose own writing is so genuine and
sincere of these peculiarities of
style, which have on the reader
all the seeming and effect of affec-
tation, that the pathos of Virgil,
the one quality to which Mr. Mor-
ris should have been best fitted to
do justice, he has greatly impaired.
Affectation is fatal to pathos ; one
cannot have much feeling for the
woes which are carefully set forth
in verbal mosaic. Take but a sin-
gle example^-a passage in Virgil
already referred to< which sets forth
admirably that faculty the Latin
poet has to so curious a degree of
infusing sadness into mere words,
but in which Mr. Morris is little
behind him. It is the death of
^Kolus, which Mr. Morris renders
thus :

" Thee also, warring ^Eolus, did that Laurentine
field

See fallen and cumbering the earth with body laid
alow ;

.Thou diest, whom the Argive hosts might never
overthrow,

Nor that Achilles' hand that wrought the Priam's
realm its wrack.

Here was thy meted mortal doom : high house
'neath Ida's back

High house within Lyrnessus' garth, graVe in Lau-
rentine lea."

It only needs to compare this

with the original to see how far it
misses the pathos of the Latin ; it
needs only to compare it with Mr.
Morris himself, where he has for-
gotten or failed to be sufficiently
archaic, to see the reason of the
miss. Take, again, the passage
from the shipwreck in the second
book already referred to :

" Now therewithal ^Eneas' limbs grew weak with

chilly dread ;
He groaned, and, lifting both his palms aloft to

heaven, he said ;
O thrice and four times happy ye that had the fate

to fall
Before your fathers' faces there by Troy's beloved

wall!
Tydides, thou of Danaan folk, the" mightiest undei 1

shield,
Why might f never lay me down upon the Ilian

field?
Why was my soul forbid release at thy most mighty

hand,
Where eager Hector stooped and lay before Achil-

les' wand,
Whefe huge Sarpedcn fell asleep, where Simois

rolls along
The shields of men and helms of man and bodies of

the strong?''

The word " wand " for telo has
an odd look, but that may be for-
given to the rhyme ; and the rest is
simple, emotional, and true. In
like happy moments of oblivion we
catch an echo of Jason, as in the
opening of book vii, :

*' The faint winds breathe about the night, the motri

shines clear and kind ;
Beneath the quivering, shining foad the wide seas

gleaming lie. . . .
The fowl that love the rivers-bank and haunt the

river-bed
Sweetened the air with plenteous song and through

the thicket fled/'

The rising of the Rutules in vii.
623 is an animated picture unmar-
red by too many of the mannerisms
we have spoken of:

"... All Ausonia yet unstirred brake suddenly
ablate ;

And some will go afoot to field, and some will wefid
their ways

Aloft on horses dusty-fierce ; all seek their battle-
gear.

Some polish bright the buckler's face and nib the
pike-point clear

With fat of sheep; and many an axe upon the
wheel is worn.

They joy tc rear the banners up and hearken to the
horn,

Among the Translators.

And now five mighty cities forge the point and edge
anew

On new-raised anvils : Tibur proud, Atina stanch
to do,

Ardea and Crustumerium's folk, Antennae castle-
crowned.

They hollow helming for the head ; they bend the
withe around

For buckler-boss ; or ether some beat breastplates
of the brass,

Or from the toughened silver bring the shining
greaves to pass.

Now fails all prize of share and work, all yearning
for the plough ;

The swords their fathers bore afield anew they
smithy now.

Now is the gathering trumpet blown ; the battle-
token speeds,

And this man catches helm from wall ; this thrust-
eth foaming steeds

To collar ; this his shield doss on, and mail-coat
threesome laid

Of golden link, and girdeth him with ancient trusty
blade,"

Passages like this and, indeed,
there are many of them only deep-
en our regret that Mr. Morris
should let a whim of doubtful taste
deprive us of what might have been
otherwise the best rendering of the
jEneidytt. One other passage we
will give, and then cease to tax
longer the patience of the reader.
It shall be the gallant picture of
Turnus sallying forth to battle
(xi. 486), which, as it is taken from
the like description of Paris, near
the end of the sixth Iliad, will per-
mit us to compare Morris' manner
with Chapman's :

" Now eager Turnus for the war his body did be-
gird :

The ruddy gleaming coat of mail upon his breast he
did,

And roughened him with brazen scales ; with gold
his legs he hid ;

With brow yet bare, unto his side he girt the
sword of fight,

And, all a glittering, golden man, ran down the cas-
tle's height.*

High leaps his heart, his hope runs forth the foe-
man's force to face ;

As steed, when broken are the bonds, fleeth the
stabling place,

Set free at last, and, having won the unfenced open
mead.

Now runneth to the grassy ground wherein the mare-
kind feed ;

* Mr. Morris here unaccountably sacrifices an
opportunity. Decurrens aureus arce the Latin is,
and yet he gives us " castle " instead of " burg,"
which, in his own translating dialect, is the true
meaning of arx. To such shifts will rhyme reduce
the ablest translators !

VOL. XXVII. 4

Or, wont to water, speedeth him in well-known

stream to wash,
And, wantoning, with uptost head about the world

doth dash,
While wave his mane-locks o'er his neck, and o'er

his shoulders play."

Compare Chapman, Iliad vi.
503 (Ovds IlapiS drjQvvtv ev

" And now was Paris come
From his high towers, who made no stay when once

he had put on
His richest armor, but flew forth ; the flints he

trod upon
Sparkled with lustre of his arms ; his long-ebb'd

spirits now flow'd
The higher for their lower ebb. And as a fair

steed, proud.
With full-giv'n mangers, long tied up, and now

his head-stall broke,
He breaks from stable, runs the field, and with an

ample stroke
Measures the centre ; neighs and lifts aloft his

wanton head,
About his shoulders shakes his crest, and where he

hath been fed,
Or in some calm flood washM, or stung with his-

high plight, he flies
Amongst his females ; strength put forth his beauty

beautifies,
And like life's mirror bears his gait : so Paris fronu

the tower
Of lofty Pergamos came forth."

Is not the modern older in style
than the ancient ?

We lay aside Mr. Morris' book
with a mingling of admiration and re-
gret. The critical and poetical abil-
ity shown in it is of the first order
no man could have spoiled Virgil
so thoroughly as we think Mr. Mor-
ris has in places who did not know
him au bout des angles, just as a clev-
er parody shows true appreciation,
of an author and its ingenuity is
amazing. But one feels it to be a
wasted ingenuity, and the predomi-
nant sentiment with which we leave*
the book is one of annoyance that
a man should so wilfully do ilk
what his very errors prove him
capable of doing so well. Yet for
all that the book wins upon us as
most of Mr. Morris' work has a way
of doing; and if one could but get
reconciled to a Norseland ^neis r
we should no doubt find it pleasant
enough.

50 St. Cuthbert.

Perhaps we cannot better dis- who half know Virgil and are

miss our subject than by saying, willing to know him better; and

in the old-time fashion of com- Mr. Morris' for its very ingenuity

parison, that of these three trans- of perversion by those who know

lations Conington's will probably Virgil so well that to see him in

be read for the story by those any new light, even a false light,

who know Virgil not at all; Mr. only adds a fillip to their love for

Cranch's for its literalness by those him.

ST. CUTHBERT.

BEHOLD the shepherd lad of Lammermuir
Tending his small flock on the uplands bleak.
Alone he seems, yet to his young heart speak

Voices that none may hear except the pure.

His dreaming eyes where duller souls, secure
Of earth alone, see naught are quick to seek
Angels howe'er disguised ; and week by week

The higher call within grows clear and sure.

.Now see him, humbly clad, with staff in hand,
Thread the wild vales of Tweed and Teviot,

To bear God's Word through a benighted land,
And bless with prayer each peasant's lonely cot.

Brave soul wert thou, though few thy worth may sing,

Thou chosen saint of England's noblest king.

Pilate s Story.

PILATE'S STORY.

CALIGULA was reigning, C.
Marcius was praetor at Vienna,
in Dauphiny, when a litter, escort-
ed by a number of cavaliers, one
evening entered the triumphal
gate of this metropolis of Gaul.
Many gathered together at the
unusual display. On the door of
the modest little house before
which they stopped, and which
stood close by the Temple of
Mars, was the name of F. Aibinus
in bright red letters. An old man,
tall in stature, but now bent with
age and fatigue, alighted from the
litter, and, preceded by two of his
attendant Hebrew slaves, entered
the reception-room, where he was
greeted by his friend, the master of
the house.

After having bathed and receiv-
ed the usual attentions at the hands
of the slaves, he proceeded with
his host to the supper-room to en-
joy the evening meal. The lamps
were lighted, and Aibinus was
alone with the new guest, with
whom he entered into conversa-
tion as soon as the dish of fresh
eggs was placed before them.

" Many years have passed since
we separated," said Aibinus; "let
us empty a cup of Rhone wine to
your return."

"Yes, many years!" sighed the
old man ; " and cursed be the day
whereon I succeeded Valerius Gra-
tus in the government of Judea!
My name is unlucky ; a fatality is
attached to all who bear it. One
of my ancestors left the stamp of
infamy on the name of Roman
when he passed under the yoke
in the Caudine Forks, after fight-
ing against the Samnites; another

perished in Parthia, fighting against
Phraates ; and I I"

The wine remained untasted,
while his unbidden tears fell into
the cup.

" Well ! you what have you
done ? Some injustice of Caligula
exiles you to Vienne ; and for
what crime ? I read your affair
in the tabularium. You were de-
nounced to the emperor by your
enemy, Vitellius, the prefect of
Syria; you punished a few He-
brew rebels who, after assassinating
some noble Samaritans, entrench-
ed themselves on Mount Garizim.
You were accused of doing this
out of hatred to the Jews."

" No, no, Aibinus ; by all the
gods! it is not the injustice of
Caesar which afflicts me."

"What exactions did you im-
pose?"

" None."

" Did you carry off any Jewish
women ?"

"Never !"

" Did you gibbet any Roman
citizens, as Verres did in Sicily ?"

Pilate did not reply.

" I always took you to be good
and sensible," continued Aibinus;
" hence I did not hesitate to pro-
claim aloud in the city that your
spoliation and exile were an out-
rage. It was never referred to the
senate. The whole affair was evi-
dently owing to some caprice of
Vitellius."

"Aibinus, let us talk of other
things. I am tired, having just
arrived from Rome. Serious
things for to-morrow, says the
sage. This Rhone wine is exqui-
site."

Pilate s Story.

"Beware of it, Pontius; it dis-
turbs the brain."

" So much the better. But I am
not afraid of it. lam accustomed
to the wine of Engaddi; that is a
potent Bacchus."

" As you please. But tell me,
you who come from Rome, what
stirs men's minds there? Have
you aught to interest my ear?"

"The auguries are bad. I did
not recognize Rome ; she no
longer goes forward, but steadily
sinks !"

"What say you?"

" I say what is. From here you
cannot detect the mysterious sub-
terranean noise which rumbles as
with the approach of that invisible,
superior power now irresistibly
pushing the empire to its ruin. Our
gods are vanquished; they aban-
don us. Listen, Albinus ; let me
this evening throw a smile to your
Penates, and no more words of what
is sorrowful. Night is the mother
of sadness, but the triclinium coun-
sels gayety. Tell the child to turn
me a cup of wine of Cyprus, and ask
the slave to bring my sandals and pre-
pare my bed. I love not the gloom
of night; let us haste to sleep,
that the day may sooner come."

Albinus bowed, and the desires
of Pilate were complied with. As
the slave approached him with a
silver hand-basin for washing his
bands, Pilate's face turned pale as
with fright, while the light of his
eyes was terrible to behold.

The next day was the eve of the
kalends of August. Pilate took a
walk with Albinus in the Roman
city of Vienne, and listened ab-
stractedly to the conversation of
his friend, who pointed out the va-
rious localities as they passed
along, and the many splendid
monuments rising on every side.

" There is left no trace of the

domination of the Allobroges here,"
said Albinus. "Since the death
of Julius Cassar they have ceased
to disturb the city. Life is quiet
and peaceable at Vienne, and you
can spend here the years which
the gods still grant you in secure
contentment.

" Here before us is the palace
of the emperors; it is not so grand,
so sumptuous ^as that on Mount
Palatine, but it is good enough for
those who never visit it. Look to
the left, and see the temple of Au-
gustus and Livia ; unless your eyes
are weakened by the sun of Judea,
you can read, from here, the in-
scription : Divo Augusta et Livia.
Beyond is that dedicated to the
Hundred Gods. If we go down to
the river we can get a little fresh
air on the bridge. Vienne, as you
may have already remarked, is a
very pleasant place of residence ;
the climate is quite mild, being so
thoroughly sheltered by the sur-
rounding mountains from the vio-
lence of the winds. We are only
fifteen leagues from Lyons ; and by
the Rhone our away to both Mar-
seilles and Aries is shortened.
These three important cities are
under the government of Vienne,
as Tiberius has decreed ; so thank
fate, which has sent you to so plea-
sant a place of exile."

Albinus remarked a look of
trouble in the face of the old man,
whose eyes were fixed on a point
of dust in the direction of the river-
bank, and from which were seen
gradually to emerge horsemen
with armor glistening in the sun.

" It is the praetor," said Albinus ;
"he has been visiting the works at
the amphitheatre. That is his daily
ride."

" Let us avoid the praetor," said
Pilate ; "may he never know my
face !"

Pilate s Story.

As they reached the " Quirinal "
street on the way back, they were
met and separated by a crowd of
idlers who, attracted by the trum-
pets, had gathered from every side
to witness the passage of the pree-
torian escort. Pilate found him-
self isolated, and soon became an
object of interest, as is the case
with one who seeks alone to stem
a popular current. His dress was
enough to attract insulting remarks.
For from his long sojourn in Judea
Pilate had insensibly adopted He-
brew fashions in dress, gesture, and
deportment. His very figure,
black hair, and dark complexion
(he was of Iberian origin) betrayed
more the Hebrew than the Roman.

"Let the Jew pass; he is going
to the synagogue," said one at his
side.

" Mothers ! watch your little
ones," said another ; " the wolf is
out of the Quirinal."

" We had better take him and
crucify him," muttered a third.

But nothing further was done to
molest him, and Pilate passed safely
through the crowd, with head sunk
upon his breast and suppliant bear-
ing, as far as the head of the street,
where a different scene awaited
him.

Seeing a house which closely re-
sembled that of Albinus (for a
number of them were similar in
construction), and finding the door
standing open, he hastily entered,
glad to find its shelter at last, and
closed the door behind him.

A fearful cry chilled the blood
in his very veins; he heard his own
name uttered, and thrust his fingers
in his ears at the ominous sound.

The master and his family were
at their daily labor, as basket-mak-
ers, beneath the interior peristyle
called the impluvium. When he
entered the master recognized Pi-

late, for he knew the more than
famous name of the stranger wii
exile to Vienne had been made
public. " Pilate ! Pilate !" he cried ;
and the women and children drop-
ped their wicker-work as they, too,
repeated this formidable name,
stained with the blood of God him-
self. The family were Christians.

Pilate asked an asylum, but they
did not understand him, as he spoke
a. sort of Hebrew-Latin and they
were Gallic Allobroges. Still, as
they caught the name of Albinus
twice or thrice repeated, the father
made signs to the rest of the family
to be seated, and, as if recalling
some divine precept of charity
learned in the secret assembly of
the faithful, he approached Pilate
and quietly showed him the house
of his neighbor Albinus. Pilate
crossed the street and entered his
friend's house.

Albinus was not over-displeased
when the rude crowd separated
him from a companion whose ap-
pearance bade fair to compromise
him before the public. Like a
good courtier he prudently stayed
to see the praetor, shouted Vivat
imperator ! and praised the rare
magnificence of the escort and the
beauty of the horses ; after which
he quietly returned to his house,
where he found his friend in an
agony of despair.

" I am recognized," cried Pilate
as Albinus entered ; " the little
children pointed their fingers at
me on the street. O Albinus ! re-
member that our lips as very chil-
dren uttered words of friendship:
remember that we played together
on the banks of the Tiber ; that we
have sat at the same banquets and
raised our cups in the same liba-
tions. Remember the past and pro-
tect me beneath the inviolable shel-
ter of thy roof. I seek a refuge be-

Pilate s Story.

neath tlie sacred wings of thy hos-
pitality."

Albinus was too moved for utter-
ance, and silently pressed the hands
of Pilate.

" There are Christians, then, at
Vienne also ?" asked Pilate, as he
passed his hand over his aching
brow.

" Oh ! yes, as there are every-
where," replied Albinus, " except
in our temples. You are afraid
of those people, then ?"

" Ah ! yes, yes. I fear them. I
fear everybody. Jews, Romans,
Pagans all are odious, terrible to
me ! The Romans see in me a
criminal fallen into disgrace before
Caesar ; the Jews, a severe pro-
consul who persecuted them ; and
the Christians, the executioner of
their God !"

" Their God! their God! The im-
pious wretches !"

" Albinus, have a care what you
say!"

" They adore as a God that Jesus
of Nazareth who was born in a
stable and put to death on a cross ?"

" They would not adore him if
he had dressed in garments of vel-
vet and lived in princely halls. . . .
Albinus, I am about to submit my
life to your judgment ; you will see
whether I am worthy of the hospi-
tality which you offer me."

Changing his seat for one more
comfortable, Pilate continued :

"Albinus, order your doors to be
closed, and let a slave watch at the
porch, as when a young virgin first
enters the doors of her spouse.
The ear of Caesar is everywhere on
the alert. And now listen. All
my misfortunes spring from the
death of this man, this Nazarene.
Tiberius cursed me because of
him ; Caligula now exiles me be-
cause of him ; for this boldness of
the Christian sect, which to-day

threatens the empire, began at the
foot of Calvary. If Jesus had not
been put to death, his followers
would never have crossed the Jor-
dan nor the sea of Caesarea. It is
the death of that man which has
made so many martyrs. But could
I prevent that death ?

** When I was about to set out as
successor to Valerius Gratus, Seja-
nus summoned me to the Palatine
and gave me his instructions. ' You
are intimate/ he said, 'with the Ro-
man policy ; hence a few words
will do. Judea is a beautiful coun-
try ; after completing its conquest
we must strengthen its possession
by a paternal government. Let all
your care be to draw blessings
down upon the Roman name. We
have left the Jews a king of their
own race, their temple, their laws,
their religion. They are a brave
and haughty race, with heroic
deeds inscribed in their history,
and which they well remember.
Govern them wisely, that they may
regard you more as a stranger visit-
ing than as a master holding the
reins.'

" I set out with my wife and my
servants. When near the quarter
of the Tres tabernce I met Tiberi-
us, then returning from Pannonia.
Recognizing the imperial escort, I
immediately alighted to salute Cae-
sar. He had received at Brundi-
sium my nomination, and confirm-
ed it, and now, offering me his hand
most graciously, he said :

" * Pontius, you have a fine gov-
ernment ; let your hand be firm
and your speech conciliatory. Act
in public matters according to your
own good sense, and never forget
the eternal maxim of the Romans :

1 Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos.*

Go and be happy.'

* Spare the submissive and crush the haughty.

Pilate s Story.

" The auguries were favorable,
you see.

" I reached Jerusalem, took sol-
emn possession of the government,
and gave orders for a splendid
feast, to which I invited the tetrarch
of Judea, the high-priest, and the
other Hebrew dignitaries and prin-
ces of the people. At the appoint-
ed time not a guest appeared !
This was a mortal affront. Some
days later the tetrarch deigned to
honor me with a visit, but he was
cold and full of dissimulation. He
pretended that their religion did
not permit them to sit at our table
nor offer libations with Gentiles.
I thought best to accept this excuse
graciously ; but from that day the
conquered were in declared hos-
tility with the conquerors.

" Jerusalem was, at that time, the
most difficult subject-city in the
world to govern ; the people were
so turbulent that from day to day
I was always expecting a sedition.
To suppress this I had only a cen-
turion and a handful of soldiers, so
I wrote to the prefect of Syria to
send me a reinforcement of troops,
but he answered that he had hardly
enough for himself. Ah ! what a
misfortune that the empire is so
large ; we have more conquests
than soldiers.

" Among the thousand rumors
which circulated about me there
was one that attracted my special
notice. Public rumor and my se-
cret agents alike reported that a
young man had appeared in Gali-
lee with a remarkable sweetness
of speech and a noble austerity of
manner, and that he went about
the city and the borders of the sea,
preaching a new law in the name
of the God who had sent him. I
at first thought that this man in-
tended to arouse the people against
us, and that his words were prepa-

ratory to a revolt. But my fears
were soon dissipated; Jesus the
Nazarene spoke as a friend rather
of the Romans than of the Jews.
Passing one day, in my litter, near
the pool of Siloe, I saw a large
gathering of people, and remarked
in the midst a young man standing
with his back to a tree and quietly
addressing the crowd. I was told
that it was Jesus, but I could have
guessed it at once, so different was
he in appearance from those who
listened. He seemed about thirty
years of age, and the wonderful
reddish-blond tint of his hair and
beard gave a luminous appearance
to his noble countenance. Never
have I seen so mild a glance, so
calm a face ; he was a striking con-
trast to the dark skins and black
beards of his auditors. From fear
of disturbing the liberty of his
speech by my presence I passed
on, leaving my secretary to mingle
with the crowd and hear his words.
This man's name was Manlius; he
was grandson of that chief among
the conspirators who awaited Cati-
line in Etruria, and, having dwelt
many years in Judea, understood
perfectly the Hebrew tongue. He
was, moreover, sincerely devoted to
my interests, and I could always
trust him. On my return home I
found Manlius awaiting me with
a detailed account of the speech
which Jesushad pronounced. Never
in the Forum, never in the books
of sages, have I met anything com-
parable to the maxims which had
that day reached the ears of Man-
lius. One of those rebellious Jews
such as abound at Jerusalem hav-
ing asked if tribute were to be paid
to Caesar, Jesus answered him :
'Render under Caesar what is Cae-
sar's, and unto God what is God's/
" Thence the great liberty which I
gave to the Nazarene ; it was doubt-

Pilate's Story.

less in my power to arrest him at
any time, put him on a galley, and
send -him to Pontus, but I should
[have felt myself acting against jus-
ftice and good Roman sense. The
man was neither .seditious nor re-
: bellious. I gave him, perhaps with-
< out his knowledge, the benefit of
siny protection; he was free to act,
vto speak to the .people, to fill a
whole square with his audience, to
create a legion of disciples to fol-
low him from city to desert, or lake
to mountain, and never did an or-
der from me interpose to trouble
either orator or auditory. If some
day may the gods forefetad! if
some day the religion of our fathers
. fall before the religion of Jesus,
Rome will pay a noble tribute to
her own generous toleration, .and I,
unhappy I ! will be called the in-
strument of what the Christians call
Providence what we call fate.

"But this great liberty which Jesus
enjoyed from my protection dis-
pleased the Jews not the common
people, but the rich and powerful.
True, they were the very ones
whom Jesus did not spare in his
discourse, and that was for me an
additional political reason for al-
lowing him free speech. He told
them that is, the Scribes and Phari-
sees that they were a race of vipers
and no better than whited sepul-
chres. And another time he sharp-
ly criticised the ostentatious chari-
ty of the rich man, saying that the
mite of a poor widow woman was
far more precious to God. New
complaints against the insolence of
his speech came to me nearly every
day. Deputations came with their
griefs before my tribunal. I was
told that he would be assaulted ;
that it would not be the first time
that Jerusalem had stoned those
who called themselves prophets;
and that if the praetor refused them

justice they would appeal to the
emperor.

" So I was beforehand with them.
I at once wrote letters to Caesar,
and the galley Ptolemais carried
them to Rome. My conduct was
approved by the senate, but I was
refused the reinforcement of troops
which I asked, or at least I was
given to hope that the garrison of
Jerusalem should be strengthened
after the war with Parthia was ter-
minated. That was an intermina-
ble delay, for our wars with Parthia
never end.

" Being too weak to repress a se-
dition, I determined to make a
move which would pacify the city,
without obliging me to make any
humiliating concessions; so I at
once sent for Jesus of Nazareth.

" He received my messenger with
due respect, and came straightway
to the praetoriuin. *

" O Albinus ! now that age has
weakened every part of my bodily
frame, and that my muscles in vain
ask a little vigor from my thin and
cold blood, I am not astonished if
Pilate occasionally trembles ; but I
was younger then, and my Spanish
blood, mingled with the Roman
which coursed through my veins,
was proof against any ordinary
emotion of fear. When I saw the
Nazarene enter my basilica, where
I was walking, it seemed as if a
hand of iron held me to the marble
of the pavement, I thought I heard
the very bucklers of gilt-bronze,
dedicated to Caesar, sigh as they
hung against the columns. The
Nazarene was as calm as innocence
itself; he stood before me, with a
single gesture, as if to say : Behold
me. For some time I remained
contemplating, with mingled terror
and admiration, this extraordinary
man, type of a physical perfection
unknown to any of the innumerable

Pilate s Story.

sculptors who have given face and
form to so many gods and heroes.
' Jesus,' said I at last, when my
emotion had subsided 'Jesus of
Nazareth, for nearly three years I
have allowed you freely to speak in
public and everywhere, nor do I
now regret it. Your words have
ever been those of a true sage. I
know not whether you have ever
read Socrates or Plato, but there is
in your language a majestic sim-
plicity which raises you far above
even those great philosophers. The
emperor has been informed of it, and
I, his humble representative at Jeru-
salem, count myself happy to have
allowed you the toleration of which
you are worthy. I must not, how-
ever, disguise from you that your
words have provoked .against you
powerful and terrible enemies ; be
not astonished that you have thus
become an object of hatred, for so
was Socrates to those who encom-
passed his death. Your enemies
are doubly irritated, against you
and against me : against you, be-
cause of your sharp criticisms;
against me, because of the liberty
which I have allowed you. I am
even accused of complicity with
you to destroy what little civil
power has been left to the Hebrews
by Rome. I -give you no com-
mands, but I charge you seriously
to spare the pride of your enemies,
that they may not stir up against
you a stupid populace, and that I
may not be obliged to detach from
these trophies the axe and the fas-
ces, which 'should serve here only
as an ornament and never as an oc-
casion of fear.'

" The Nazarene answered me :
" ' Prince of the earth, thy words
spring from a false wisdom. Tell
the torrent to stop midway on the
mountain-side, lest it uproot the
toe-es ^f the valley. The torrent

will tell thee it obeys the voice of
God. He alone knows whither
goeth the water of the impetuous
stream. Amen, amen I say unto
thee, before the roses of Sharon bud
the blood of the just shall be shed."
' ' I do not wish your blood to be
shed,' I exclaimed hastily. 'You
are more precious in my eyes, be-
cause of your wisdom, than all
those turbulent and haughty Phari-
sees, who abuse our Roman patience,
conspire against Caesar, and mistake
our forbearance for fear. The
dolts ! not to know that the wolf
of the Tiber sometimes conceals
himself under an innocent fleece !
But I will defend you against them ;
my praetorium is open to you as a
place of refuge. You will find it an
inviolable asylum.'

" He shook his head quietly with
an air of godlike grace, and replied :

"'When the day comes, there
will be no shelter on earth, nor in
the depths, for the Son of Man.
The only asylum of the just is above.
What is written in the books of the
prophets must be accomplished.'

"'Young man,' said I, 'I have
just made you a request. I now
give you a command. The pre-
servation of order in the province
confided to my charge requires it.
I demand that the tone of your
speech become more moderate.
Beware of opposing my will ! You
know my intentions ; go and be
happy.'

" With these words my voice lost
its severity and became mild again,
for it seemed that a harsh word
could not be uttered before this ex-
traordinary being, who calmed the
storms of the lake with a motion of
his head, as his own disciples testi-
fied.

' * Prince of the earth,' said he, '
do not bring war to the nations, but
charity and love. I was born the

Pilate s Story.

very day when Caesar Augustus
proclaimed peace to the Roman
world. Persecution cannot come
from me; I expect it from others,
and do not flee before it. I go be-
fore it, in obedience to the will of my
Father, who has appointed my way.
Keep thy foolish prudence. It is not
in thy power to stop the victim at
the foot of the altar of expiation.'

" Sayingthese words, he disappear-
ed like a luminous shadow behind
the curtain.

" What could I do further ? Fate
could not be averted. The tetrarch
who then reigned in Judea, and who
has since died, devoured by worms,
was a foolish and a wicked man.
The chiefs of the law had chosen
this man to be the tool of their
hate and vengeance. To him the
whole cohort addressed themselves
in their thirst for vengeance against
the Nazarene.

" Had Herod consulted only his
passion, he would have put Jesus to
death at once ; but although he re-
garded his impotent royalty as a
matter of importance, still he shrank
from an act which might injure him
with Caesar.

" Some days later I saw him com-
ing to the prsetorium. He began
a conversation with me on indiffer-
ent subjects, in order to conceal
the true object of his visit ; but, as
he rose from his seat to go, he asked,
with an air of indifference, what I
thought of the Nazarene.

" I replied that Jesus seemed to
me one of those grave philosophers
such as arise among the nations
from time to time ; that his language
was by no means dangerous; and
that it was the intention of Rome
to leave to this sage perfect liberty
of speech and action.

" Herod smiled at me with maligni-
ty, and with an ironical gesture de-
parted.

" The great feast of the Jews was
near at hand, and their leaders de-
termined to take advantage of the
popular exaltation which is always
manifested at the Paschal season.
The city was crowded with a tur-
bulent rabble, who shouted for the
death of the Nazarene. My emissa-
ries reported that the treasure of
the Temple had been used to stir the
popular feeling. The danger was
imminent, and my very power was
insulted in the person of my centu-
rion, whom they hustled about and
spat upon.

" I wrote to the prefect of Syria,
then at Ptolemais, and asked for
one hundred horse and as many
foot-soldiers, but he reiterated his
former refusal. I was alone, in a
mutinous city, with a few veterans,
too weak to suppress the disorder,
and with no choice but to tolerate
it."

"They had already seized Jesus,
and the triumphant people, know-
ing that they had nothing to fear
from me, and hoping, on the word
of their leaders, that I would tacitly
acquiesce in their designs, rushed
after him through the streets, shout-
ing: ' Crucify him ! crucify him !'

" Three powerful sects had coa-
lesced in this plot against Jesus :
first the Herodians and the Sad-
ducees, who had a double motive
hatred against him and impatience
at the Roman yoke. They had
never forgiven me for entering the
holy city with the banners of the
empire ; and although I made them
an unwise concession in this mat-
ter, the sacrilege still remained in
their eyes. Yet another grief stood
against me, because I had wished
a contribution from the treasures
of the Temple towards certain build-
ings of public importance, and
which had been coarsely refused.
Then the Pharisees, who were the

Pilate s Story.

direct enemies of Jesus: they did
not trouble themselves about the
governor, but for three years they
had angrily heard and endured the
severe language of Jesus against
their weaknesses. Too weak and
pusillanimous to act alone, they
eagerly embraced the quarrel of
the Herodians and Sadducees. Be-
sides these three parties, I had also
to struggle against a crowd of those
idle, worthless beings who are al-
ways ready to rush into a sedition
out of love for disorder and a taste
for blood.

"Jesus was dragged before the
council of priests and condemned
to death ; after which Caiphas, the
high-priest, made a hypocritical
act of submission by sending the
condemned man for me to pro-
nounce the sentence and have it
executed. My answer was that as
Jesus was a Galilean it did not
concern me ; so I sent him to He-
rod. The wily tetrarch pretended
great humility, protesting his re-
markable deference for the lieute-
nant of Caesar, and left the fate of
the man to be determined on by
me. My palace resembled a cita-
del besieged by an army ; for at
every moment the seditious crowd
was reinforced by fresh arrivals
from the mountains of Nazareth,
the cities of Galilee, the plains of
Esdrelon. It seemed as if all Ju-
dea had invaded Jerusalem.

" My wife was from Gaul, and
had, like most women of her na-
tion, the gift of reading the fu-
ture. She now came, and, throwing
herself in tears at my feet, ex-
claimed : ' Beware of laying a vio-
lent hand on this man. His per-
son is sacred. I saw him in a
dream this night ; he walked upon
the waters, he rode upon the wings
of the wind, he spoke to the tem-
pest, to the palm-trees of the desert,

to the fish in the waters, and they
all responded to his voice. The
torrent of the brook Kedron was
as blood before me; the imperial
eagles were in the dust, and the
columns of this very praetorium
were crumbled, while the sun was
in darkness, as a vestal at the tomb.
There is misfortune about us, Pi-
late; and if you do not believe in
the words of the Gaul, listen here-
after to the maledictions of the
senate and of Caesar against the
cowardly proconsul !'

"Just then my marble staircase
trembled, as I may say, beneath
the steps of the angry multitude.
They had returned with the Naza-
rene. Entering the hall of justice,
followed by my guards, I demand-
ed in a stern voice of the crowd :
* What will ye ?'

"'The death of the Nazarene!'
shouted the mob.

" ' What is his crime ?'

"'He has blasphemed; he has
predicted the ruin of the Temple ;
he calls himself the Messias, the
Son of God, and says that he is the
King of the Jews !'

" ' The justice of Rome does not
punish these crimes by death !'

" ' Seize him ! Crucify him ! cru-
cify him !'

" Their ferocious cries seemed
to shake the very foundations of
the palace, and but one man amid
all this tumult was calm : it was the
Nazarene ! One might have taken
him for the statue of innocence in
the temple of the Eumenides.

" After many useless efforts to
withdraw him from the hands of
the self-willed multitude, I had the
fatal weakness to command what,
at the time, occurred to me as the
only thing that might perchance
save his life. I ordered him to be
beaten with rods, and, calling for a
basin, washed my hands before the

Pilate s Story.

crowd, which, if not hearing my
voice, might at least catch the alle-
gorical meaning of my act.

"But they would have his life.
Often in our civil troubles I have
seen what an angry crowd can be
capable of, but all my memories
and experience of the past were
effaced by what I saw then. I
might almost say that Jerusalem
was peopled by all the infernal spi-
rits of Hades, and as they crowded
about me there seemed an odor as
of sulphur exuding from their blood-
shot eyes and inhuman counte-
nances. Their very movements
were not as of men, but, like the
waves of an angry sea, they rolled
and dashed, in ceaseless undula-
tions, from the praetorium to Mount
Sion ; yelling, shouting in a most
unearthly manner, such as never in
the troubles of the Forum or the
seditions of the Pantheon assaulted
a Roman ear.

" The day had slowly darken-
ed, as in a winter evening, such as
we saw it when the great Julius
died 'twas also near the ides of
March and I, the mortified gover-
nor of a province in full and unre-
strained rebellion, stood leaning
against a column, gazing through
the gray, unnatural light at the in-
furiated spirits who bore the inno-
cent Jesus to his death.

" It became gradually quiet
about me, for the whole population
had followed to the place of execu-
tion, leaving the city as silent and
as mournful as the tomb, even my
very guards having disappeared,
save the centurion alone. I, too,
felt alone; isolated from the rest of
mankind, and in my strangely-ex-
cited heart, I understood that what
was passing around me pertained
rather to the history of the gods
than to that of men. The sounds
brought by the wind from Gol-

gotha announced to my horrified
ear a death-agony such as never
human nature underwent before.
Dense leaden clouds shrouded the
pinnacle of the great Temple, and
thence seemed to envelop the vast
city as with a veil of impenetra-
ble darkness. Terrible signs of
perturbation were manifest on earth
and in the air, prodigious enough
to make Dionysius the Areopagite
exclaim : ' Either the Author of
nature suffers or the whole uni-
verse is being dissolved.'

"At the first hour of the night I
wrapped myself in a cloak and
walked down into the city towards
the gate leading to Golgotha. The
sacrifice was consummated ! The
attitude of the people was no long-
er the same, for the crowd re-enter-
ed Jerusalem, disorderly, of course,
but silent and moody, as if filled
with shame and despair. Fear
and remorse were in every heart.
My little cohort passed by, as si-
lent as the populace; the very
eagle had been draped as in
mourning, and in the last ranks I
heard some soldiers talking in a
curious manner of things which I
could not comprehend, Others
were relating prodigies somewhat
like those that have often terrified
Rome by the will of the gods.
Now and then I came across
groups of men and women in griev-
ous sadness as they moved over
that sorrowful way, or as, in some
cases, they turned back towards
the mount of expiation, expecting,
perhaps, some new prodigy.

"Returning to the praetorium,
my own breast seemed to embrace
all the desolation of this painful
scene, and as I climbed the stairs
I saw, by the lightning flash, the
marble still covered with His blood.
There stood, awaiting me in most
humble attitude, an old man. ac-

Pilate s Story.

companied by several women, sob-
bing in the darkness.

"Throwing himself at my feet,
the old man wept.

"'What do you ask, my father?'
I said in a mild voice. He an-
swered :

" ' I am Joseph of Arirnathea,
and I come to beg, on my knees,
the favor of burying Jesus of Naza-
reth.'

" Raising him up gently, I prom-
ised that his wishes should be com-
plied with. At the same time I
called Manlius, who went with
some soldiers to superintend the
burial, and to place a few sentinels
over the grave, that it might not
be profaned. A few days after-
wards the grave was empty, and
the disciples of Jesus published
everywhere that their Master had
risen again, as he had foretold.

" There now remained for me a
last duty to perform: to send a full
account of this extraordinary event
to Caesar, which I did that very
night ; and the minute relation
which I gave was not yet complet-
ed when daylight appeared.

" The sound of trumpets drew
me from my task, and, glancing
towards the gate of Caesarea, I
saw an unusual stir among the
soldiers and sentinels, and heard
in the distance other trumpets
playing Caesar's march ; it was my
reinforcement of troops, two thou-
sand in number, who had, in order
to arrive more promptly, made a
night-march. ' Oh ! the great ini-
quity had to be completed,' I
cried, wringing my hands in de-
spair. ' They arrive the next
morning to save a man who was
sacrificed the day before. O cruel
irony of fate ! Alas ! as the Victim
said on the cross : " All is consum-
mated." !

"From that moment, invested

with abundant power, I set no
limits to my hatred against the
people who had forced" me into
both crime and cowardice. I
struck terror into Jerusalem. And,
as if further to excite my ven-
geance, I shortly afterwards re-
ceived a letter from the emperor,
wherein he blamed my conduct
very severely. My official account
of the death of Jesus had been
read before a full senate, and had
excited a profound sensation.
The image of the Nazarene, hon-
ored as a god, had been placed in
the sacred place of the imperial
palace. The courtiers, who were
opposed to me, seized the pretext
to begin that long series of accusa-
tions which now* years after the
death of Tiberius, have at last
brought me to this city of exile,
where my life is to go out in an-
guish and remorse.

" I have told you all, Albinus,
and my words have opened to you
my innermost soul ; you will surely
do me the justice to say that Pilate
was more unfortunate than wick-
ed."

The old man ceased ; tears roll-
ed down his furrowed cheeks,
while his fixed and hollow eyes
seemed to gaze with fright upon
some scene, invisible to other eyes,
the lugubrious phantasm of an
ever-present past. Albinus was
wrapt in sombre thought, seeking
in what manner of speech to simu-
late pity for his guest.

"Pontius," said he, "your mis-
fortunes are not ordinary ones,
yet there may be a balm for the
ulcers of your memory and heart.
You must invoke the Fates, whose
good-will may disarm the anger of
the gods."

Pilate gave such a smile, amid
his tears, as distressed the prudent
Albinus.

Pilate s Story.

"The city is a bad place for
you," pursued Albinus ; " hatred is
at home in public assemblies, and
Janus, who watches at the thresh-
old, cannot protect the domestic
hearth against violence from with-
out. Why not ask of our moun-
tains the quiet and peace which
seem refused to you here ? The air
of the fields invites repose and
counsels forgetfulness of canker

care.

" I fear to understand you," said
Pilate, turning suddenly pale and
with quivering lips. "Yes, I am
afraid I comprehend your meaning
too well ; like a serpent, you take
a long turn to attain your end.
You wish to close the door of your
house against the old man !"

" The gods, whom I invoke, and
who hear me," said Albinus, "know
that I have never violated the sa-
cred laws of hospitality, but "

" Yes," interrupted the old man
" yes, towards others, but towards
me you will find an excuse for vio-
lating them. I understand do not
finish ! I must spare a friend the
embarrassment of words which his
lips refuse to utter. Albinus, I
feel the spirit of a Stoic revive in
me; the waxen torch flashes up
yet once before going out. Listen ;
I am about to salute your Penates.
I will depart."

Albinus lowered his eyes and
was silent.

"Well! well! your silence speaks,
as Marcus Tullius says. I will call
my servants."

" Your servants ?" said Albinus,
as Pilate rose from his seat. " Your
servants? You have none; they
have fled from you !"

" It is well !" answered Pilate.

" One alone has remained faith-
ful an old soldier."

" Ah ! that is Longinus ; I know
him. Tell the servant to call Lon-

ginus, and permit me to blow out
your lamp ; the oil is exhausted, and
here is the dawn."

" Oh! blame me not, Pontius. Let
not your farewell insult my house-
hold gods !"

" I blame you ? No, I pity you*
The blood of Rome weakens in
every vein ; there are no Romans
now. Let altars be everywhere
erected to Fear; the house of Al-
binus is built on the very threshold
of the Temple of Mars !"

And Pilate uttered a loud, hard
laugh, which ceased at the entrance
of the soldier.

" May your fidelity be reward-
ed, Longinus 1 You did not follow
the deserters. Albinus, do you
know what this soldier did? He
was in the spearmen ; he was at
Golgotha, at the foot of the gibbet,
when the Nazarene died ; he pierc-
ed his heart with his lance. Lon-
ginus will die a Christian. Have
you girded on your sword, old sol-
dier, my last friend?"

The soldier made a sign of as-
sent.

" All is, then, ready. " And Pilate
saluted Albinus.

An hour after these two men
had reached midway the side of
a mountain overlooking the city of
Vienne. The sun was rising in
all the calm beauty of a summer
morn ; its first rays glistened upon
the gilt-bronze dome of the Temple
of Victory and the marble roof of
the Temple of the Hundred Gods.
Mysterious night still reigned in
the sacred woods which crowned
the dwelling of the Immortals.
The city, inclined towards the
Rhone, seemed listening in un-
broken silence to the harmonious
murmurings of the stream ; the
hill-tops floated in an atmosphere
of molten gold, while the noise of

Pilate's Story.

cascades, the song of birds, and the
countless melodies of a fresh, deli-
cious morning, rising from valley
to mountain-top, filled all whose
hearts were light with joy and gra-
titude to the Powers above.

Pilate halted, his eyes fixed on a
dark chasm which, yawning, stood
before him. In the depths below
could be heard the mournful plash
of waters, to the eye unseen ; dense
brush, interwoven with dwarf oaks
and the wild fig, hung over and,
half-concealing, yet increased the
horrid abyss, and a piece of the
rock, detached and hurled over,
struggled and tossed awhile among
the resisting vines before dropping
into the gloomy waters to send up
a series of ill-boding, mournful
echoes.

Pilate smiled at the gulf of hor-
ror, then turned to contemplate
the immense sublimity which sur-
rounded his agony of despair; he
thought of the death of the Naza-
rene that death so calm amid the
universal distress of nature and
wept bitterly.

" Longinus," said he, " put up

your sword ; I do not need it. I
can die without you ; I do not wish
you to soil your hands with my
blood, for you are yet covered with
another blood which will never be
effaced. Yes, Longinus, the Sage
of Golgotha was one of the supe-
rior intelligences; retain that be-
lief. All who stained their hands
with his blood have perished mis-
erably ; think of Herod and Cai-
phas. Tiberius likewise was suffo-
cated in his bed at Capreae, and
I yet survive I ! See how I imi-
tate them !"

And he threw himself into the
abyss. Longinus heard the inter-
lacing branches crack, but saw
only the torn remnants of a toga
here and there adhering to the
thorny plants which grew upon the
sides. He heard the dull bound of
the body from rock to rock, and a
last unearthly cry of agony, en-
hanced by echo, and fading to the
splash of water as its disturbed
surface leaped and glistened in the
rays of the now penetrating sun.

So died the man under whom
Christ suffered.

On Calvary.

ON CALVARY.

SUGGESTED BY A PAINTING BY J. L. GEROME.

IN the strong sunshine lies Jerusalem,
Undarkened yet by shadow of the doom
That hideth in the terror-freighted gloom
Lying afar along the low hills' hem.
Twinkle the silver-leaved olive-trees,
Resting in garish light 'neath heaven's cloudy seas.

From Calvary's Mount descends the winding train ;
Glitter the Roman eagles in the sun,
Leading the soldiers and the people on
To tread the city's dolorous streets again,
Whose blood-tracked stones would cry, had they but breath,
"Woe! woe ! Jerusalem, for this day's deed of wrath."

Almost unheeding passes on the crowd,
Save, here and there, turned from the populace,
Rests look of doubting or malignant face
On That we see not in death's anguish bowed.
Wild cries of hate mount up and break the still
And ominous glare that broodeth dumbly o'er the hill.

Our sad hearts hear the very footsteps fall,
The horse-hoofs striking hard against the stones,
And distant echoes of heart-broken moans
Jerusalem's daughters mourning so the thrall
Of Him, their fairest one, to death betrayed,
The hands that blessed their little ones so sore arrayed.

Where is the dying King the cross uplifts?
We cannot see him, and our upraised eyes
Meet but the awful gloom in far-off skies,
The lurid moon dull gazing through the rifts
Of gathering darkness ; here the waiting glare
Of cruel sunshine making all the city fair.

Fain would we kneel with Magdalen and weep,
Clasp wounded feet in passionate embrace,
Win with the loved disciple word of grace,
Vigil with God's woe-stricken Mother keep :
We cannot find Him, and blaspheming cries ,

From that retreating train still in fierce chorus rise. '

On Calvary. ^

Is He not here ? Lo ! sadly looking down,
Just at our feet a shadow strange we trace
Falling across the sunlit grassy place
The likeness of three crosses darkly thrown,
And His, the centre one, e'en so most fair
Through semblance of a form divine it dim dotli bear.

Here, 'gainst the sunshine traced, lie those bent knees
That knew the sorrow of Gethsemani
As trembled they 'neath its dread mystery;
Here droops the thorn-crowned head in silent peace,
And here, in the unswerving shadow lined, \;

Are stretched the arms that bear the ransom of mankia&X;

So rests unseen the presence of the Lord
Whose shadow seems as blessed aureole,
A holy writing on a sacred scroll,
Rich oil from consecrated vessel poured
All merit his, the Infinite Son of God,
Whose death so lightly falls on earth's poor, soulless sod.

Within the painted shadow is no Hfe^
Save in the grassy sward whereon it falls.
Beyond arise the city's firm-built walls.
With spring's swift-coursing sap the boughs are rife
Of the gnarled olives with their silver leaves
Shining against the dusky veil the storm-wind weaves.

We see the wild-faced moon in skies far-off,
The bare and weary light of undimmed sun,
And Caesar's glittering eagles leading on
The thoughtless people, who, with jeer and scoff,
An abject God in proud derision scorn,
Alike from barren shade and living presence turn.

O weary thought] hath earth lost sight of Him?
And do her children with dulled vision grope,
With fain-believing heart and doubting hope,
His cross a parable with meaning dim ?
A shadow resting in the feeble clasp
Of them that fear the bitterness of truth to grasp?

Is all that sorrow of the Son of Man
A dreary darkness shutting out the light ?
Poor human pain dwarfing eternal might?
An o'ergrown bramble with its prickly span
Piercing the delicate leaves of earth-born flowers,
And blighting with harsh touch kind nature's generoi

VOL. XXVII. 5

66 A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

Alas ! that men that Infinite Love should fear,
Should dread its glory and its shade despise,
Banish its semblance from imploring eyes,
Give men but empty shadow to revere
Blind beggars leaving them unto whose cry
None answereth when He of Nazareth goes by.

Of this sad modern world of ours to-day
The artist's picture seemeth counterpart,
When men erase old lessons from the heart,
Striving who farthest from the cross may stray
Swift, swift descending 'neath the eagles' shine,
Some longing face still turned to meet the gaze divine.

In her long-ordered way the earth moves on,
The moon doth change with steady law her face,
Swift-growing grass still hides our footsteps' trace,
And dew falls softly when the day is done :
All nature's tale seems old, but one thing strange
The Christ of God a shade the westering sun shall change !

Nay, fear not ! Stand to-day as e'er of old
The faithful Maries, who brave vigil keep,
The loved disciple with a love as deep
As in old days lay shrined in heart of gold;
And rests God's patience till from shadowed sod
The piercing cry break forth, "This was the Son of God.

A BISHOP'S LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE IN THE NEW GER-
MAN EMPIRE.*

THE diocese of Paderborn is ment, the bishop tells us in dispas-

one of the largest in Germany. Its sionate language of his captivity,

bishop, Dr. Conrad Martin, has of its joys and sorrows, of the

just published a little work f which friends who were so true to him in

may vie with Silvio Pellico's Le his adversity, of the whole Catholic

mie Prigioni, being an account of a Church, who shared his banishment

three years' banishment from his in a measure, and of that most au-

see. It is not " poetry and truth," gust prisoner whose sympathy is so

remarks the writer of this pamphlet freely given to his suffering breth-

in his preface, "but only the truth ren,and whose captivity is in itself,

which is written down in these perhaps, a pledge that they too

pages."]; And true to his state- must taste of his own chalice.

Three Years of my Life. By Dr. Conrad With the presentiment of future

, Bishop of Paderborn. Mainz, 1877. events, or rather of the storm which

ei Jahr e aus meinem Leben, . , , .

p. 3, was about to break over their pas-

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

tor on account of the Kulturkampf,
the people of Paderborn came in
large numbers in the spring of 1874
to assure him of their love and de-
votion. The demonstration began
on the 25th of March, when the train
deposited five thousand pilgrims
in the ancient city of Paderborn.
They repaired to the bishop's house,
and terminated the meeting by sim-
ultaneously falling on their knees
to recite aloud the Apostles' Creed.
These deputations lasted for two
months, and on one occasion the
number of deputies amounted to
fifteen thousand. It is not an in-
significant fact to see how well and
bravely the flock stood by the pas-
tor in his hour of need. But at
last the cloud burst. Repeated in-
fringements of the May Laws were
laid to the bishop's charge ; and
the fine in proportion rose to a sum
altogether beyond his means, and
a corresponding term of impri-
sonment was the only alternative.
Here an unknown, and therefore
doubly generous, benefactor inter-
posed, and paid the money requir-
ed without the bishop's knowledge.
But, to use his own simple language,
Dr. Martin, " from higher consid-
erations, thought he could not ac-
cept the benefit," and protested
against it, * whereas the local au-
thority said that he could. At last
an answer came from Berlin decid-
ing that he should submit himself
to imprisonment. As the bishop
would not consent to that, force
was used, and on the 4th of August,
1874, he was taken from his house
through a dense crowd of sympa-
thizers to his prison, where he was
witness of a scene " not to be de-
scribed by words." Bouquets of
flowers fell at his feet from all sides,
and the steps leading up to the
abode of his sorrow were thick with

* Ibid. p. 8.

them. Two works had been near
his heart as a pastor the establish-
ment of ecclesiastical institutions
for the fitting education of the
clergy, and the labor of love which
is expressed by the perpetual ado-
ration of the Blessed Sacrament.
This touching devotion was there-
fore one of the first-fruits of his
own workings, and it has become
widely known through the world.
But never before had the bishop of
Paderborn shared the prison com-
mon to malefactors of every de-
gree. The prisoner was then con-
ducted to his two cells. One he
describes as "certainly not roomy,,
but still not wholly unpleasant " ;'*
the second was to serve merely as
a bed-room. Loneliness is the pri-
soner's trial, and when first the bi-
shop heard the lock and key tell
him of his utter solitude, sad
thoughts pressed themselves upon
him. Many years before he had
paid a pastoral visit to this same
prison, and his own encouraging
words spoken then came home to
him now. "Could you only have
imagined then," he said to himself,.
" that you yourself should be con-
fined in the same dungeon, and
come to need the recommendation
to resignation and patience which
you gave to those prisoners ? Oh !
what a change, what a comparison
then and now then, when there was-
no Kulturkampf, but an undisturbed
and joyous peace. O tempora, o
mores !"\ But the angel of conso-
lation was at hand. The thought
of that divine Providence whose
care of us is so beautifully specified
in Holy Scripture brought peace..
" Every hair of our head is num-
bered." The bishop determined
upon active endurance, and during
those first few hours of his impri-
sonment planned for himself an or-

*Ibid. p. 14-

t /<$/</. p. 15.

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

der of duties for the coming soli-
tary days. That night the break-
ing of a pane of glass in his bed-
room window, caused by the hurl-
ing of a stone from an unknown
hand outside, was a little alarming,
and, in spite of inquiries on the
subject, it could not be discover-
ed whether the missile was directed
by a friend in a serenading spirit,
or by a foe who might have taken
umbrage at the demonstrations of
intense affection on the part of the
people of Paderborn.

For the rest the bishop, accord-
ing to his own account, had small
cause for complaint during his con-
finement at Paderborn.* His food
was provided and sent from his
house. He was allowed to read
and write when and what he liked.
Strict supervision was, however,
-exercised on his correspondence
-and on the visits which he received.
These were permitted in the pre-
sence of a third person only, and
letters might be read and sent un-
der the same condition. The Holy
Sacrifice, which was his daily re-
freshment, supplied many deficien-
cies in that lonely heart. But the
" body of death " had still to suffer
much from privation of air and ex-
ercise. It is true that once a day
the prison bolt was withdrawn for
an exercise of two hours in the
.court-yard. This had to be taken
in common with the other prison-
ers, in a very limited space, so that
the bishop often preferred to sit by
an open window in his room, there
to enjoy what air he could get.

On the iyth of August, the eigh-
teenth anniversary of his episcopal
consecration, the widowed cathe-
dral of Paderborn was filled with
an assembly of the bishop's faith-
ful children, who celebrated the oc-
casion by heartfelt prayers for him

* Ibid. p. 1 6.

to God. Flags adorned the houses
of the Catholic inhabitants. But
the pastor's heart was further glad-
dened by the intelligence that from
the very first day of his captivity a
certain number of the faithful gath-
ered every evening in the Gau-
kirche to offer up the rosary for
their oppressed church. And now,
after the lapse of three years, the
same practice is kept up, and who
would be so presumptuous as to
say that the divine Head of the
whole body will not allow pleading
so constant finally to bring about
the desired end ? It reminds us
of that supplication of the infant
church to remove Peter's chains, or
of a case which was brought be-
fore our personal observation in
Germany.* Our Lord's presence
in the Holy Eucharist had been ban-
ished from his sanctuary through
the working of the May Laws, but
the villagers succeeded each other
during the day in unremitting pray-
er before the altar where he once
dwelt.

Upon the bishop's six weeks of
confinement followed eighteen of
custody. The only distinguishable
difference between the two con-
sisted in the non-bolting of the
prison-door from the exterior. On
the outset he was saddened by the
command to surrender his office
as bishop. The summons came to
him through the Oberprasident
von Kuhlwetter, whose attitude to
Dr. Martin from the beginning of
the Kulturkampf had been most
hostile. One act in particular of
the bishop's seems to have roused
the enmity of the non-Catholic par-
ty, but the principle of authority
must fall to the ground where de-
mands wholly contrary to his con-
science are urged upon a spiritual
ruler. The act in question had

* At Konigstein, in Nassau.

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

been a certain pastoral letter in the
affair of the Old Catholics. The
bishop replied immediately that
" devotion to the Catholic Church
had been his first love, and that it
would be his last." Ten days of
respite were allowed for the recon-
sideration of the question, under
the threat of ultimate expulsion from
his dignity. But, thanks to an en-
ergetic nature and the quiet peace
which is the fruit of a brave deter-
mination, it had small influence
over the bishop. He labored to
finish his work on the Christian
Life, and time, which is so often
the greatest trial of the prisoner,
passed rapidly away. His feast-
day was the next small event to
break the monotony of his life.
From his window he could see the
festive appearance of some neigh-
boring houses, and from far and
wide came wishes of sympathy and
affection. The telegraphic mes-
sages and letters of congratulation
numbered over eight hundred on
this day, and proved a provision
of encouragement for several suc-
ceeding days. They were the flow-
ers of persecution, and as such
most dear to the bishop's Catholic
spirit.

Oppression does indeed often
bring the work of the Lord to a
timely and palpable development,
and we may echo the prisoner's
words : " Would years of hard work
have given evidence of so close a
union as well as this short and fleet-
ingsorrow ?" * At the same time two
other addresses reached him which
were a source of particular joy :
the one from a good number of
Belgian noblemen, who thereby
drew forth a remonstrance on the
part of Prince Bismarck, the other
from two imprisoned bishops of the
far west who were themselves con-

* Drei Jahre aus meinem Leben, p. 23.

fessors of the faith, and protesting
by their personal suffering against
the evil spirit of Freemasonry.
They were the bishops of Para
and Pernambuco, who, profiting by
the journey of a priest to Europe,
took occasion to express their love
and sympathy to the fellow-sufferer
in Germany who was bearing the
self-same testimony to Catholic
truth as they themselves. Comfort,
too, came from the Holy Father,
who sent first a gold medal, and
then, on the feast of St. Conrad, a
telegraphic message of greeting
and good wishes. But the price
of these favors was suffering and
greater suffering. The threat on
the part of the secular power to
depose the bishop was now carried
out. Many and grievous had been
his shortcomings, according to the
standard established by the May
Laws, and amongst the accusations
brought against him was the er-
roneous charge that he alone
amongst the German bishops had
worked in favor of the Papal Infal-
libility at the Vatican Council.
Extensive quotations from his pas-
toral letters were given in the in-
dictment, whilst the words he had
addressed on various occasions to
his faithful children, their constant
devotion to him, the legal mea-
sures recently carried out, and the
cause now pending were alleged as
the ground why he could not con-
tinue to exercise his office. He
was invited to appear on the 5th
of Januaiy, 1875, to answer these
charges, after which day, and having
simply refused to accept the act of
deposition, it was nailed to his
door inside. There it remained
quietly hanging, says the bishop
with dry German humor, " without
my casting one single glance upon
its contents."* The feast of

* Ibid. p. 30-

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

Christmas, which occurred in the
midst of these cares, found him not
altogether joyless. The prison
chapel bore for him a resemblance
to the lonely grotto of Bethlehem.

The bishop fancied that after en-
during his twenty-four weeks of im-
prisonment he might hope for fresh
air and liberty. That hopefulness
was rather surprising. Instead of
the accomplishment of this expec-
tation, his house was stripped of its
furniture (which was afterwards
sold), and he himself was conveyed
on very short notice to the fortress
of Wesel, it being explicitly stated
that this penalty was the conse-
quence of the before-mentioned
pastoral regarding the Old Catho-
lics. The same sympathizing crowd
met him on his way to the station,
and his private secretary accom-
panied him by choice to the scene
of his new imprisonment. It was on
the 2oth of January, 1875, that the
bishop entered on the two months'
penalty at Wesel, and there he
seems on the whole to have been
better off than at Paderborn. He
could walk freely on the ramparts,
and enjoy to a certain extent so-
cial intercourse with the other pri-
soners, who were in most cases
priests of his own diocese. Three
cells were assigned to him for his
use ; the third was an act of thought-
fulness on the part of the com-
mandant, who had reserved it
for the bishop's daily Mass. If, in-
deed, it had not been for the Holy
Sacrifice for every day, Dr. Mar-
tin remarks, " holy " Masses were
.said up till ten o'clock by the
iimprisoned priests * the fortress
-would have borne a resemblance
-.to the middle state where souls
are detained for a time on account
of their sins. The supervision ex-
ercised was slight, beyond the visi-

* Ibid. p. 37.

tation of all the cells twice every
day. Once when the bishop was
taking exercise on the ramparts
which overlooked the Rhine in
itself like the face of an old friend
to Dr. Martin some of the faith-
ful who descried him in the dis-
tance knelt for his blessing. The
act, the bishop knew not how, was
communicated to the comman-
dant, who forbade him in writing
to repeat it. At Wesel correspon-
dence was free, and even newspa-
pers of all kinds were permitted.
Feelers were sent out by the gov-
ernment to test the bishop's senti-
ments with regard to his civil de-
position, but his consent could
never be obtained. And he was
cheered and supported by an ad-
dress which was brought to him
towards the middle of March by a
nobleman on the part of his dio-
cese. It contained these words :
"It is true that your lordship as
bishop has been deposed by the
Royal Court of Justice in Berlin,
but you are, and will remain, our
bishop, and we will be faithful to
you until death." * Two thick vol-
umes bore the signatures to this
statement, and they numbered
ninety-six thousand.

After his life in the fortress the
bishop was refreshed by a little
breathing-time in a friendly house
in Wesel itself. His host had just
married and taken his bride to
Rome. On their return they
brought to the exiled pastor a
new token of sympathy from the
Holy Father in the shape of anoth-
er gold medal. The days passed
pleasantly for the bishop, as far as
that was possible out of his diocese,
until he made the discovery that
he had not yet paid the entire pen-
alty of the famous pastoral. He
was sentenced to another month's
* ibid. P . 4 i.

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

imprisonment in the fortress. " I
had always thought," he writes,
" that for one offence it sufficed to
be punished once. But the powers
of the state said no."* Summer
had come, and a return to the for-
tress in that season was no small
penance. The sun's penetrating
rays made the prisoner's little cells
almost intolerable, and the bishop's
health began visibly to decline.
He lost his appetite and his sleep,
and the only remedy, according to
the doctor, to produce return of
vital power would have been change
of air and a course of sea-baths.
But for this desired end he learned
from the mayor of Wesel that it
would be necessary to undergo an
examination from the district doc-
tor, and to procure a written state-
ment that such treatment was ne-
cessary. Moreover, it was enjoined
that the place chosen for the cure
should be at least twenty miles dis-
tant from the diocese of Pader-
born. A Protestant district doc-
tor was accordingly consulted, and
his opinion exactly corresponded
with the bishop's own account of
his state, whereupon Dr. Martin
gave himself up to the pleasant
hope of soon being able to leave
Wesel. "I wished for haste the
more," he says, " as my state be-
came worse from day to day. The
continual agitation in which I was
kept helped to aggravate things.
For day after day I received tid-
ings of new ruins which the unhap-
py Kulturkampf worked in my poor
diocese. "f In the autumn of 1873
that is, after the promulgation of
the May Laws the bishop had giv-
en faculties to four newly-ordained
priests. This is the most natural
and harmless action of a bishop, for
what spiritual act can take place
without that exercise of his ju-

* Ibid. p. 45. t Ibid. p. 51-

risdiction ? Pronouncing a priest
competent for the care of souls is
analogous to the action in law of
giving a brief to a barrister. What
if the church should requirea barris-
ter to present himself to the bishop
for approbation before he received
such a brief? But the May Laws
completely confuse spiritual and
temporal things. The bishop was
accused of breaking article fifteen
of those regulations, which runs that
" spiritual rulers are bound to pre-
sent such candidates as are about
to receive a spiritual office to the
Oberprdsident, whilst at the same
time the office is specified." If
the barrister obtain briefs after he
has been called, the bishop does
not meddle with him ; but because
the priests in question had exercis-
ed their faculties Berlin thought
well to condemn the bishop to a
further imprisonment of six months.
But now a new phase began in
the life of Dr. Martin. Having
"waited and waited" for the per-
mission to follow out the cure
which a disimpassionecl authority
had pronounced absolutely neces-
sary, he resolved to act in spite of
the law, and to fly from Wesel.
He considered this course not
only allowable, but even obligatory,
seeing two principal reasons. His
health was seriously endangered, if
he could not have the required
treatment, and that health belong-
ed not to himself but to his dio-
cese. Furthermore, in Wesel his
movements were so closely watch-
ed that one single act of the pas-
toral office might give the govern-
ment a plea for still more rigorous
measures. Therefore on the 3d of
August he wrote an official letter
stating his intended departure from
Wesel on the morrow ; and so, as the
clock struck the hour of midnight,
he was quietly crossing the bridge

r A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

over the Rhine, and on the follow-
ing day, the 5th of August, he was
received at the Castle of Neuburg
by the family of Ausemburg. How
full his heart was of his appointed
work we may gather from the at-
tempt to return to Paderborn. At
Aix-la-Chapelle two railway au-
thorities recognized him, and he
was counselled by a valued friend
to go back to Holland in "God's
name !" The document which
reached him a few days later
proved the soundness of the ad-
vice. It was from the Minister of
the Interior at Berlin, announcing to
him the fact that he was from hence-
forth an outlaw in the eyes of his
country. The May Laws further
exhausted their bitterness against
him by the warrant which was is-
sued from the district court in
Paderborn for another imprison-
ment of six months. But it seems
that these punishments did not
affect the bishop's peace of mind.
Amidst tokens of universal love
and devotion he was spending his
time chiefly with the Ausemburg
family, occupying his leisure with
writing on religious subjects, amongst
which one was Devotion to the Sa-
cred Heart. After his fruitless at-
tempt to join his bereaved flock he
had directed his efforts in the first
place towards his own physical res-
toration. After a three weeks'
cure in Kattwyk, which worked a
wonderful change for the better in
his state, he visited the bishops of
Haarlem and Roermond, and re-
joiced his spirit by witnessing some
of the fruits of the new and vigorous
Catholic life which has been promot-
ed in Holland by the re-establish-
ment of the hierarchy. Whilst Dr.
Martin was with the bishop of Haar-
lem he received intelligence of the
dreadful fire which the " dear
Paderstadt " had sustained.

These peaceful days, however,
were not of long duration. They
were shortened by one of the bit-
terest experiences which a pastor
can be called upon to endure that
is, an unfaithful friend. A priest
of his diocese (the only one be-
sides Mdnnikes, lie remarks) had
gone over to the enemies of the
church, and vainly had the bishop
tried the power of loving exhorta-
tion. He was obliged at last to
use that spiritual weapon which
has ever been obnoxious to a world
impatient of restraint, and to pro-
nounce excommunication, fully
conscious of the possible conse-
quences of the step, and therefore
prepared to accept them. The
government of Holland was too
weak to protect an exile. It gave
way under more powerful pressure,
and the bishop was ordered to
leave.

"I prayed to God for light," he
says. " I asked St. Joseph (it was in
March, 1876) to lead me where I
should go." * His steps were direct-
ed to Catholic Belgium ; but what-
ever the character of the population
may be, that of the policy of its gov-
ernment is rightly defined by the bi-
shop as the effort to keep out of the
way of Prince Bismarck's complica-
tions, which effort is the ne plus ultra
of political wisdom. He was not,
therefore, much astonished when he
received orders to leave the Bel-
gian frontier.

A homeless, houseless exile, the
bishop once more wandered forth in
strict incognito, we are not told where,
but the place must have been wise-
ly chosen, for there he remained in
great retirement from April, 1876,
till the following April. Then it
was that Rome, the home of all Ca-
tholic hearts, once more awoke his
desires ; but, owing to the well-

* Ibid. p. 83.

A Bishop's Liberty of Conscience.

known sentiments of the Italian
government, he was aware that the
journey had its dangers for a bishop
under the ban of the Kulturkampf.
He set out, nevertheless, and on his
journey through France experienc-
ed numberless consolations and
the warmest reception from the
French bishops. Persecution im-
prints on the heart the device,
Cor unum et anima una.

On the 24th of May, 1877, the
feast of St. Monica, he arrived in
Rome for the fifth time. Men are
trying to make even the Eternal
City new, and as the bishop walked
through the familiar streets he felt
that the voice might indeed be the
voice of Jacob, whilst the hands
were the hands of Esau. The Colos-
seum, consecrated by remembran-
ces so heart-stirring, now appeared
to him as a dearly-loved face whence
the spirit had fled. It is the na-
ture of Rome to be the most con-
servative of cities, and never are
natural laws overturned with com-
fort. These were the German
bishop's thoughts as again lie com-
pared what had been to what was,
the more so as he found the im-
provement wholly exterior and ma-
terial, and, along with finer streets
in course of erection, was obliged to
notice a lowering of moral tone in
their inhabitants. Even the faces
of the men lie met seemed to have
altered ; for, he says, they are mostly
not Romans, but a kind of hetero-
geneous mob gathered from all
quarters of the globe.

When Pius VII. returned to Rome
after the persecution which had
threatened to annihilate his power,
he invited his enemy's family to
partake of hospitality in that city,
as the land of great misfortunes ;
but now the Holy Father, his suc-
cessor, could offer nothing but an
affectionate greeting to a bishop

who had borne so noble a witness
to the truth. The shadow of Pius
IX. 's captivity must fall upon
all his children. An exiled bishop
sought refuge in Rome as the home
of his father, and Rome could not
give him what he sought. By the
advice of several cardinals Dr.
Martin changed his residence and
went out only in secular dress, but
not before he had been denounced
by unfriendly papers as one who
was under arrest. On the 241!! of
May, in consequence of continued
persecution from the press, and in
honest fear of more serious ill-treat-
ment, strengthened by the loving
farewell and the apostolical bless-
ing of the Holy Father for himself
and his diocese, the bishop of Pa-
derborn set out for an unknown
place of exile, happy at least in
his resemblance to One who, com-
ing unto his own, was not received
by them.

The early church wrote the acts
of her martyrs, in order that the re-
membrance of their deeds should
never perish, and the church of the
nineteenth century may be allowed to
record the struggle of her confessors
not only for a perpetual memorial
of them, but also that others who
are not in the fight may realize at
once the presence of the battle-field
and the nature of the warfare. We
have seen that it exists ; its nature
cannot be better defined than by
the words of him whose confessor-
ship we are recording :

"The Papacy is in- fact the one
and only point round which the
Kulturkampf is raging, and I am
convinced that if the 'deposed*
and banished bishops were to break
off their connection with the Papacy
to-day, to-morrow they would be
re-established in all their honors
and privileges. ... On the jd of
August last it was three years since

Montserrat.

I parted from my beloved flock.
After God that flock is daily my
first and last thought. My prayers,
my anxieties, my studies, and my
occupations of whatever nature be-
long to it. I will be true to it till
death, and I hope by God's grace
that it will be true to me. Hours
of temptation come upon me some-
times, it is true hours when the
painful doubt suggests itself whether
I shall ever return to it. But I
take courage to myself again through
a trusting look up to God. He has
counted every hair of our heads,
and, if my return is in accordance
with his providence, no Kulturkampf
will have power to prevent it. But

should it be his good pleasure that
I close my eyes to this world sep-
arated from my flock, I say with
most humble resignation : May His
will be done !

" But even supposing that all
we * deposed ' and exiled bishops
should die in banishment, the
church, and the church in our Ger-
man Fatherland, will finally con-
quer. He to whom all power in
heaven and on earth is given is
her protector; and, let her enemies
be as numerous and powerful as it
is possible to be, an hour will come
when of them also it will be said :
* They who sought after her life
are dead.' " *

MONTSERRAT.

O streams, and shades, and hills on high,

Unto the stillness of your breast
My wounded spirit longs to fly

To fly and be at rest ;
Thus from the world's tempestuous sea,

O gentle Nature, do I turn to thee !

Fray Luis de Leon.

No one visits Barcelona, or
ought to visit it, without going to
Montserrat, the sacred mountain
of Spain, and one of the most ex-
traordinary mountains in the world :
the naturalist, to study its singular
formation and the thousand varie-
ties of its flora; the mere tourist,
to visit its historic abbey and ex-
plore the wonderful grottoes with
which the mountain is undermined;
and the pilgrim, as to another Sinai,
torn and rent asunder as by the
throes of some new revelation,
where amid awful rifts and chasms
is enthroned its Syrian Madonna,
like the impersonation of mercy
amid the terrors of divine wrath.
It is one of those wonderful places

in Catholic Christendom around
which centres the piety of the mul-
titude. Hermits for ages have peo-
pled its caves. The monks of St.
Benedict for a thousand years have
served its altars. Saints have kept
watch around its venerable shrine.
The kings and knights of chivalric
Spain have come here with rich
tributes to offer their vows. And
the poor, with bare and bleeding
feet, have, century after century,
climbed its rough sides out of mere
love for their favorite sanctuary.

Poets, too, have come here to
seek inspiration. Several Spanish
poets of note have celebrated its
natural beauties and its legendary

* Ibid. pp. 160, 169.

Montserrat.

glory. Goethe could find no more
suitable place than this wild, mys-
terious mountain for the scenery of
one of the most wonderful parts of
Faust the scene where he makes
the Pater Ecstaticus float in the
golden air, the hermits chant from
their mystic caves, and the bird-
like voices of the spirits come be-
tween like the breathings of a wind-
swept harp.*

We took the Zaragoza railway,
and in an hour after leaving Barce-
lona were in sight of the towering
gray pinnacles that make Montser-
rat like no other mountain in the
world. It rises suddenly out of
the valley of the Llobregat more
than three thousand five hundred
feet into the air, and looks as if
numberless liquid jets, sent up
from the bowels of the earth, had
suddenly been congealed into co-
lossal needles or cones. These
cones unite in a rocky base, about
fifteen miles in circumference,
which is cleft asunder by an awful
chasm, at the bottom of which flows
the torrent of Santa Maria. The
base of the mountain is fringed
with pines, but the cones are ash-
colored and bare, being utterly de-
void of vegetation, except what
grows in the numerous clefts and
ravines. This serrated mountain,
standing isolated in a broad plain,
strange and solitary, seems set
apart by nature for some excep-
tional purpose. It looks like a vast
temple consecrated to the Divinity.
Even the Romans thought so when
they set up their altars on its cliffs.
It is the very place for the gods to
sit apart, each on his own pinnacle,
and talk from peak to peak, and
reason high, and arbitrate the fate
of man.

The sharp needles which give so
peculiar an appearance to the

* Mr. Bayard Taylor.

mountain are mostly of a conglo-
merate stone composed of frag-
ments of marble, porphyry, granite,
etc., and not unlike the Oriental
breccia. Some say that these
enormous clefts have been produc-
ed by the agency of water or vol-
canic force; others, that the moun-
tain, like Mt. Alvernia in Italy,
where St. Francis received the
sacred stigmata, was rent asunder
at the great sacrifice of Mount
Calvary, of which these profound
abysses and splintered rocks are so
many testimonials. Padre Fran-
cesco Crespo, in a memorial to
Philip IV. on the Purisima Con-
cepcion, says of it : " Astonishing
monument of our faith, divided
into so many parts in sorrowful
proof of the death of the Creator !"
And Fray Antonio, a Carmelite
monk : "And in Montserrat is veri-
fied that which was spoken in St.
Matt, xxvii. : And the earth did
quake and the rocks were rent."

We stopped at the station of
Monistrol, two miles from the town
of that name which stands at the
very foot of the mountain, and
walked along the banks of the
Llobregat by an excellent road,
often bordered with olives at the
right, while the other side was
overhung by cliffs fragrant with
rosemary and wild thyme. We
passed several cotton manufacto-
ries, for this is the region of con-
trasts : Industry is running to and
fro in the fertile valley, while Con-
templation kneels with folded
palms on the rocky heights above.
But what divine law is there that
makes physical activity superior to
moral, or productive of greater re-
sults, as so many would have us
believe in these cui bono days?
Who knows what rich returns the
cloud-wrapped altar above has
rendered to these heavens ? or how

7 6

Montserrat.

much the proud world owes to the
solitary Levite who in the temple
keeps alive

u The watchfire of his midnight prayer"?

Monistrol derives its name from
monasteriolum a little monastery,
which was built here by the early
Benedictines. It is said that Quiri-
co, a disciple of St. Benedict, came
to Spain in the sixth century, and,
hearing of an extraordinary moun-
tain in the heart of Catalonia, call-
ed Estorcil by the Romans, he
came to see it and said to his dis-
ciples : " On this mount let us build
a temple to the Mater pulchrce di-
lectionis" His project was not re-
alized till three centuries after, but
he is believed to have built a small
convent at the foot of the moun-
tain.

It was late in the afternoon when
we drew near the spot where St.
Quirico and his disciples set up
their altar, and the little white
town of Monistrol lay closely hug-
ged in at the foot of .the mountain,
behind which the sun sets by two
o'clock, so that it was already in
the shadow. On the outskirts we
were surrounded by a swarm of
swarthy gipsies ready to tell our
future destiny for a real, as if we
did not already know it ! We
crossed one of those bombastic
bridges so common in Spain, as if
there were a flood for the immense
arches to span, and just beyond
met the cura a tall, thin man, with
an abstract, speculative look, but
who proved himself able to give
good practical advice, which we
followed by going to the little posa-
da hard by for the night, and await-
ing the morning to ascend the holy
mountain. It was a clean little inn,
but as primitive as if it had come
down from the time of St. Quirico.
Not a soul could we find on pre-

senting ourselves at the door, and
it was only by dint of repeated-
ly shouting Ave Maria Purisima!
that a brisk little woman at length
issued from some cavernous depth,
as- if called forth by our magical
words. She gave us a dusky little
room, with a crucifix and colored
print of St. Veronica over the bed,
and, after exploring the town, we
took possession of it for the night
while the tops of the mountain,
that rose up thousands of feet di-
rectly behind the house, were still
flushed with light.

The following morning was warm
and cloudless, though in the mid-
dle of February. The tartana
came at ten o'clock a wagon with
a hood, drawn by three stout mules
and we set off" with two men and
three women, all Spanish, and all
as gay as the crickets on the way-
side. If their forefathers ascended
the mountain with streaming eyes
and unshod feet, they, at least,
went up on stout wheels, and with
many a song and quirk, though
perfectly innocent withal. They
were light-hearted laborers, releas-
ed from toil, going with their lunch
to spend a holiday at Our Lady of
Montserrat's. Just after starting
we passed the little chapel of the
Santisima Trinidad, built, as the
tablet on it says, to commemorate
the happy ending of the African
war in 1860. We soon left Monis-
trol below us. The view at every
moment became more extended as
we wound up the steep sides of the
mountain. At the right was al-
ways the towering wall of solid
rock, while the left side of the road
was often built up, or at least sup-
ported, by masonry. Vines and
olives clung to the crags as long as
they could find foothold, and here
and there was an aloe on the edge
of the precipice. The bells of

Montserrat.

Monistrol could be heard far below, preserve as a relic No
The plain began to assume abillowy or poor, is allowed' to remain
appearance, swelling more and three days without special pern is
more to the north till lost m the sion. Even the better da<
mountains. The air grew more rooms are of extreme simplicity
exhilarating. In two hours time containing the bare necessaries for
we came to a chapel with a tall comfort. They are p ave d :
cross before it, and nearly opposite brick, and the walls are plaster
suddenly appeared the abbey of but not whitewashed A
Our Lady of Montserrat, seven or brought us towels, sheets and' -
eight stones high, with a cliff rising jug of water, and left us to
hundreds of feet perpendicularly own devices. The visitor offers
behind, divided by deep fissures, what he pleases on leaving No
and terminating in needles that thing is required. Meals are ob
looked inaccessible, but where we tained at a restaurant at fixed
could see a hermitage perched on prices. After taking possession of
the top like the nest of an eagle, our rooms we went to pay homage
There is no beauty about the con- to Our Lady of Montserrat
vent, or pretension to architecture, The first thing that struck us on
but there is a certain austere sim- entering the large atrium, or court
plicity about it that harmonizes that precedes the church, was a
with the mountain. The narrow- marble tablet recording one of the
ness of the terrace has prevented greatest memories of Montserrat
its extending laterally, so it has
been forced to tower up like the
peaks around it. The mountain,
as M. Von Humboldt says, seems
to have opened to receive man into
its bosom. But nearly everything
is modern, and everywhere are
ruins and traces of violence left by
the French in their ravages of 1811.
Passing through an arched gate-
way, we found ourselves in a close, came the chivalrous hero of Pain-
around which stood several large peluna, who had passed his youth
buildings for the accommodation in the court of Ferdinand V., train-
of pilgrims. These are of three ed in the practice of every knightly
classes, according to the condition accomplishment, but now smitten
of the visitor, and named after the down, like St. Paul, by divine grace,
saints, such as Placido, Ignacio, and come here in accordance with
Pedro Nolasco, Francisco de Borja, the principles of Christian chivalry
etc. The poor have two houses in which he had been nurtured, to
for the different sexes, where they devote himself to Jesus and Mary
are lodged and fed gratuitously, as their knight. He laid aside his

worldly insignia, and put on the
poverty of Christ as the truest ar-

B. Ignativs A Loyola-
hie mvlta prece fletv-
qve Deo se virginiqve
devovit hictamqvam
armis spiritalib'
5acco se mvniens perno-
ctavit hinc ad socie
tatem lesv fvndan
dam prodiit an
no M-D-XXII.-F. Lavren ne

to. Abb. dedicavit.

An. 1603.

For here it was that in 1522

mor of virtue, and, on the eve of

Bread is distributed to them at

seven in the morning; at noon,

more bread with olla and wine ;

and at night the same. Pilgrims of the Annunciation, kept his vigil of

condition sometimes go to receive arms before the altar of Our Lady,

the bread of charity, which they whom he now chose as the Seiioni

Montserrat.

de sus pensamientos " no countess,"
as he said, " no duchess, but one
of far higher degree " and he hung
up his sword on a pillar of her
sanctuary as a token that his earth-
ly warfare was over.

" When at thy shrine, most holy Maid,
The Spaniard hung his votive blade

And bared his helmed brow,
* Glory,' he cried, ' with thee I've done !
Fame, thy bright theatres I shun,

To tread fresh pathways now ;
To track thy footsteps, Saviour God !
With willing feet by narrow road ;

Hear and record my vow.' "

So, in the Book of Heroes, Wolf-
dietrich, " the prince without a
peer," stopped short in his career
of glory, and, going to the abbey of
St. George, laid his arms and gold-
en crown on the altar and conse-
crated himself to God.

On the other side of the en-
trance is a similar tablet relating
to St. Peter Nolasco, a knight of
Languedoc, who, after serving in
the religious wars of the times, as-
cended Montserrat on foot, and,
when he arrived at the threshold
of the house of Mary, fell on his
knees, and in this position ap-
proached her altar, where he spent
nine days in watching and prayer.
It was during one of his prolonged
vigils that he conceived the project
of founding the celebrated Order of
Mercy, which required of its mem-
bers to give themselves, if need
were, for the liberty of their breth-
ren in bondage, and which in the
course of about four hundred years
(1218-1632) ransomed, at the price
of millions, four hundred and nine-
ty thousand seven hundred and
thirty-six Christians (among whom
was the great Cervantes) from the
prisons of the Moors, where they
had endured sufferings no pen
could describe.

Dwelling on these saintly memo-
ries, we passed through the arcades
of the court, green and damp with

mould, and came to the church.
The exterior, of the Renaissance
style, is by no means striking.
There are columns of Spanish jas-
per on each side of the doer, with
niches between for the twelve apos-
tles, of whom only four remain.
And over the entrance stands our
Saviour giving his blessing to the
pilgrim. There is a single nave of
fine proportions, divided transverse-
ly by one of those iron rejas, or
parcloses, peculiar to Spain, with a
succession of chapels at the sides,
by no means richly decorated. It
was noon, and there was not a per-
son in the large church. Divested
of its ancient riches, and simply
ornamented, it needed the crowds
of pilgrims for whom it was intend-
ed to give it animation and effect.
But the antique Virgin was there,
in the centre of the retablo over
the high altar, surrounded by lights,
and we were glad of the silence
and solitude that surrounded her.

The sacred image of Our Lady
of Montserrat is believed to be one
made by St. Luke the Evangelist
at Jerusalem, and brought to Spain
by St. Peter, and long preserved in
a church erected by St. Paciano at
Barcelona under the title of the
Blessed Maria Jerosolimitana,*
where it was still venerated in the
time of San Severo, a bishop under
the rule of the Goths. According
to an old chronicle, it was to
preserve it from the profanation
of the Moors that, on the tenth
of the kalends of May, 718, Pe-
dro the bishop, and Eurigonio, a
captain of the Goths, took the holy
image of the Blessed Mary, and
carried it to the mountain called
Asserado, and hid it in a cave.

* This church is now that of San Justo y San
Pastor which perpetuates the memory of the holy
image by a chapel and confraternity of Our Lady
of Montserrat, as well as by frequent pilgrimages
to the mountain itself.

Montserrat.

Amid all the wars and commo-
tions of that age, it is not surpris-
ing that the remembrance of the
holy statue became a dim tradition,
and the precise spot of its conceal-
ment utterly forgotten. It was not

ray of dawn summoned the curate
and requested him to take the ne-
cessary means for examining the
place by daylight. He was not
obliged to repeat the command.
The curate took his parishioners,

till two centuries after that some and, accompanied by the bishop,

young shepherds, guarding their
flocks at the foot of the mountain,
observed that every Saturday night,
as soon as the darkness came on, a
light descended from the heavens
and gathered in a blaze around
one of the lofty peaks. Their story
was at first made light of at Monis-
trol, but, coming to the ear of the
curate, a great servant of God and
Our Lady, he resolved to ascertain
its truth for himself. Accordingly,
the next Saturday night, he set
forth at an early hour with a num-
ber of people for the most favora-
ble point of observation. As soon
as it grew dark the supernatural
light was seen, and a soft, delicious
music heard issuing as from the
depths of a cave. The curate did
not venture to approach, but re-
turned to consult the bishop of
Vich, then residing at Manresa,
the former place being in the hands
of the Moors. This bishop, whose
name was Gondemaro, took the
curate and other members of the
clergy, and, accompanied by seve-
ral knights, ascended the mountain
at the usual hour of the wonderful

went in procession along the banks
of the Llobregat, and up the sides
of the mountain as far as practica-
ble. Then he despatched several
young shepherds, who could climb
the rocks like goats, to explore the
cliff. After no little fatigue and
danger they discovered a cave on
the edge of a precipice, and within
it the sacred image of the Mother
of God, surrounded by an odor like
that of a garden of flowers. The
joyful cries of the shepherds, re-
peated by all the echoes of the
mountain caves, made known their
discovery. The bishop took the
statue in his arms, and, desirous of
carrying it to Manresa, they went
circling the wild peaks with songs
of joy in the direction of Monis-
trol ; but when he attempted to go
past a certain place on the moun-
tain his feet became fastened to
the ground like iron to a loadstone.
The Virgin had chosen the moun-
tain for her abode, and would not
abandon it. After the first mo-
ment of astonishment the bishop
comprehended the meaning of the
Soberana Seilora, and a chapel was

occurrence. They found the cliff soon built to receive the statue,^

enveloped in a cloud of fragrance.

A shower of stars settled around

the summit like 'a crown, and dulcet

symphonies came forth from its

bosom. This phenomenon lasted

till midnight, when the music died

away, the stars returned to their

spheres, and silence and darkness

resumed their empire.

The bishop passed the remainder
of the night in dwelling on what
he had witnessed, and at the first

which he entrusted to the care of
the curate of Monistrol.

But this was not the first chapel
on the mountain. The oldest was
that of San Miguel, on the other
side of the ravine of Santa Maria,
said to have been built out of the
ruins of a temple of Venus. We
went to see it that afternoon. It
stands on a lofty ridge of the moun-
tain to the north, commanding a
magnificent prospect. Beneath is

Montserrat.

the whole valley of the Llobregat,
but what below seemed like a vast
plain here looked like the sea in a
storm, in which wave after wave
succeeded each other till lost in the
Pyrenees. And these, capped with
snow, looked like the foaming sea,
run mountains high, all along the
northern horizon. The whole coun-
try was dotted with villages. The
river looked like a thread of silver
winding through the surging valley.
The sounds came up from below in
a subdued murmur. At the right
lay the Mediterranean, calm as a
sea of crystal. Behind the chapel
rose the tall cones, like the watch-
towers of a vast fortress.* The
solitude, the wildness, the awful
depths over which we hung made
a profound impression on us all.
" How easy for the soul to rise
to God in such a place !" we said.
" Let us remain here the rest of our
lives. With books to read, the
chapel in which to pray, the moun-
tain-side on which to meditate, and
such a glorious view of God's world
around us, what more in this world
could we ask for?" Every now
and then came the peal of the con-
vent bells. The air was fragrant
with the balsamic odor of the
shrubs. The glowing sun lit up
mount and sea. And a certain
melancholy about these gray peaks
and unfathomable abysses, the ruin-
ed hermitages and violated chapels,
and even the wintry aspect of yon-
der plain, gave them an additional
charm. While sitting on the rocks
a Spaniard came along with his
daughter, and, entering into conver-
sation, we learned that they were
visiting the holy mountain for the
last time together, she being on the
point of entering a sisterhood.
They both showed the most lively

* The Moors called Montserrat Gis Taus the
watch-peaks or towers.

faith, and talked with enthusiasm
of Montserrat, telling us how it had
been rent asunder at the Crucifix-
ion. After they had gone on in
the direction of Collbato we sat a
longtime in silence, and then went
slowly down the winding path, bor-
dered with laurel, holly, heather,
and shrubs of various kinds. On
the way we met a long file of pupils
from the abbey, ranging from ten
to twenty years of age, all in gowns
and leather belts like young monks.
Two of the Benedictine fathers
came behind them.

It was nearly night when we got
back to the monastery, and as soon
as we had dined we went to the
church. It was wrapped in utter
darkness, all but the sanctuary,
which was blazing with lamps
around the Madonna and the tab-
ernacle. We knelt down in the
obscurity close to the reja. In a
short time thirty or forty students
entered in their white tunics, and,
encircling the altar, began the
Rosario in a measured, recitative
way that was almost a chant. Then
they gathered around the organ and
sang the Salve and Tota pulchra cs
with admirable expression. The
lateness of the hour, the vast nave
shrouded in darkness, the blazing
altar, with the black Madonna
above in her golden robes after the
Spanish fashion, the groups of wor-
shippers motionless as statues, the
venerable monks of St. Benedict in
the choir, and the white-robed
singers around the organ, gave
great effect to the scene. We wish-
ed we might keep our vigil before
the altar, like St. Ignatius ; but one
of the lay brothers, with a queer
old lantern that must have been
handed down from the Goths, be-
gan to hustle us out of the church
as soon as the devotions were over,
and we went stumbling: through

Montserrat,

the dark court into the open air;
and giving one look at the violet
heavens, across which flashed a
shooting-star, and to the tall black
cliffs that overshadowed us, we
went to our rooms, our hearts still
under the influence of the music.
The bells of the monastery kept
ringing from time to time as long
as we were awake, and they roused
us again at an early hour the fol-
lowing morning, as if the laus per-
ennis were still kept up as in the
olden time.

It was not yet day, but we hur-
ried to the early Mass, which is
sung with the aid of the students,
followed by another chanted by
the monks, and the sun was just
rising out of the sea when we came
from the church. As soon as
breakfast was over we went to
visit the cave of Fray Juan Garin,
which is in the side of an enormous
cliff it seemed fearful to live under.
He was lying there in effigy, with
his book and rosary, a water-jar at
his feet, and a basket at his head,
as if he had just gone to sleep.
His legend, though not pleasing,
is too closely connected with the
early history of the mountain to be
wholly omitted. It has been sung,
too, by poets, and one scene, at
least, in his life has been perpe-
tuated in sculpture.

Fray Juan Garin is said to have
been born in the ninth century of a
noble family of Goths at Valencia,
and in the time of Wifredo, Count
of Barcelona, became a hermit on
the lone heights of Montserrat.
He is represented as a man of
wasted aspect, with a long beard,
who lived in the cave of an inac-
cessible cliff, and, when he went
forth, carried a long staff in his
hands, which were embrowned by
the sun. Here he attained to such
consummate sanctity that the very
VOL. xxvii. 6

bells which hung between the two
pillars before the ancient chapel of
SS. Acisclo and Victoria rang out
of their own accord whenever he
approached. Every year he made
a pilgrimage to the capital of the
Christian world, and tradition says
the bells of the Holy City sponta-
neously rang out at his arrival, like
those of Montserrat. It would
seem as if this holy hermit, re-
gardless of the world, and by the
world forgot, could have noth-
ing to disturb his peace. But the
great adversary had his evil eye on
him, and resolved on his fall. For
this purpose he turned hermit
himself, as in the old rhyme, and
put on a penitential robe and long
white beard, which made such an
impression on the count of Barce-
lona, when he presented himself
before him, that he took his ad-
vice and brought his beautiful
daughter Riquilda, who was thought
to be possessed, to try the efficacy
of Fray Juan's prayers.

Meanwhile, the devil established
himself in the very cave on the
top of the cone above the monas-
tery still known as the Ermita del
Diablo, and soon after the two
hermits met as if by accident.

They looked at each other, but
without at first breaking the holy
silence that set its seal on their
contemplative life. At length the
Diablo addressed Fray Juan, say-
ing he was a great sinner who had
come to the mountain three years
previously to seek pardon of God
for his innumerable offences in
solitude and mortification, and ex-
pressing surprise that they had
never met before. Garin at first
repulsed his advances, as if by in-
stinct, but the Diablo continued to
speak with so much unction on the
redoubled fervor that would result
from a holy union of prayer and

Montserrat.

penitential exercises that Garin at
length yielded, and finally let no
day pass without meeting him and
unveiling the innermost recesses of
his heart.

We will not enter into the de-
tails of the tragedy which ended
in the murder of the beautiful Ri-
quilda. But when Fray Juan
awoke to a sense of his crime, he
was seized with so terrible a re-
morse that he once more set off
for Rome to throw himself at the
feet of him to whom are given the
keys of earth and heaven, and con-
fess his heinous sin. But the bells
no longer rang out as he drew near.
He was now

"A wretch at whose approach abhorr'd.
Recoils each holy thing."

Even the pope, with the power
to him given to wash men's sins
away, had no ghostly word of peace
for him. But he sent him not
a\vay in utter despair. He impos-
ed on him by way of expiation to
go forth from his presence like a
beast of the earth, to live on the
herbs of the field, and keep an un-
broken silence till a sinless child
a few months old O power of in-
nocence ! should assure him God
had remitted his sin.

And Fray Juan submissively
went forth from the Holy City on
his hands and feet, and directed his
weary course once more to Mont-
serrat. Meanwhile, the Virgin, as
Mr. Ticknor says, " appearing on
that wild mountain where the un-
happy man had committed his
crime, consecrates its deep soli-
tudes by founding there the mag-
nificent sanctuary which has ever
since made Montserrat holy ground
to all devout Catholics." *

In the course of time Fray Juan's
garments were worn out ; exposed

* History of Spanish Literature.

to the blazing sun of Spain, he
grew swarthy of hue, and his body
became covered with hair that
made him look like a wild beast,
for which, in fact, he was taken by
the royal foresters, who fastened a
rope around his neck and led him
to Barcelona, where he was put in
the stables of the count's palace of
Valdauris, and became at once the
wonder and terror of the people.

Not long after the lord of Cata-
lonia made a great feast to cele-
brate the birth of his son, now four
or five months old, and one of the
guests expressing a wish to see the
curious beast from Montserrat,
Fray Juan was led into the hall.
As soon as he appeared the infant
prince, speaking for the first time
in his life, said : "Rise up, Fray
Juan Garin ; thou hast fulfilled thy
penance. God hath pardoned thee."
And the penitent rose up and re-
sumed his original form as a man.*
He then threw himself at the
count's feet and confessed his
crime. Wifredo could not refuse a
pardon God had granted through
his child. He ordered Fray Juan
to conduct him to his daughter's
grave, and, followed by all the
lords and knights of his court, he
went to the mountain, and there,
beside the newly-erected chapel of
the Virgin, he found the tomb of
the princess. When it was unseal-
ed, to their amazement Riquilda
opened her eyes and came forth
from the grave. Around her neck
was a slight mark, like a thread of
crimson silk. As Faust says of
Margaret :

41 How strangely does a single blood-red line,
Not broader than the sharp edge of a knife.
Adorn her lovely neck!"

* There was formerly an old sculpture in this
palace of the counts of Barcelona, representing the
prince in the arms of his nurse, and thft hermit of
Montserrat at their feet This is now in the mu-
seum of antiquities in the old convent of San Juan
at Barcelona.

Montserrat.

The overjoyed count took his
daughter back to Barcelona, where
an immense crowd came to see her
whom the great Madre de Dios had
awakened from the sleep of death.
One of the knights of the court,
struck with her beauty, request-
ed her hand in marriage, but Ri-
quilda felt that after so strange a
restoration to life, she ought to
consecrate herself to God on the
mount where the wonder had been
accomplished.

Wifredo, who was a great build-
er of churches, determined to erect
a magnificent convent on the
mountain. Fray Juan worked on
it with his own hands, and after its
completion retired to a cave, where
he penitently ended his days. The
convent was peopled with nuns of
noble birth, and Riquilda placed at
their head. Eighty years after
Count Borrell, who was now lord
of Catalonia, fearful of a Saracen
invasion, substituted monks and
transferred the nuns to the royal
foundation of Santa Maria de Ri-
poll.

This legend of a rude age, gross
in some of its details, has been
celebrated in several poems, one of
which, still read and admired, takes
a high place in Spanish literature.
This is El Monserrate, by Cristobal
de Virues, a dramatic poet, who was
a great favorite of Lope de Vega's.
Virues had served as a captain in
the Spanish wars, and taken part
in the battle of Lepanto. He be-
longed to an age when, as Mr.
Ticknor says, many a soldier, after
a life of excess, ended his days in a
hermitage as rude and solitary as
that of Garin.

The old counts of Barcelona
made great donations to the con-
vent of Montserrat, as well as the
kings of Aragon after them. The
monks were exempted from im-

posts and taxes, and made honora-
ry citizens of Barcelona. They not
only had possession of the mountain,
but held feudal sway over several
towns and lordships. The rule of
St. Benedict is known to have been
observed here in 987, when Prior
Raymundo was at the head of the
house. It was a dependence of the
abbey of Ripoll until the fourteenth
century, but on account of its mira-
culous Virgin, and the extraordi-
nary history of its foundation, it at
once acquired great celebrity, and
not a day passed without numerous
pilgrims. In the twelfth century
there were so many that Don
Jaime el Conquistador ordered all
who went to the mountain to take
with them the provisions necessary
for their subsistence. These pil-
grims, who were often from distant
provinces, used to come with bare
feet, sometimes with torches in their
hands, or bearing heavy crosses, or
scourging their bodies, or with a
halter around their necks and mana-
cles on their hands, as if they were
criminals. And when the monks
saw them coming in this manner,
they went out to meet them, and
released them from their vow by
special authority from the pope,
and brought them in before the holy
image of the Mother of God, where
their sighs and tears broke forth
into piteous prayers.

These pilgrims had a kind of
sacred character which prevented
them from being cited before tribu-
nals till they returned, except for
crimes committed on the way, un-
der a penalty of five hundred crowns.
Leonora, the wife of Don Pedro el
Catolico, was the first queen of
Aragon to visit the sanctuary, and
Don Pedro the Great the first king.
The latter passed the night before
the altar of Our Lady, imploring
her aid against the French, who

Montserrat.

were invading Catalonia. Don
Jaime and his wife Blanca came to-
gether and endowed the monastery,
of which their son was then prior.
Don Pedro el Ceremonioso came
twice : on his way to the conquest
of Majorca, and again at his return,
when he presented a silver galley
in thanksgiving for his success.
Queen Violante, wife of Juan I.,
came here with bare feet, out of pure
love for the Virgin, bringing with
her rich gifts.

When Ferdinand the Catholic was
nine years old his mother brought
him to Montserrat and consecrated
him to the Virgin. After the con-
quest of Granada he and Queen
Isabella came here together, with
Prince Juan, their son, Isabella,
widow of Don Alonso of Portugal,
Dona Juana, afterwards called la
Loca, and others of the royal family.
They brought with them the two
young sons of the last king of
Granada, who were baptized under
the names of Juan and Fernando.
In the retinue were the great Car-
dinal Mendoza and a number of
prelates. On this or some other
occasion their Catholic majesties
presented two magnificent silver
lamps to burn before Our Lady of
Montserrat, and Queen Isabella
gave twelve yards of green velvet,
and two of brocade, to the sacristy.
It was about this time that thir-
teen monks from Montserrat were
chosen to accompany Christopher
Columbus in order to establish the
faith in the new regions he might
discover. At their head was Dom
Bernardo Boil, a noble Catalonian,
who was raised to the dignity of pa-
triarch and papal legate. Colum-
bus gave the name of Montserrat
to an island he discovered in 1493,
on account of the resemblance it
bore to the holy mountain of Spain,
and the first Christian church erect-

ed in America was called Nuestra
Senora de Montserrat.

Charles V. came to Montserrat
when nineteen years of age, accom-
panied by his tutor, Adrian of
Utrecht, afterwards pope. They
found the court full of soldiers, with
lighted torches in their hands, and
the Count Palatine at the head of
an embassy to offer him the crown
of Carlo Magno in the name of the
electors of Germany. Charles went
to prostrate himself at the feet of
the Virgin, and the following day
left for Barcelona, after giving the
father abbot the title and privileges
of Sacristan Mayor of the crown of
Aragon. He subsequently bestow-
ed many gifts on the abbey, and
gave it rule over the town of Olessa
and other places. He visited it
repeatedly, and not only remained
several days at a time, but is even
said to have tried the monastic life
he afterwards embraced in the
convent of Yuste. The third time
he came here was in 1533, and on
Corpus Christi day he walked in
the procession with the monks,
carrying a lighted candle in his
hand. He liked to pass such great
solemnities in a monastery, contri-
buting by his presence and gene-
rosity to the brilliancy of the festi-
val. He always invoked Our Lady
of Montserrat before engaging in
battle, and attributed to her his
victories. He was at Montserrat
when he received notice of the dis-
covery of Mexico by Hernando
Cortes, and when he heard of one
of his important victories over the
Moors. And on St. Margaret's day,
1535, the parish of Santa Maria del
Mar at Barcelona sent a deputa-
tion of twelve persons to the moun-
tain, habited as penitents, to pray
for the success of the royal arms.
They united with the monks and her-
mits in a devout procession around

M out s err at.

the cloister, and made such prevail-
ing prayer at the altar of Our Lady
that Charles V. that very day took
possession of Tunis. When the
emperor, in 1558, found he was
dying, he called for the taper
blessed on the altar of Montserrat,
and holding it in one hand, with
the crucifix that had been taken
from the dead hand of his mother
Juana in the other, this great mon-
arch, who, as he acknowledged to
his kinsman, St. Francis Borgia,
had never, from the twenty-first
year of his age, suffered a day to
pass without devoting some part of
it to mental prayer, now slept for
ever in the Lord.

Isabella of Portugal, wife of
Charles V., likewise came here, and
in her train the Marques de Lorn-
bay, afterwards Duke of Gandia,
and Viceroy of Catalonia, now
venerated on our altars under the
name of San Francisco de Borja.
With him was his wife, the beau-
tiful Leonora de Castro, lady of
honor to the empress. As a me-
morial of her visit, Isabella pre-
sented the church with a silver pax
of artistic workmanship worth two
thousand ducats, and a little ship
garnished with diamonds valued at
10,800 pesos.

Some years after Dona Maria,
daughter of Charles V., came here
with her husband, Maximilian II.,
Emperor of Austria, to obtain a
blessing on their marriage, and she
spent several days here on her
return to Spain. Her page, at that
time, was the young Louis de Gon-
zaga, son of the Marquis of Castig-
lione, who afterwards entered the
Society of Jesus, and is now canon-
ized.

With this empress came also her
daughter, the Princess Margarita,
who prostrated herself at the feet
of the Virgin and implored the

grace of becoming the spouse of
her divine Son. Tradition says
the Virgin gently inclined her
head in token of consent. At all
events, the princess, after her
prayer, took a dagger from one of
the cavaliers, and with blood from
her own veins thus wrote :

" I solemnly pledge myself to be-
come the spouse of Christ, to whom
I here offer myself, begging his Vir-
gin Mother to be my mediator. In
faith of which I subscribe myself,
" MARGARITA."

She placed this vow in the Vir-
gin's hand, and afterwards fulfilled
it by becoming a nun in the royal
foundation of the Carmelites at
Madrid under the name of Sr.
Margarita de la Cruz. This inte-
resting document was long preserv-
ed in the abbey, but disappeared
when the house was ravaged under
Napoleon.

Philip II., the monarch who
boasted that the sun never set on
his dominions, visited Montserrat
four times, one of which was on
Candlemas day, when he took part
in the procession, devoutly carry-
ing his taper. He presented Our
Lady with a silver lamp weighing
over a hundred pounds, and an
elaborate retablo for her altar
which cost ten thousand ducados.

Don John of Austria came here
after the battle of Lepanto, and
brought several flags taken from
the enemy, as trophies to the Vir-
gin of Montserrat, and hung up in
the centre of the church the signal-
lantern taken from the vessel of
the Turkish admiral.

The abbey at this time was one
of the richest in Spain. It was
surrounded by ramparts and towers
for defence. It had its courts and
cloisters full of sculptures, and
carvings, and tombs of precious
marble, whereon knights lay in

Montserrat.

their armor, and abbots with mitre
and crosier. But the church was
too small for the number of pil-
grims, and dim in spite of its
seventy silver lamps. Abbot Gar-
riga, one of the ablest men who
ever ruled over the monastery, re-
solved to build a new one. This
distinguished abbot rose from the
humblest condition in life. When
he was only seven years old his
father, a poor man, ascended the
mountain on an ass, with a kid in
one pannier and his son in the
other, and offered them both at
the convent gate. The porter ac-
cepted the kid, but refused the
boy. The father, however, per-
sisted in leaving him, and the
abbot, struck with his intelligence,
gave him a place in the school.
He received the monastic habit at
the age of nine. While a novice
he used to lament the inadequate
size of the church, and predicted
lie should rebuild it. He subse-
quently became abbot, and fulfilled
his prophecy, but he ended his
days in the lofty hermitage of St.
Dimas, where he had retired to
prepare for eternity.

When the new church was com-
pleted, as the Virgin could not be
removed under penalty of excom-
munication, the sanction of the
pope had to be obtained. Philip
III. came to take part in the cere-
mony, and with him a crowd of
courtiers and Spanish grandees.
On Sunday, July n, 1593, the
king and all the court went to con-
fession and holy Communion in the
morning. In the 'afternoon the
sacred image was taken down from
the place it had occupied for cen-
turies, and clothed in magnificent
robes, given by the Infanta Isa-
bella and the Duchess of Bruns-
wick. Then the procession was
formed, preceded by a cross-bearer

carrying a cross of pure silver, in
which was set a piece of the Lig-
num Crucis surrounded by five
emeralds, five diamonds, a topaz as
large as a walnut, and a great num-
ber of pearls. Then came forty-
three lay brothers, fifteen hermits,
and sixty-two monks, chanting the
Ave Marts Stella, each one carry-
ing a wax candle weighing a pound.
After them were twenty-four scho-
lastics, and then the statue of Our
Lady, borne by four monks in
orders, wearing rich dalmaticas.
Over it was a gorgeous canopy
supported by noble lords. Behind
followed Abbot Garriga and his at-
tendants, and, after the peasant's
son, King Philip III., bearing a
torch on which was painted the
royal arms, and a long train of
lords and ladies, the highest in the
realm. With all this pomp the
Madonna was borne up the nave
of the new church, and, amid the
ringing of bells and the chant of
the Te Deum, was placed on her
silver throne, given by the Duke of
Cardona.

All the kings of Spain, down to
the end of the eighteenth century,
came here with their votive offer-
ings. The church had a font of
jasper, a reja of beautiful workman-
ship that cost fourteen thousand
ducats, and around the altar of the
Virgin burned over two hundred
costly lamps, the gifts of kings,
princes, and nobles. She had four
gold crowns studded with gems ;
one estimated at fifty thousand
ducats, sent by the natives of Mexi-
co converted to the faith. The
monstrance for the exposition of
the Host gleamed like the sun
with its rays of sparkling jewels.
Chalices were covered with rubies.
There were golden candlesticks for
the altar, and ornaments of amber
and crystal, and vestments of cloth

Montserrat.

of gold embroidered with precious
stones, and a profusion of other
valuable things that may to Judas
eyes seem uselessly poured out in
this favored sanctuary.

To this wonderful church, for
the gilding of which he had con-
tributed four thousand crowns,
came Don John of Austria in the
seventeenth century, and, penetrat-
ing into the sanctuary, he placed
his hands on the sacred altar, and
in a distinct voice pronounced the
following: "I swear and promise
to maintain with my sword that the
Blessed Virgin Mary was conceiv-
ed without the stain of original sin
from the first instant of her being,"
which vow was repeated by all the
knights in his train. There was
formerly a painting in one of
the chapels to commemorate this
scene.

Many children of the first fami-
lies of Spain used to be brought
to Montserrat and consecrated to
the Virgin. Sometimes they were
even left here to pass their boy-
hood. Don John of Cardona, a
Spanish admiral, who distinguished
himself in the wars with the Turks,
and at one time was viceroy of
Navarre, was educated here, and
said he valued the honor of being
a page of Our Lady of Montserrat
more than having been the defend-
er of Malta against the infidel. He
took for his standard her glorious
image, and, when he died, was bur-
ied, at his own request, at her feet.
So were many others, famous as
soldiers or statesmen, reared on
this secluded mountain. The pu-
pils, as now, wore a semi-monastic
dress. They daily recited the Of-
fice of the Blessed Virgin, sang at
the early Mass, and ate in the
monks' refectory. Nor were they
all nobles. There were peasants'
children, too, among them, but they

were all reared together in that
simplicity of life that seems tradi-
tional among the Benedictines.
The divine words that for ever en-
nobled the innocence of childhood
have done more to efface artificial
distinctions in monastic houses
than the second sentence in the
Declaration of Independence has
ever done in our beloved republic.
But in Spain there has always been
a certain courtesy towards the low-
er classes that has tended to ele-
vate them, or, at least, to maintain
their self-respect. It is said that
the dignity of man in that country
seems to rise in proportion as his
rank descends.

Among the more recent memo-
ries of the school, it is told how,
September 30, 1860, Queen Isabel-
la II. came here with her son, now
King Alfonso XII.. then only three
years old, and had him made a
page of Our Lady of Montserrat,
and he was clothed in the dress of
the pupils in the presence of the
court.

But to return to the history of
the abbey. The day came when
all its riches were suddenly swept
away. Catalonia was the first to
rise against the government of Na-
poleon. Montserrat, being consi-
dered almost impregnable, was
made a. depot of provisions and
munitions of war. It was fortified,
and bristled with cannon like a ci-
tadel. Suchet attacked the moun-
tain. It was vigorously defended
by three hundred Spaniards en-
trenched in the defiles, but the
French succeeded in gaining pos-
session of it. The monastery was
blown up. The hermitages were
ruined. The hermits were '* hunt-
ed like chamois from rock to rock,"
and the treasures of the church
were carried off as spoils of war.
All the testimonials of the faith of

Montserrat.

Spain that had been accumulating
here for centuries were swept away :
the gold and the jewels, the paint-
ings and carvings, the Gothic clois-
ter and the tombs of alabaster all,
all disappeared. Only one price-
less jewel remained, around which
all the others had been gathered
the ancient Madonna brought from
the East, which was once more
concealed in a cave, as in the time
of the Moors.

Towards the close of our second
day on Montserrat we passed
through an avenue of cypresses
behind the monastery, and came
to a small terrace on the very edge
of the precipitous mountain-side,
around which was a wall adorned
with great stone saints that were
gray and mossy, and worn by the
elements. Against the wall were
seats, and, in the centre of the
plot, a tank for gold fish, with a
few plants and shrubs around it.
Here is an admirable view to the
northwest, and we stood leaning a
long time against the wall, looking
at the broad Vega beneath, and the
long range of Pyrenees that stood
out with wonderful distinctness
against the pure evening sky. Di-
rectly beneath us was Monistrol,
and, beyond, Manresa, only three
leagues off, but seemingly much
nearer; and along yonder road
winding through the Valley of Pa-
radise, as it used to be called, must
have gone St. Ignatius from Mont-
serrat in his newly-put-on garments
of holy poverty, which could not,
we fancy, hide his courtly bearing
or eagle glance.

Nothing could surpass the ex-
quisite gradations of light and co-
lor that passed over the landscape
while the sun was going down.
The pleasant valley grew dim.
Manresa receded, and her white
walls soon looked like a ship at sea.

A purple mist began to creep up the
mountain-sides. The snowy sum-
mits were suffused with a blush of
rosy light. The last gleam of the
sun, now below the western hori-
zon, flashed from peak to peak like
signal-fires, and then died away.
The purple hills grew leaden. The
rosy peaks became paler and paler
till they were actually livid, and
finally faded away into mere fleecy
clouds.

Then we walked reluctantly back
through the tall, dark cypresses to
the convent, and through the sha-
dowy cloister to the church, which
we found dark but for the usual
cluster of lamps around the altar,
suspended there beautiful em-
blem of prayer to consume them-
selves before God, in place of the
hearts forced to live amid the cares
of the world.

There is an old legend, embodied
in a Catalan ballad, that tells how
an angel one night ordered Fray
Jose de las Llantias. a lay brother
of Montserrat, now declared Vene-
rable, to quickly trim the dying
lamps lest the world be overwhelm-
ed in darkness because of iniquity.

The next morning, after the usu-
al offices, we went to receive the
father abbot's blessing and visit
the treasury of the Virgin no
longer filled with countless jewels,
but containing many touching of-
ferings that tell of perils past, such
as soldiers' knapsacks and swords,
sailors' hats, innumerable plaits of
hair, etc. Then we went up a
winding stair, on which, at different
turnings, three white angels pointed
the way, to kiss Our Lady's hand,
according to the custom of pil-
grims. Afterwards we took a guide,
and went to visit several of the
hermitages, most of which are still
in ruins. That of the Virgin has
been restored, and from below

Montserrat.

astery. They are all built on a
uniform plan. There is a chapel,
and connected with it is a small

looks like a small chateau rising

straight up from the edge of the

precipice overhanging the ravine

of Santa Maria. The ancient house containing an antechan

Cueva, or cave, where the Madon- a cell with an alcove for a bed, and

a kitchen. On one side there is a
little garden with a cistern. The
hermits made a vow never to leave
the mountain. On the festival of

na was found, is now converted
into a pretty chapel lighted by
small stained windows. The ad-
joining cell has a balcony that

hangs over the abyss, commanding St. Benedict they received the Holy

a lovely view.

The hermitage of San Dimas, or
Dismas, is on one of the most in-
accessible peaks.

" Gistas damnatur, Dismas ad astra levatur,"

says the old Latin rhyme. This
cell is now in ruins, but it was once
fortified and had a drawbridge.
Col. Green entrenched himself
here in 1812 with a detachment of
soldiers, and cannon had to be put
on a neighboring height to dislodge
him. It was in one of its chapels
the great Loyola made his general
confession, and to a Frenchman.
In ancient times there was a den
of robbers here, for which reason
it was placed under the protection
of the Good Thief when it was
converted into a hermitage.

The hermitage of SantaCruz is ap-
proached by a flight of one hundred
and fifty steps cut in the solid rock.
It is said to be so called because
Charlemagne, when fighting against
the Moors in the north of Spain,
ordered a white banner, on which
was a blood-red cross, to be set up
on this peak. Here lived the
Blessed Benito de Aragon for sixty-
three years. The hermits general-
ly lived to an advanced age, to
which the pure air, as well as their

Eucharist together and had dinner
in common. On certain days in
the year they descended to the
abbey, and always took part in the
great solemnities. Their director,
appointed by the abbot, lived in
the hermitage of San Benito.
Their rule was very austere. They
observed an almost continual fast,
and their abstinence was perpetual.
Fish, bread, and the common wine
of the region constituted their
food. Most of their time was pass-
ed in exercises of piety, varied by
the culture of their little gardens.
They were allowed no pets of any
kind, but the birds of the air be-
came so familiarized with their
presence as to approach at a signal
and eat from their hands. This
was no small pleasure, for there
are nightingale?, goldfinches, rob-
in red-breasts, larks, thrushes, etc.,
in abundance on the mountain.
When ill they were removed to the
infirmary at the abbey.

The most elevated hermitage is
that of San Geronimo. The way
to it lies along the edge of deep
ravines, over steep cliffs, through
narrow fissures a rough, fatiguing,
enchanting excursion. There is a
fresh surprise at every instant, from
the continual variety of nature.

simple life and regular habits, con- We gathered fragrant violets, dai-

duced. There are about thirteen
of these hermitages scattered over
the mountain. That of Santa
Magdalena, one of the most pictur-
esque, is two miles from the mon-

sies, the purple heather, delicate
ferns, brandies of holly and box,
that grew in crevices along the
mountain-paths. We were so fa-
tigued when \ve arrived that we

9 o

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

were glad to sit down against the
crumbling walls of the hermitage,
and eat our lunch, and take a
draught from the cool cistern. The
cell is on the brink of a gulf worn
by torrents, into which it makes
one giddy to look. Close by rises
a tall cone which is the highest
point of Montserrat. Here is a
magnificent prospect of mountain,
and sea, and four provinces of
Spain. On the north is Catalonia
and the glorious Pyrenees; at the
east the blue Mediterranean, with
the Balearic Isles in the distance ;
to the south the coasts of Castil-
lon and Valencia; and to the west
Lerida and the mountains of Ara-
gon.

The hermit of San Geronimo was
always the youngest, and as the
others died he descended to a cell
less exposed to the inclemency of
the seasons, leaving his place to a
new-comer. It is a solitary peak,
indeed, to live on, and yet in sight
of so vast a world. We were there

at noon, when the sun was in all
its splendor, lighting up the snows
of the mountain and the waves of
the sea. The wind began to rise
with a solemn swell, giving out that
hollow, ominous sound which De
Quincey says is " the one sole audi-
ble symbol of eternity." The holy
mountain, shivered into numberless
peaks ; the abysses and chasms
that separate them, only inhabited
by birds of prey; the variety of
aromatic plants that grow in the
rich soil collected wherever it can
find room; the exhilarating air;
the marvels of creation on every
side, seemingly " boundless as we
wish our souls to be," constitute
an abode in which one would wish
for ever to live. The lines of
Fray Luis de Leon in his Noche
Serena might have been inspired
by this very spot :

44 Who that has seen these splendors roll,

And gazed on this majestic scene,
But sighed to 'scape the world's control,
Spurning its pleasures poor and mean.
And pass the gulf that yawns between ?"

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

TALL, gaunt, with clear-cut and
unmistakably New England fea-
tures, and feet that would not ad-
mit of Cinderella slippers, is the
tout ensemble which Emerson pho-
tographed upon our retina when we
heard him lecture recently. We
liked his calm and self-poised man-
ner. There was no heated concern
when the Sibylline leaves on which
his lecture was written became in-
extricably mixed. Paradoxically
enough, his theme was " Orators and
Oratory." His high, shrill voice,
his ungainly manners, and his utter

absence of gesture make him the
most unattractive of speakers. But
there was a certain "fury in his
words" which fastened the attention.
The next thing to being an orator
is to love oratory ; and his rever-
ence and admiration for the elo-
quent in speech pass his own elo-
quent expression.

Emerson's sentences are so point-
ed that frequently the point is so
fine as to be lost. His eloquence
is anything but Asiatic, and, in-
deed, its terseness very much re-
sembles affectation. He is called

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

the American Carlyle, but his prop-
er title is the American Montaigne.
There is not an idea in Emerson
that cannot be traced to the garru-
lous old Frenchman. The first
reading of Emerson is an era in a
young man's life. The short, apo-
thegmic sentences strike him with
the force of proverbs. The happy
quotation and illustration seem in-
spirations of genius. The misty
transcendentalism has a roseate hue,
in delightful contrast with the bald
practicality of Watts' hymns and
orthodox sermons. The stimulat-
ing style, resultant from exquisite
taste and the manly resolve to carry
out Pope's advice about the " art to
blot," is high perfection when com-
pared with the weak and weary pros-
ing of moral essayists. Yet there is
nothing original in Emerson. He
has contributed little or nothing to
the body of ideas. Not even his
poetry, which is supposed to be pro-
ductive of ideas, presents anything
new or striking. The passion for
nature-worship, which Wordsworth
carried to its highest expression, be-
comes tiresome and unnatural in
Emerson's short metre and careless
versification.

What is the source of his power ?
Why do New England critics rave
over him ? Even J. Russell Lowell,
who, with all the limitations of a
narrowed culture, ranks respectably
as a literary critic, cannot find words
in which to laud the New England
philosopher. He finds the secret of
his influer.ci to consist in his " wide-
reaching sympathy " and his being
able to understand the use of a linch-
pin equally with the stellar influen-
ces. Lowell himself is under the
witchery of mere words. His culti-
vated mind is drawn to the beautiful
by acquired aesthetic taste. His
estimate of Dante, as published in
the New American Cyclopedia and

afterward in Among my Books, fills
the thoughtful Italian student with
amazement. He is a critic of
words, and is childishly led by a
bright figure or exquisite metaphor.
Emerson, whilst seeming to disre-
gard words, pays profound attention
to their collocation and effectiveness.
This school is not a school of
thoughts but of words; and it is
under this aspect that we intend ex-
amining it. It is the thorough em-
bodiment of poor Hamlet's objec-
tion to the book which he is reading :
" Words, words, words." We read
and read, and are charmed with
Thucydidean terseness and Solo-
monic wisdom ; but when we begin
to reflect " all the riches have es-
caped out of our hands." It is about
time to expose this wily old philoso-
pher, who has been throwing rheto-
rical dust into the eyes of several
generations. He may have a noble
manhood ; he may be sincere ; but
there can be no question that it
is the ignotum pro magnifico which
has been the cheap cause of his
popularity.

Thomas a Kempis tells us that
" words fly through the air and hurt
not a stone." There is certainly no
objection to a writer's careful elabo-
ration of his style. The study of
words is a part of rhetoric. But
there is a subtle and elusive applica-
tion of words, outside of their ob-
vious and generally-used meaning,
which is at once a rhetorical and a
logical vice. And as ideas fail, so
words are sedulously cultivated. The
style is the man, as Buffon did not
say; but what of an affected style?
If there is any truth in the saying,
it convicts Emerson of being stilted,
unnatural, and affected. No man
thinks by jerks and starts, and no
man writes so. The fanciful and
abrupt indicate either affectation
or an unbalanced intellect. All the

9 2

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

great philosophers write calmly and
equably. The sustained strength of
Plato, on whom Emerson professes
to model himself, is in direct con-
trast with the abruptness of Seneca,
who was a mass of conceit and hy-
pocrisy. We have no quarrel with
Mr. Emerson on account of his stu-
died style ; only, with Sydney Smith,
we object to a discourse in which
are hung out preconcerted signals
for tears or excitement. It is quite
easy to form a quaint style. The
success of Charles Lamb's imitation
of Sir Thomas Browne, or of Bret
Harte's or Thackeray's burlesques
of popular novels, shows how quickly
a ready writer can fall into a philo-
sophical diction. Emerson attempts
the epigrammatic. Like Pythagoras,
he disdains reasons. The ipse dixit,
he supposes, will suffice for his disci-
ples. He contradicts himself on his
very self-satisfactory theory of * not
being in any mood long." He ad-
mires opposite characters ; but, to
the credit of American good sense
be it said good sense even in a
philosophe he does not u boil over,"
like Carlyle, in all sorts of oddities
of hero-worship. The Yankee hard
head which he has cannot be soft-
ened by all the philosophy and po-
etry in the world; and, notwithstand-
ing his ethereal views, he drives a
hard bargain.

Can we review this philosopher to
the satisfaction of our readers, or
must they peruse him themselves in
order to form a vague idea of his
system ?

It may be Emerson's boast that
he has no system. This restlessness
under any, even nominal, regime is
a characteristic of contemporaneous
philosophy outside the church. There
is liberty enough in the church ; and,
in fact, beyond it we see nothing
but imprisonment, for nothing so
practically chains the intellect of

man as irresponsible freedom. It is
like the liberty of the ocean enjoy-
ed' (?) by a mariner without sails or
compass. A Catholic philosopher
can speculate as much as he pleases.
The security of the faith gives him
a delightful sense of safe freedom.
Like O 'Council's driving a coach
and four through an act of Parlia-
ment, he may go to the outermost
verge of speculation. St. Thomas
moves the most outrageous fallacies,
speculations, and objections, and
discusses them, too, with all the
boldness of intellectual freedom. It
is Dr. Marshall, we think, who shows
that all intellectual activity and free-
dom are enjoyed within the spacious
bounds of Catholic truth. Even in
theology there are wide differences.
The Catholic intellect is supposed to
be completely bridled. We once
read a powerful arraignment of our
Scriptural proofs for purgatory, writ-
ten by an eminent Protestant theo-
logian. He must have been surpris-
ed to learn that Catholic theologi-
ans do not attach all importance to
the Scriptural argument for purga-
tory. The different schools of Ca-
tholic theology argue pro and con.
as keenly as old Dr. Johnson him-
self would have desired, but without
the slightest detriment to the unity
of the faith. Nothing can be falser
than the received Protestant notion
that we are helplessly bound by a
network of petty definitions and re-
gulations. There are, however, great
and immovable principles which are
understood to guide and vivify the
Catholic intellect. And such sys-
temization is necessary to all know-
ledge. Without it a man's mind,
like Emerson's, wanders comet-like,
attracting attention by its vagaries,
but is of no intelligible use to the uni-
verse, and gives no light, except of a
nebulous and perplexing nature.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, who, of all

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

American writers, had the true tran-
scendental mind, ridicules it unspar-
ingly. His doleful experience upon
Brook Farm, when he attempted to
milk a cow, may have had a practi-
cal awakening effect upon his dreams.
In a little sketch entitled The Ce-
lestial Railroad^ in which he whim-
sically carries out Bunyan's Pil-
grim's Progress, he introduces Giant
Transcendentalism, who has taken
the place of Giant Pope, and Giant
Despair, that interrupted Christian's
progress to the Delectable Moun-
tains. Giant Transcendentalism is a
huge, amorphous monster, utterly in-
describable, and speaking an unin-
telligible language. This language,
which Emerson strives to make arti-
culate, we read with mingled amuse-
ment and astonishment in the Ger-
man writers. Emerson is not a
member of the Kulturkampf, like
Carlyle. His mind does not take in
their wild rhapsodies. His essay on
Goethe (in Representative Men)
is cold and unappreciative when
compared with the Scotchman's eu-
logies. We firmly believe that no
healthy intellect can feed upon
Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, or even
Kant, who was the most luminous
intellect of the group. Emerson has
not the stolid pertinacity of Herr
Teufelsdrockh. His genius is French.
He delights in paradox and verbal
gymnastics. Carlyle works with a
sort of. furious patience at such a
prosaic career as Frederick the
Great's. He gets up a factitious
enthusiasm about German Herzhogs
and Erstfursts. Emerson would look
with dainty disdain upon his Cyclo-
pean work among big, dusty, musty
folios and the hammering out of
shining sentences from such pig-
iron.

Whence his transcendentalism ?
We believe that it has two elements,
nature-worship and Swedenborgian-

ism. Of nature-worship we have
very little. Like Thomson, the au-
thor of the Seasons, who wrote the
finest descriptions of scenery in bed
at ten o'clock in the morning, we
are frightfully indifferent to the glo-
ries of earth, sea, and sky, whilst
theoretically capable of intense rap-
ture. This tendency to adore na-
ture, and this intense modern culti-
vation of the natural sciences, we
take as indicative of the husks of
religion given by Protestantism.
Man's intellect seeks the certain, and
where he cannot find it in the super-
natural he will have recourse to the
natural. The profound attention
paid to all the mechanical and na-
tural sciences, to the exclusion, if
not denial, of supernatural religion,
is the logical result of the ab-
surdity of Protestantism. Perhaps
Emerson's poetic feeling has much
to do with his profound veneration
for fate, nature, and necessity, which
are his true god, with a very little
Swedenborgianism to modify them.

And here we meet him on his phi-
losophy of words. A word, accord-
ing to St. Thomas, should be the
adcequatio ret et intellectus, for a word
is really the symbol and articulation
of truth. Where words convey no
clear or precise idea to the mind they
are virtually false. The terminology
of Emerson falls even below Car-
lyle's in obscurity. What does he
mean by the one-soul ? What by
compensation ? What by fate and
necessity ? Explica tenninos is the
command of logic and reason ; yet he
maunders on in vague and extrava-
gant speech, using terms which it is
very probable he himself only partly
or arbitrarily understands. He is
not master of his own style. His
own words hurry him along. This
fatal bondage to style spoils his best
thoughts. He seems to aim at strik-
ing phrases and ends in paradox.

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

His very attempt to strengthen and
compress his sentences weakens and
obscures his meaning. The oracular
style does not carry well. He is
happiest where he does not don the
prophetic or poetical mantle. When
we get a glimpse of his shrewd char-
acter, he is as gay as a lark and sharp
as a fox. He muffles himself in
transcendentalism, but fails to hide
his clear sense, which he cannot en-
tirely bury or obfuscate. It seems
strange to us that such a mind could
be permanently influenced by the
fantasies of Swedenborg, whom he
calls a mystic, but who, very proba-
bly, was a madman. The pure mys-
ticism of the Catholic Church is not
devoid of what to those who have
not the light to read it may seem to
wear a certain air of extravagance,
which, apparently, would be no ob-
jection to Emerson ; but it is kept
within strict rational bounds by the
doctrinal authority of the church.
We do not suppose that Emerson
ever thought it worth his while to
study the mystic or ascetic theology
of the church, though here and there
in his writings he refers to the exam-
ple of saints, and quotes their say-
ings and doings. But it must be a
strange mental state that passively
admits the wild speculations of Svve-
denborgianism with its gross ideas of
heaven and its fanciful interpretations
of Scripture. Besides, Emerson
clearly rejects the divinity of Jesus
Christ, which is extravagantly (if we
may use the expression) set forth in
Swedenborgianism, to the exclusion
of the Father and the Holy Ghost.
He is, or was, a Unitarian, .and his
allusions to our Blessed Lord have
not even the reverence of Carlyle.

Naturalism, as used in the sense of
the Vatican decrees, is the proper
word to apply to the Emersonian
teaching. He has the Yankee boast-
fulness, materialistic spirit, and gene-

ral laudation of the natural powers.
His transcendentalism has few of
the spiritual elements of German
thought. He does not believe in
contemplation, but stimulates to ac-
tivity. In his earlier essays he seem-
ed pantheistic, but his last book
(Society and Solitude) affirmed his
doubt and implicit denial of im-
mortality. He appears to be a pow-
erful personality, for he has certainly
influenced many of the finer minds
of New England, and, no doubt, he
leads a noble and intellectual life.
His exquisite aestheticism takes
away the grossness of the results
to which his naturalistic philosophy
leads, and it is with regret that we
note in him that intellectual pride
which effectually shuts his mind even
to the gentlest admonitions and en-
lightenments of divine grace.

It is a compliment to our rather
sparse American authorship and
scholarship that England regards
him as the typical American
thinker and writer. We do not
so regard him ourselves, for his
genius lacks the sturdy Ameri-
can originality and reverent spirit.
But Emerson made a very favorable
impression upon Englishmen when
he visited their island, and he wrote
the best book on England (English
Traits) that, perhaps, any American
ever produced. The quiet dignity
and native independence of the book
charmed John Bull, who was tired of
our snobbish eulogiums of himself
and institutions. Emerson met
many literary men, who afterward
read his books and praised his style.
He has the air of boldness and the
courage of his opinions. Now and
then he invents a striking phrase
which sets one a-thinking. He has
also in perfection the art of quoting,
and his whole composition betokens
the artist and scholar.

There is a high, supersensual re-

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

gion, imagination, fantasy, or soul-
life, in which he loves to disport, and
to which he gives the strangest
names. One grows a little ashamed
of what he deems his own unimagi-
nativeness when he encounters our
philosopher "bestriding these lazy-
pacing clouds." He wonders at the
"immensities, eternities, and fates"
that seem to exert such wondrous
powers. When Emerson gets into
this strain he quickly disappears
either in the clouds or in a burrow,
according to the taste and judgment
of different readers. There is often
a fine feeling in these passages which
we can understand yet not express.
Sublime they are not, though obscu-
rity may be considered one of the ele-
ments of sublimity. They are emo-
tional. Emerson belongs rather to
the sensualistic school; at least, he
ascribes abounding power to the
feelings, and, in fact, he is too heated
and enthusiastic for the coldness and
calmness exacted by philosophical
speculation. Many of his essays
read like violent sermons; and his
worst ones are those in which he at-
tempts to carry out a ratiocination.
He is dictatorial. He announces
but does not prove. He appears at
times to be in a Pythonic fury, and
proclaims his oracles with much ex-
citement and contortion. It is im-
possible to analyze an essay, or
hold on to the filmy threads by
which his thoughts hang together.
It is absurd to call him a philoso-
pher who has neither system, clear-
ness of statement, nor accuracy of
thought.

It is a subject of gratulation that
Emerson, who has been before New
England for the past half-century,
has wielded a generally beneficial in-
fluence. With his powers and op-
portunities he might have done in-
calculable harm; but the weight of
bis authority has been thrown upon

the side of general morality and
natural development of strength of
character. We know, of course,
how little merely natural motives and
powers avail toward the building up
of character; but it is not against
faith to hold that a good disposition
and virtuous frame of mind may re-
sult from purely natural causes. He
has preached the purest gospel of
naturalism, shrinking at once from
the bold and impious coimsellings of
Goethe and from the muscularity of
Carlyle. He has given us, in him-
self, glimpses of a noble character,
and his ideals have been lofty and
pure. New England could not
have had a better apostle, humanly
and naturally speaking. Its culti-
vated and rational minds turned in
horror and disgust from its rigid Cal-
vinism, its outre religious frenzies,
and its sordid and prosaic life. They
found a voice and interpreter in
Emerson. He marks the recoil from
unscriptural, irrational, and unnatural
religion.

Puritanism, always unlovely, des-
potic, and gloomy, began to lose its
hold even upon the second genera-
tion of the Puritans. Its life will
never be thoroughly revealed to the
sunshiny Catholic mind. Perhaps
its ablest exponent was Nathaniel
Hawthorne, who, in the Scarlet Let-
ter, revealed its possibilities and,
in fact, actualities of hideousness.
We have no fault to find with any
elements of stern self-control or as-
cetic character that it might develop,
but its effect on the intellect was
darkening and crippling. The whole
Puritan exodus from England was a
suppressed and blinding excitement.
The rebound from their harsh and
unbending discipline was terrific. The
frowning-down of all amusement, the
irritating espionage over private life,
the high-strung religious enthusiasm
which it was necessary to simulate

9 6

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

if not feel, the abnormal development
of ministerial power and influence,
and the baleful gloom of Calvinistic
doctrine, were elements that had ne-
cessarily to be destroyed, or they
would madden a nation. They could
no more endure, if it were possible to
extirpate them, than could a colony
of rabid dogs. Human nature, as
created by God, tends to preserve the
primal type. It asserts its functions,
its rights, its powers, and its apti-
tudes. After a century, in which re-
ligious intolerance ruled New Eng-
land with a rod of iron, the long-pent-
up storm burst with indescribable fu-
ry and scattered orthodoxy to the four
winds. The people breathed more
freely ; the atmosphere cleared ; there
was a healthy interchange of senti-
ment. The predominance of public-
school education, combining with
the multiplication of books, develop-
ed that crude and half-formed cul-
ture which has characterized New
England to the present day. The
best-educated portion of the Union,
filled with all the insolence of a little
learning, aspired to rule the nation,
and succeeded. Its ideas were zeal-
ously propagated. Wherever a Yan-
kee settled he planted all New Eng-
land around him. The peddler did
not need religion, but the philoso-
pher did. The culture of aesthetics
engaged some; others went off into
Socinianism. The doctrines of Fou-
rierism had charms for many, among
whom was Emerson. He longed for
an ideal life. The country was not
leavened then, as now, by the solid
thought and practice of Catholicity.
The mystic radiance and grace of
the Adorable Sacrament did not
sweetly pervade the whole atmos-
phere of the land. Satan was busy
and jubilant. The strangest and
most eccentric forms of religion
sprang up like rank mushroom
growths, with neither beauty nor

wholesome nutriment. It was then
that Emerson's call to a high man-
hood seemed to have the right ring
in it. At least, it attracted and fixed
the wandering attention of New Eng-
land. For many a winter he lectur-
ed, speaking great words, the heroic
wisdom of old Plutarch and the prac-
tical sense and insight of Montaigne.
His fine scholarship won the scholars
and his homely maxims charmed the
farmers. It was well that in that
dreary, chaotic period there was a
brave and bold speaker who did not
entirely despair of humanity, even
when he and his companions had
broken adrift from their anchorage
in the rotten and worn-out systems
of Protestant theology.

The grace of the faith has thus far
escaped the Concord philosopher,
but who shall speak of the ways of
God ? The theologian will solve you
quickly all questions in his noble
science, except questions upon the
tract of grace. There he hesitates,
for the most intimate and perso-
nal communications of God with
the soul take place in the mystery
of grace. Every man has his own
tractatus de gratia written upon his
own heart in the all-beautiful hand-
writing of God, sealing us, as St.
Paul says, and writing upon us the
mark that distinguishes us as his
beloved. It is the miserable conse-
quence of the New England system
of early education, which inheres in
a man's very spirit, that it perversely
misrepresents the Catholic Church.
It is simply astounding how little
Americans know about our divine
faith. They have never deemed it
worth their while to examine it, tak-
ing it for granted that all that is said
against it is true. We remember, as
a boy, reading Peter Parley's his-
tories, which were very popular in
New England, and not a page was
free from some misrepresentation of

Papal Elections.

the church. Emerson classes " Ro-
manism " with a half-dozen absurd
theories ; which goes to show that
he has not even reached that point
of culture which, according to its
advocates, understands and embraces
all the great creeds of humanity, in
their best and most universal truth.

Mr. Emerson is now in the sere
and yellow leaf, and it is to be fear-
ed that his intellectual pride, and
that nauseating flattery which weak-
minded people assiduously pay to men
of great intellectual attainments, have
left in him a habit of vanity which is
fatal to truth. We have known very
able men who were prevented from
seeing the truth of Catholicity by the

dense clouds of incense that their
admirers continually wafted before
their shrines. The fulness of divine
faith which he lacks, and for which
he seems mournfully to cry out, is
in the happy possession of the hum-
blest child of the Catholic religion ;
not, as he would think, merely in.'
stinctive or the result of education,
but living and logical, the gift and
grace of the Holy Ghost. Emerson
is no theologian, though once a
Protestant minister, which fact, how-
ever, would not argue much for his
theology. But he has a heroic and
poetic mind whose native strength
manifests itself even in the very ec-
centric orbit through which it passes.

PAPAL ELECTIONS.

in.

IN view of the sad affliction which
has so recently befallen the church
in the demise of Pope Pius IX.
now of happy memory we shall
preface this article on papal elec-
tions with a brief account of the
ceremonies that follow upon the
death of a Sovereign Pontiff.

As soon as the pope has breathed
his last amidst the consolations of
religion, and after making his pro-
fession of faith in presence of the
cardinal grand-penitentiary who usu-
ally administers the last sacraments
and of the more intimate mem-
bers of his court, the cardinal-cham-
berlain of the Holy Roman Church,
accompanied and assisted by the
right reverend clerks of the aposto-
lic chamber, takes possession of the
palace and causes a careful inventory
to be made of everything that is found

VOL. XXVII. 7.

in the papal apartments.* He then
proceeds to the chamber of death, in
which the pope still lies, and, viewing
the body, assures himself, and in-
structs a notary to certify to the fact,
that he is really dead. He also re-
ceives from the grand chamberlain

* The apostolic chamber, called in Rome the
Referenda Camera Apostolica^ dates from the
pontificate of Leo the Great, who constructed in the
year 440 a small but elegant suite of chambers
which served as a sanctuary for the bodies of the
apostles SS. Peter and Paul until proper crypts,
called Confessions, had been prepared for them be-
neath the high altars of their respective basilicas at
the Vatican and on the Ostian Way. When these
relics had been deposited in their present resting-
places, the Leonine sanctuary was used, as a strong
and venerable place, to contain the public treasury
of the Holy See, which was given into the safe-keep-
ing of certain officials called camerarii. Their
successors are the present chierici di camera, who
are eight in number and form one of the great pre-
latic colleges of Rome. The present institution was
reorganized by Pope Urban V. in the fourteenth
century. The cardinal-chamberlain is ex officio its
head, and it acts as a board of control over the
finances.

Papal Elections.

of the court Monsignor Maestro di
Camera a purse containing the
Fisherman's ring which His Holiness
had used in life. The cardinal, who,
by -virtue of his office of chamberlain
of the Holy Roman Church, has be-
come the executive of the govern-
ment, sends an order to the senator
of Rome, who is always a layman
and member of one of the great pa-
trician families, to have the large
bell of the Capitol tower tolled, at
which lugubrious signal the bells of
all the churches throughout the city
are sounded. Twenty-four hours
after death the body of the pope is
embalmed, and lies in state, dressed
in the ordinary or domestic costume,
upon a bed covered with cloth of
crimson and gold, the pious offices
of washing and dressing the body
being performed by the penitentia-
ries or confessors of the Vatican basi-
lica, who are always Minor Conven-
tuals of the Franciscan Order. It is
next removed to the Sistine Chapel,
where it is laid out, clothed in the
pontifical vestments, on a couch sur-
rounded with burning tapers and
watched by a detachment of the
Swiss Guard. On the following day
the cardinals and chapter of St.
Peter assemble in the Sistine and ac-
company the transport of the body
to the chapel of the Blessed Sacra-
ment in the Vatican basilica, where it
remains exposed for three days, the
feet protruding a little through an
opening in the iron railing which
closes the chapel, that the faithful
may approach and kiss the embroi-
dered slipper. The nine days of fu-
neral services Novendialia which
the Roman ceremonial prescribes for
the pope now begin. These are his
public obsequies. For the first six
days the cardinals and prelates of
the court and Holy See assemble
daily in the choir chapel of the
.canons of St. Peter, where, the Office

for the Dead being chanted, a cardi-
nal says Mass ; but during the re-
maining three days the services are
performed around an elevated and
magnificent catafalque which in the
meanwhile has been silently erected
in the great nave of the basilica.
This structure is a perfect work of
art in its way, every part of it being
carefully designed with relation to
its solemn purpose, and in harmony
of form and proportions with the
vast edifice in which it is reared. It
is illustrated by Latin inscriptions
and by paintings of the most re-
markable scenes of the late pontifi-
cate, and adorned with allegorical
statues. A detachment of the Noble
Guard stands there motionless as
though carved in stone. Over the
whole is suspended a life-size por-
trait of the pope. A thousand can-
dles of yellow wax and twenty enor-
mous torches in golden candelabra
burn day and night around it. On
each of these three days five cardi-
nals in turn give the grand absolu-
tions, and on the ninth day a funeral
oration is pronounced by some one
often a bishop, or always at least a
prelate of distinction whom the Sa-
cred College has chosen for the oc-
casion. In former days the car-
dinal nephew or relative of the de-
ceased had the privilege, often of
great importance for the future repu-
tation of the pontiff and the present
splendor of his family, raised to
princely rank, of selecting the envied
orator. Ere this, however, the final
dispositions of the pope's body have
been made. On the evening of the
third day, the public having been
excluded from the basilica, the car-
dinal-chamberlain, cardinals created
by the late pope, clerks of the cham-
ber and chapter of St. Peter, headed
by monsignor the vicar who is al-
ways an archbishop in partibus
vested in pontificals, assemble in the

Papal Elections.

chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, in
which the pope still lies in state.
The body is then reverently enfolded
in the gold and crimson cover of the
couch, and taken up to be laid in a
cypress-wood coffin, into which are
also put three red purses containing
medals of gold, silver, and bronze,
as many of each sort as there were
years of the pontificate, bearing the
pope's effigy on one side, and a de-
sign commemorative of some act of
his temporal or spiritual government
on the other. If there should be a
relative of the late pope among the
cardinals, he covers the face with a
white linen veil, otherwise this last
office of respect is performed by the
major-domo. When the coffin has
been closed it is placed inside of a
leaden case, which is immediately
soldered and sealed, while the metal
is hot, with the arms of the cardi-
nal-chamberlain and major-domo. A
brief inscription is cut at once on the
face of this metal case, giving simply
the name, years of his reign, and
date of death. The coffin and case
are now enclosed in a plain wooden
box, which is covered with a red pall
ornamented with golden fringes and
an embroidered cross, and carried
in sad procession to the uniform
temporary resting-place which every
pope occupies in turn in St. Peter's,
in a simple sarcophagus of marbled
stucco which is set into the wall at
some distance above and slightly
overhanging the floor of the church,
on the left-hand side of the entrance
to the choir chapel. A painter is at
hand to trace the name of the pope
and the Latin initials of the words
High Pontiff /Yj IX., P.M. Be-
fore the pope's body is taken up
from the chapel of the Blessed Sac-
rament, some workmen, under the
direction of the prelates and officers
of the congregation for the supervi-
sion of St. Peter's Reverenda Fab-

brica di San Pietro have broken in
the sarcophagus at the top and re-
moved its contents (which in this
case were those of Gregory XVI.
who had been there since 1846) to
the crypt under the basilica until
consigned to the tomb prepared, but
not always in St. Peter's, either by
the pope himself before his death *
or by his family or by the cardinals
of his creation, and the new claim-
ant for repose takes his place there.

During the nine days that the ob-
sequies of the pope continue the
cardinals assemble every morning in
the sacristy of St. Peter's to arrange
all matters of government for the
States of the Church and the de-
tails of the approaching conclave.
These meetings are called general
congregations. At them the bulls
and ordinances relating to papal
elections are read, and the cardinals
swear to observe them ; the Fisher-
man's ring and the large metal seal
used for bulls are broken by the
first master of ceremonies ; two ora-
tors are chosen, one for the funeral
oration and the other for the con-
clave ; all briefs and memorials not
finally acted upon are consigned to
a clerk of the chamber, etc., etc.
On the tenth day the cardinals as-
semble in the forenoon in the choir
chapel of St. Peters, where the
dean of the Sacred College pontifi-
cates at a votive Mass of the Holy
Ghost, after which the orator of the
conclave who, if a bishop, wears
amice, cope, and mitre is introduced
into the chapel, and, after making
the proper reverences, ascends a de-
corated pulpit and holds forth on the
subject of electing an excellent pon-
tiff: the pope is dead; long live the
pope ; the Papacy never dies ! f

* It is known to all visitors to Rome that Pius
IX. prepared a beautiful tomb for himself before
the high altar of St. Mary Major's.

t Roman bibliophilists anxious to possess what
is rare indeed a complete set (una biblioteca, as ,

ICO

Papal Elections.

After the sermon and the singing
by the papal choir of the first stro-
phe of the hymn Veni Creator, the
cardinals ascend in procession to the
Pauline Chapel in the Vatican pa-
lace, where the dean recites aloud
before the altar the prayer Deus qui
cor da fidelium, and afterwards ad-
dresses his brethren on the great
business which they are about to
engage in, exhorting them to lay
aside all human motives and per-
form their duty without fear or favor
of any man. All the persons who
are to remain in conclave, as the
prelates, custodians, conclavists or
attendants on the cardinals, physi-
cians, barbers, servants, are passed in
review, and take an oath not to
speak even among themselves of
matters concerning the election.
Every avenue leading into the con-
clave, except the eight loop-holes or
windows, as mentioned in a former
article, are carefully closed by ma-
sons; one door, however, is left
standing to admit any late-coming
cardinal, or let out any one expelled
from, or for whatever cause obliged
to leave, the conclave. It is locked
on the outside by the prince-mar-
shal, and on the inside by the car-
dinal-chamberlain, both of whom
retain the key of their own side.
The lock is so combined that it re-

the Italians say) of the funeral orations pronounced
over the popes, and of the hortatory discourses ad-
dressed to the Sacred College about to enter con-
clave, eagerly contend at book-sales for these
pamphlets, which are always in the choicest Latin
of the age, and sometimes have a sentimental value
on account of the subsequent fortunes, or misfor-
tunes, of their authors. They are much more than
mere literary curiosities for book-worms to feed
upon. The form of the title-page, excepting of
course in proper names and dates, is about the
same in all ; for instance, Oratio habita ad Colle-
gium Cardinalium in funere Innocentii IX.,
Pont. Max., vi. Id. Januarii^ 1592 : Romae, 1592,
in 4to : by Father Giustiniani, a famous Jesuit ;
and Oratio habita in Basilica SS. Apostolorum
Petri et Fault pridie Kalend. Apriiis, 1721, ad
Emos. et Rmos. cardinales conclave ingressuros
pro Summo Pontijice eligendo : Romse, ex Typo-
; graphia Vaticana, 1721, in 410: by Camillo de'
Mari, Bishop of Aria.

quires both keys to open the door.
On the following day the cardinal-
dean says a votive Mass de Spiritu
Sancto, at which all the cardinals in
stoles receive Holy Communion from
his hands. . . . Fervet optis . . .

As soon as the cardinal upon whom
the requisite two-thirds of all the
votes cast have centred consents to
his election, he becomes pope. This
consent is absolutely necessary, and,
although the Sacred College threat-
ened Innocent II. (Papareschi, 1130-
1143) with excommunication if he
did not accept,* it is now admitted
that no one can be constrained to
take upon himself such a burden as
the Sovereign Pontificate.

Thirty-eight popes, from St. Cor-
nelius, in 254, to Benedict XIII.,
in 1724, are recorded in history as
having positively refused to accept
the election, although theyjwere af-
terwards induced by various mo-
tives, however much against their
own inclinations, to ratify it. As
soon as he has answered in the af-
firmative to the question of the car-
dinal-dean, proposed in the follow-
ing very ancient formula : Acceptasne
electionem de te canonice factam in
Summum Pontificem ? the first mas-
ter of ceremonies, turning to certain
persons around him, calls upon them
in an audible voice to bear witness
to the factf The ne\v pope then
retires and is dressed in the ordina-
ry or domestic costume of the Holy

* Arnulfus of Seez apud Muratori,'^r#; Itali-
carum Scriptores, torn. iii. p. 429, says that on
this occasion the cardinals told the elect of their
choice : Si acquiescis, exhibemusobsequium ; sire-
cusas, exigimus de inobedientia pcenam ; and on
his still hesitating parabant excommunicationis
prceferre sententiam.

tThis notarial function which the first master
of ceremonies here performs is the reason why he
is always an apostolic prothonotary ; but his title
to this prelatic rank rests entirely on custom, since
he is not appointed by papal brief, as others are. It
is by a similar analogy, although in matters theo-
logical, that the master of the Sacred Palace, who
is always a Dominican, ranks with the auditors of
the Rota.

Papal Elections,

101

Father, three suits of which, of differ- on the shoes since the pontificate of

ent sizes, are ready made, and dispos- that most humble pope St G

ed in the dressing-room for the elect the Great, in the year coo

to choose from. It consists of white curious to read of the objector

stockings cassock and sash with made to this custom by Basil Tzar

gold tassels, white collar and skull, or Muscovy, to Father Anthony Pos

cap red mozzetta, stole, and shoes, sevinus, S.J., who was sent to Ru !

He then takes his seat on a throne and sia on a religious and diplomatic

receives the first homage adoratio mission by Gregory XIII in

primaol the cardinals, who, kneel- sixteenth century. His eloquent de

ing before him, kiss his foot and after- fence of the custom, appealing toe

wards his hand, and, standing, re- to prophecy,* is found in the printed

ceive from him the kiss of peace on account of his embassy (Moscovia

the cheek. We see, from the cere- Cologne, 1587, in fol.)
momal composed in the thirteenth When the pope is dressed in the

century by Cardinal Savelli, that the pontifical costume he receives on his

present custom is not very different finger a new Fisherman's ring, which

Irom the mediaeval one ; for, speaking he immediately removes and hands
of the pope's election, he says : Quo
facto ab episcopis cardinalibus ad se-

dem ducitur post altar e, et in ea, ut
dignwn est, collocatur ; in qua dum
sedet electus recipit oinnes episcopos
cardinalcs, et quos sibi placuerit ad
pedes, postmodum ad osculum pads.
The custom of kissing the pope's
foot is so ancient that no certain
date can be assigned for its intro-
duction. It very probably began in
the time of St. Peter himself, to whom
the faithful gave this mark of pro-
found reverence, which they have
continued to wards all his successors
always, however, having been in-
structed to do so with an eye to God,
of whom the pope is vicar. In
which connection most beautiful was
the answer of Leo X. to Francis I.
of France, who, as Rinaldi relates
(AnnaL Ecdes., an. 1487, num. 30),
having gone to Bologna, humbly
knelt before him and kissed his foot,
se Icetissimum dicens, quod videret
facie ad faciem Pontificem Vicarium
Christi Jesu. "Thanks," said Leo,
" but refer all this to God himself "
Oinnia hcec in Deum transferens, et
omnia Deo tribuens. To make this
relative worship more apparent a
cross has alvvavs been embroidered

to one of the masters of ceremonies
to have engraved upon it the name
which he has assumed. The popes
have three special rings for their
use. The first is generally a rather
plain gold one with* an intaglio or
a cameo ornament ; this is called the
papal ring. The second one, called
the pontifical ring, because used
only when the pope pontificates or
officiates at grand ceremonies, is an
exceedingly precious one. The one
worn on these occasions by Pius
IX., and which his successor will
doubtless also use, was made during
the reign of Pius VII., whose name
is cut on the inside. It is of the
purest gold, of remarkably fine work-
manship, set with a very large ob-
long diamond. It cost thirty thou-
sand francs (about $6,000), and has

*" Kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and queens
thy nurses: they shall worship thee with their face
toward the earth, and they shall lick up the dust
of thy feet." Isaias xlix. 23, which St. Jerome in-
terprets of the apostles ; but in Peter's successors
all honors and prerogatives continue. A very learn-
ed writer of the last century, Gaetano Cenni, has
gone profoundly into the historical and antiquarian
part of this singular and most venerable custom, in
his dissertation Sul Bacio De 1 Piedi Del Romano
Pontefice, which is the thirty-fourth of the third
volume of Zaccaria's great collection of dissertations
on subjects of ecclesiastical history Raccolta Di
Dissertazioni Di Storia Ecclesiastica. . . . Per
cura Di Francesco Antonio Zaccaria, etc. Secon-
da edizione. Four vols. Rome, 1841.

102

Papal Elections.

a contrivance on the inside by which
it can be made larger or smaller to
fit the wearer's finger. (Barraud,
Des Bagues a toutes les Epoques.
Paris, 1864.) The Fisherman's ring,
which is so called because it has a
figure of St. Peter in a bark throwing
his net into the sea (Matthew iv. 18,
19), is a plain gold ring with an oval
face, bearing the name of the reign-
ing pope engraved around and above
the figure of the apostle, thus : Leo
XIII., Pont. Max. On the inside
are cut the names of the engraver
and of the major-domo. The ring
weighs an ounce and a half. It is
the official seal of the popes, but,
although the first among the rings, it
is only the second in the class of
seals, 'since it serves as the privy
seal or papal signet for apostolic
briefs and matters of lesser conse-
quence, whereas the great seal of
the Holy See used to stamp the
heads of SS. Peter and Paul in
lead, and sometimes, but rarely, in
gold, on papal bulls. This ring was
at first a private and not an official
one, as we learn from a letter written
at Perugia on March 7, 1265, by
Clement IV. to his nephew Peter
Le Gros, in which he says that he
writes to him and to his other rela-
tives, not sub bulla, sed sub piscatoris
sigillo, quo Romani Pontifices in suis
secretis utuntur. From this it would
appear that such a ring was already
in well-known use, but it cannot be
determined at what period it was in-
troduced, or precisely when it became
official, although it is certain that it
was given this character in the fif-
teenth century ; but another hundred
years passed before it became custo-
mary to mention its use in every docu-
ment on which the seal was impressed
by the now familiar expression, " Giv-
en under the Fisherman's ring," which
is first met with in the manner of a
curial formula in a brief given by

Nicholas V. on the i5th of April,
1448 : Datum Romce, apud Sanctum
Petrum, sub annulo Piscatoris, die xi*.
Aprilis, MCCCCXL VIII., pontifi-
catus no sir i //.*

Briefs are no more sealed with
the original ring, which is always in
the keeping of the pope's grand
chamberlain, who, as we have said,
delivers it to the cardinal-camerlen-
go on the pope's decease, to be bro-
ken in the first general congregation
preliminary to the conclave, accord-
ing to a custom dating from the death
of Leo X. A fac-simile is preserved in
the Secretaria de'Brevi which serves
in its stead; but since June, 1842,
red sealing-wax, because too brittle
and effaceable, is no longer used,
but in its place a thick red ink or
pigment is employed. Briefs are
pontifical writs or diplomas written
on thin, soft parchment and more
abbreviated than bulls, and treating
of matters of less importance, re-
quiring, therefore, briefer considera-
tion t whence, perhaps, they de-
rive their distinctive name, although
it has been suggested that the word
comes from the German Brief ^ a
letter, and was introduced into Rome
from the imperial court during the
middle ages. They are signed by the
cardinal secretary of briefs, and differ
from bulls in their manner of dating
and their forms of beginning and end-
ing. Their heading always contains
the name of the reigning pope and the
venerable formula, Salutem et apos-
tolicam benedictionem^ which was first
used by Pope John V. in the year 685.
When the pope sends a brief to a
person who is not baptized he sub-

* The celebrated antiquarian Cancellieri has writ-
ten with his usual diffuseness and erudition on this
matter in a little work, Notizie sopra fOrigine
e fusodelf A nello Pescatorio, etc., etc., published
at Rome in 1823.

t Briefs, says the learned Benedictine Mabillon,
De Re Diplomaticd (lib. ii. cap. xiv.), brevi -via.
seu manu, remotis omnibus antbagibus, absolvun-
tur ; quippe qua a Pontiftte, utplurimum sp
et absque rei longa discussione conficiuntur.

Papal Elections.

103

stitutes for this form the other one, tori says in one of his dissertations
Lumen divince gratia. Both briefs on Italian antiquities (Antiquitatum
and bulls are always dated from the Italic., torn. iii. dissert, xli. p. 764),

that Sergius IV. (1009-1012), and
not Sergius II., had this only for a
surname or sobriquet, as was corn-

basilica nearest to which the pope
resides at the time ; thus, we under-
stand why the brief erecting the dio-

cese of Baltimore was dated (6th of monly given in that age at Rome

"\T t~\ T T d r%-\ Vv f* * -r**Q^\ r*-/-vi-w-. C*4. ~\ 1C 1 1 .

November, 1789) from St. Mary
Major's, although Pius VI. was then
living at the Quirinal palace. An-
other of the very ancient and vene-
rable forms used by the popes is
Servus servorum Dei Servant of
the servants of God. It is a title
first assumed by St. Gregory the
Great in the sixth century as a
hint to the arrogant patriarch of
Constantinople, John the Faster,
who

universal bishop, which belongs
only to the Roman Pontiff: " Who-
ever will be first among you shall
be servant of all " (Mark x. 44).

As soon as the cardinal who has
been elected gives his assent to the
election, the cardinal-dean asks him
what name he would wish to take.
This custom of assuming a new
name is very old, and has been
much disputed about by writers on
papal matters. The great Baroni-
us has expressed the opinion in his
Ecclesiastical Annals that John XII.,
who was previously called Octavian,
was the first to make the change,
which he did probably out of re-
gard for his uncle, who was Pope
John XI. Cardinal Borgia has ob-
served in this connection, as showing
that the change of name was yet a
singularity, that the pope used to
sign himself Octavian in matters re-
lating to his temporal, and John in
those relating to his spiritual, govern-
ment. Martinus Polonus started a
fable that Sergius II., elected in 844,
was the one who first changed his
name, because known by the inele-
gant appellation of Pigsnout Bocca
di Porco ; but the truth is, as Mura-

but was baptized Peter. He chang-
ed his name, indeed, according to
the custom then becoming establish-
ed as a rule, but, as Baronius ob-
serves, not ob turpitudinem nominis
(Os porci} , sed reverentm causa : cum
enim ilk PETRUS vocaretur, indignum
putavit eodem se vocari nomine, quo
Christus primum ejus sedis Ponti-
ficem, Principem Apostolorum, ex
Simone Petrum nominaverat. It has

had taken the designation of long been usual for the new pope to

take the name of the pope who
made him cardinal. There have
been, however, several exceptions
even in these later times. In some
special cases, as in the signature to
the originals of bulls, the pope re-
tains his original Christian name,
but, like all sovereigns, he omits his
family name in every case. There
have also been exceptions to this
change, and both Adrian VI. and
Marcellus II. kept their own names
the only two, however, who have
done so in over eight hundred years.
The word pope in Latin Papa,
and by initials PP. was once com-
mon to all bishops, and even to
simple priests and clerics ; but when
certain schismatics of the eleventh
century began to use it in a sense
opposed to the supreme fatherhood
of the Roman Pontiffs over all the
faithful, clergy as well as people, it
was reserved as a title of honor to
the bishops of Rome exclusively.
Cardinal Baronius says, in a note to
the Roman Martyrology, that St. Gre-
gory VII. held a synod in Rome
against the schismatics in the year
1073, in which it was decreed " inter
alia plura, ut PAP^E Nomen uni-

IO4 Palm Sunday.

cum esset in universo orbe Chris- although a vestige of the once uni-

tiano, nee liceret alicui seipsum, vel versal custom still lingers in the Jube

alium eo nomine appellare"* An- Domne benedicere of the Office re-

other singularity about one of the cited in choir, the term Domnus came

pope's titles deserves to be noted, to be specially reserved to the Ro-

The word Dominus in Latin lord man Pontiff, for whom we pray in

was originally used only of Al- the litany as Domnum Apostolicuvi.
mighty God, and a contracted form Cancellieri, who, as usual, has sought

Domnus was employed in speak- out an abstruse subject, gives every-
ing of saints, bishops, and persons of thing that can be said upon the
consideration ; but in course of time, matter in his Lettera sopra VOri-

* We had the good fortune once to pickup at a gine DelU Parole Dominus

book-salein Rome for a few cents a rare and cu- nus e J) e l Tltolo JDotl che Suol

nous little book on this topic, which gives the very . .

marrow of the subject in a very agreeable form : JJCirSl CM >aceraOll dl Monad

Lettera di A. L.Nuzzi, Prelate Domesiico Del e j a Mfftti Regoldri. In Roma,

Sommo Pontefice SulC Origine ed Uso Del Nome

PAPA. Padova, i Settembre, MDCCXCVIII. MDCCCVIII.

PALM SUNDAY.

CLAIMING the hill-crowned city as its own,
The gray cathedral rears its rough-hewn front
Like ancient fortress built to bear the brunt

Of leaguering ram on e'er unyielding stone;

Signing with holy cross the land it claims,
Its walls protecting seek the infinite blue
Grown, softly falling painted window through,

High heaven brought down to shape life's noblest aims.

In this strong fortress, safe from those salt waves
Of doubt that curve and break and evermore repeat
The weary lesson of life incomplete,

Moaning and groping in unsunny caves,

Beating against a rock that will not break,
Flinging their bitter anger far on high,
Seeking to chill the tender flowers that lie

Close nestled to the rock for its warmth's sake,

I kept sad feast one doubting April day,

When robins' song had drifted from the hills,
When buds were bursting, and the golden bells

Of town-nursed bloom were ringing ill away.

With folded hands St. Helen's glance beneath,
I trod in thought the highway of the cross
Jerusalem's triumph blending with her loss,

The palm-bough changing for the thorny wreath.

Palm Sunday.

And clasped the folded hands about the bough
Of northern hemlock that as palm I bore,
Listening the words of sorrow chanted o'er

The old evangel's solemn voice of woe ;

O wondrous power of a passing breath !
O tearful sweetness of that voice of God
Breaking amid the clamor of the crowd

Of Jews and soldiers hastening him to death !

105

Often the chant had stirred my soul before
In humbler church, till had familiar grown
Almost each word and every varying tone

That with each added year a new grace wore ;

But never grace so pitiful as this

That filled the arches with all deep distress,
With passionate sense of human guiltiness

Our God sore bruised for our infirmities !

Oh ! blinding sweet the vision that awoke
Within my soul to fill my eyes with tears !
To-day was it, not in those long-past years,

That Heart divine, with love unbounded, broke.

Oh ! blinding sweet in its strange melody

The voice that, rending heart, called from the cross,
In that dark hour of life's bitterest loss,

"Eli, Eli, lamma sabacthani !"

O strong gray walls ! blessed was that little space
Ye left our souls with Christ on Calvary,
Where hearts might weep their living cruelty,

In their own depths Jerusalem's lesson trace.

O cross-boughed branch of spicy northern spruce
That witness bore on that dim April day
To faith no waves of doubt shall wash away,

To love's dear chains no envious state shall loose,

Blessing was ours who bore thee that gray morn
Through all the heedless glances of the street,
Through longing looks that knew thy meaning sweet,

And spoken words of unbelieving scorn.

Alas ! for those, of eyes and heart both blind,
Who in such symbol find but empty rite,
Who, dazzled by a false and flickering light,

See not the cross wherewith the palm is signed.

CATHEDRAL OF THE HOLY CROSS, BOSTON, Mass.

io6

The late Mr. T. W. M. Marshall.

THE LATE MR. T. W. M. MARSHALL.*

ON the i4th of December, 1877,
died, at the age of sixty-two years and
a half, Mr. T. W. M. Marshall. He
had borne along and trying illness
of many months with invariable
patience and resignation, and gave
up his soul to his Maker and Re-
deemer after a most Christian pre-
paration. He has well deserved
that some more explicit notice of
his life and what he did in it should
be made public than what has
hitherto, so far as we know, been
given in any native or American
source of information. The fol-
lowing slight account is drawn up
by one who has known him well
for nearly a quarter of a century.

Mr. Marshall was born the i9th
of June, 1815 ; was educated under
Dr. Burnup at Greenwich and at
Trinity College, Cambridge. He
was ordained in the Anglican
Church by the bishop of Salisbury^
in 1842. In 1844 he published his
Notes on the Episcopal Polity of
the Church of England, for which
he received the thanks of the then
archbishop of 'Canterbury, Dr.
Howley. This was the prelate, it
may be remarked, to whom the
writers of the famous Tracts for
the Times dedicated their transla-
tion of what they called " this li-

* In our last number we published an article on
the works of this illustrious Catholic layman by
one closely connected with him. Immediately on
receiving the sad news of Dr. Marshall's death we
wrote to his friend, Mr. T. W. Allies, who will be
known to our readers as the author of The Forma-
tion of Christendom^ asking him to prepare for
THE CATHOLIC WORLD a more adequate notice
than we had seen of one who had done so much for
the Catholic cause. The result is the present arti-
cle, which, though it comes after the other, will be
none the less pleasing to our readers, coming from
such a pen as that of Mr. Allies, and dealing as it
does rather with the personal life and character
than with the public work of its subject. ED. C.
W.

brary of ancient bishops, Fathers,
doctors, martyrs, confessors of
Christ's Holy Catholic Church,"
with, as they added, "his grace's
permission, in token of reverence
for his person and sacred office,
and of gratitude for his episcopal
kindness." We mention this, be-
cause thanks from such a man in
such an office for a work on the
episcopal polity of the Church of
England in 1844, when that polity
was not a little canvassed, was an
omen of good things to come for
the writer, who was then nestled
in a very small and poor ' cure
among the Wiltshire downs, once a
house of the Knights of St. John
of Jerusalem. These prospects
were blighted for ever by Mr. Mar-
shall's conversion in the following
year, 1845. Indeed, he seems in
that year to have committed two
acts, one blameless and the other
highly to be commended, which yet
in their conjunction foreboded a
life of no small anxiety in temporal
matters ; we mean to say that his
marriage was followed in a few
months by his reception into the
church at Oscott by Dr. Wiseman.
Thus the nest in the southern hills
was lost just as he wanted its shel-
ter most, and instead of the future
protection of him whom the Trac-
tarian dedication called "The
most reverend Father in God, Lord
Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate
of all England" a patron, it maybe
added, of one hundred and seventy
livings, besides canonries and op-
tions Mr. Marshall, at the age of
thirty, with a young wife, commenc-
ed a new life without a profession
and without prospect, and with

The late Mr. T W. M. Marshall.

fifty pounds in his pocket. It may
be said Mr. Marshall was true all
his life long to the spirit which he
thus showed at the first crisis of it.

It may be conjectured that the
studies made by Mr. Marshall in
composing his work on the episco-
pal polity of the Church of England
predisposed his mind in the follow-
ing year to seek admission into
that world-wide community over
which presides the head and source
of the episcopate.

It was hardly possible that a
clear and conservative and emi-
nently logical mind such as that
with which he was naturally endow-
ed could have its attention fixed
for so long a time as is requisite to
compose a well-thought-out work
upon the relations of the bishops
to each other throughout the world,
without coming to the conclusion
that the Anglican episcopate rests
on no definite basis whatever;
without noticing that no one of its
defenders has ever yet been able
to state on what positive basis it
claimed to stand. It exists, in fact,
by reviling the Church of Rome,
being itself nothing else but a frag-
ment of Western Christendom sev-
ered by Tudor lust and despotism
from the compares of Christian
unity to which it once belonged,
and dragging on an existence in
subjection to the state which emi-
nently represents in ecclesiastical
matters the insular pride and inde-
pendence of the English mind.
Its root is national, not Catholic;
its soil human, not celestial ; and
for a thinking mind, such as Mr.
Marshall's, to examine its position
could lead but to one result when
it was accompanied by such hon-
esty of purpose as, by the grace of
God, Mr. Marshall possessed and
manifested.

Fo* let none misconstrue what

107

Mr. Marshall was doing. To give
up at thirty years of age, just mar-
ried, with no private fortune, the
profession of clergyman in the
Church of England to become a
Catholic layman, was an act not
only of remarkable honesty but of
superhuman courage. At thirty
human life presents a long avenue
of years. The prospect of travers-
ing these in poverty and obscurity,
with a young wife by your side,
when the reasonable hope of honor
and affluence has just been present-
ed, is one which perhaps it requires
greater trust in God, greater forti-
tude to meet, nay, to choose, than
those, for instance, exhibited who
heard themselves ordered to sum-
mary execution by the " abagi jus-
sit " of the refined and philo-
sophic Roman gentleman, Pliny
the Younger, for having addressed
their hymns in the early morning
to Christ their God.

Anything, humanly speaking,
more absolutely hopeless than Mr.
Marshall's position, after taking
that step in 1845, as a married ex-
clergyman convert, cannot be con-
ceived. At that time private edu-
cation offered no emolument, for
pupils were entirely in the hands
of institutions taught by priests or
of individual priests; and as even
now the services of a priest, well
educated and intellectually gifted,
are thought among Catholics in
England to be adequately remu-
nerated by the salary of one hun-
dred pounds a year, what chance
had a married convert to pick a
living out of that mode of employ-
ing his brains? Much more was
writing that is to say, for Catholic
objects un remunerative. Brains
are still at a fearful discount among
Catholics in England. They are
not paid as much as the lowest un-
skilled labor ; and if this is true in

io8

The late Mr. T. W. M. Marshall.

1878, judge how it was true in
1845. The writer believes that it
Avas the very last time he saw Mr.
Marshall when he complained bit-
terly of the inadequate remunera-
tion that he received for writing.
Then, further, for any occupation in
the outside world, to be an ex-
clergyman Catholic convert was
the worst possible recommendation.
The writer remembers a most dis-
tinguished author in Anglican his-
tory quitting the railway carriage
in which he was sitting, in order
not to converse with one who had
lately deserted what was called
" the church of his baptism " as if
Christian baptism was insular in its
nature, and was a peculiar posses-
sion belonging to the " penitus toto
divisos orbe Britannos." Such is
the lot which, for a whole genera-
tion since Mr. Marshall's conver-
sion in 1845, ne ar >d a nost of
others have voluntarily encounter-
ed. Mr. Marshall may be taken as
a typical instance of the class. He
may be spoken of freely now. He
has run his course ; he has kept the
faith; he knows now fully, as none
of us yet know, the wisdom of such
a course ; as he knew once, as none
of us can more fully feel, the folly
of such a course in the estimation
of the world.

Most unexpectedly, however, and
in a way that he could not the
least have foreseen, this common
lot of indigence and inaction, in
which the work of life and the head
which supports it are together
taken away in the case of a mar-
ried clergyman-convert, was ter-
minated about three years after
by his appointment as an inspector
of schools in the government sys-
tem of primary education. The
Catholics were entering into that
system in 1847, an d, as a conse-
quence of the rules and conditions

obtained by the Catholic poor-
school committee with reference to
such entry, the appointment of a
Catholic to the office of inspector
by the government, whose nomina-
tion, however, was to be approved
by the committee as representing
the Catholic body, became neces-
sary. The first so appointed was
Mr. Marshall, and he held the
office from 1848 to 1860. There
cannot be a doubt that the func-
tions which he there had to dis-
charge were in certain respects
functions which required great
delicacy of touch. It was not
without many suspicions that Ca-
tholic clergy admitted an officer of
the government into their schools.
That those who had been in old
times forbidden every act of their
ministry, pursued by ferocious
spies of the state into their, most
secret lurking-holes, unearthed in
order to be tortured by the race of
Cecils and Walsinghams, and then
hanged, drawn, and quartered
this in the first stage of the state's
enmity ; then, in the second, who
had been contemptuously ignored,
and left to struggle with every
trial of poverty, and to collect
their scattered sheep in holes and
corners that the descendants and
inheritors of such men, in whom
the royal blood of Peter was flow-
ing, should suspect at first the ser-
vants of a government which had
done such things in hatred of
Peter's royal blood, this was most
natural. We are convinced that
during the five years in which Mr.
Marshall was the only Catholic in-
spector of primary schools, he did
much by courtesy, and yet more by
his character as an uncompromis-
ing Catholic, to do away with this
suspicion, and to lead an ever-in-
creasing number of Catholic pri-
mary schools to accept inspection.

The late Mr. T. W. M. Marshall.

109

By this conduct he indirectly rais-
ed greatly their standard of effi-
ciency in secular instruction ; and
he commenced that union of the
spiritual and the secular authority
in the work of education which is
now bearing great fruit, and which
is incomparably fairer to the dear-
est interests of Catholics than the
system existing in the primary
schools of the United States. We
think, indeed, that Mr. Marshall,
in his anxiety to conciliate, may
sometimes have pushed the limits
of indulgence somewhat too far.
It is honorable to him that he
never spared in his reports to gov-
ernment the open commendation
of religious teachers. Some of
those reports contain the most en-
thusiastic praise of Catholic teach-
ing which we remember to have
read. And they were reports of a
government official.

His occupation of inspector ceas-
ed in 1860; and being fully con-
versant with the circumstances
which led to his quitting a post of
honor and trust, which was then
producing to him an income of
eight hundred pounds a year, we
must express our strong feeling
that it was a great error of judg-
ment on his part which led him so
to act that it was possible to de-
prive him of this office. He was
thus thrown back into all those dif-
ficulties of maintenance which he
had so bravely encountered fifteen
years before. It is true that Mr.
Marshall was in fibre an author;
the elementary character of the
education he had to control, and
the constant iteration of its petty
details, besides the exclusion from
his range of inspection of all those
religious instructions in which he
would naturally have taken a great
interest these tilings galled him.
He fled for refuge to the more in-

teresting subject of " Christian Mis-
sions," on which he composed the
well-known work published by him
at Brussels in 1862, but which, in
spite of the vast number of vol-
umes which it required him to look
over for his facts, he managed to
compose before he quitted the in-
spectorship. If he could have had
the place of a professor in some
great Catholic institution, which
would have afforded him a mode-
rate income and a fitting subject
on which he could have thrown
the powers of his most active and
apprehensive mind, that would have
been to him an earthly elysium.
But elysiums are not of the earth,
at least not of nineteenth-century
earth to Catholics in England. He
gave up eight hundred pounds a
year to be for the rest of his life a vi-
gorous, witty, sarcastic, and trench-
ant Catholic champion and a wan-
derer on the face of the earth.
From henceforth he was of those
who have "no abiding city." If
he began this second stadium of
his life with an act of imprudence
which religion did not call for,
which, in our individual judgment,
we think it did not even justify, he
traversed those seventeen years of
bitter trial with the spirit of a con-
fessor, and he ended them with the
death of an humble, contrite, ear-
nest Christian. He on whose
words, defending Catholic doc-
trines, illustrating Catholic truths,
excited multitudes in great cities
have hung, who could make them
thrill through with the emotions
which he felt himself, died in a
small room over a shop in an ob-
scure outskirt of London, tended
by an unwearied, uncomplaining
affection which had been proof
against every sorrow and every
trial, and was the only earthly con-
solation left to him. In the eyes

The late Mr. T, W. M. Marshall.

of the world it was a sad end of an
agitated life. But we make bold
to say that he is not sorry now for
his choice; and that what he ac-
cepted rashly he transformed by
endurance into matter for lasting
reward, for the praise which does
not pass away.

For in this last stadium of his
life he showed most conspicuously
that which we consider to have
been the special honor of it. Let
us state succinctly the remaining
facts in that life, and then pass to a
brief consideration of them. Mr.
Marshall went in 1869 to the Unit-
ed States with his family, intending
to settle there, which intention,
however, he abandoned on a fur-
ther acquaintance with the country.
He lectured there during the win-
ters of 1870-1 and 1871-2 on
"The Liberty of the Catholic
Church," "St. Paul and Protes-
tantism," "Ireland's Providential
Mission," in most of the large
cities. In 1872 he brought out My
Clerical Friends, and later on Pro-
testant Journalism, reprinted from
the London Tablet, for which he
wrote a series of articles on Russia
and on ritualism. It was the lat-
ter series which was brought to an
abrupt termination by his illness in
June, 1877. In 1866 he was deco-
rated with the Cross of St. Gregory
the Great by the Holy Father as a
recognition of his services in the
cause of the church ; and in 1871
he received the honorary degree
of LL.D. in the Jesuit College
at Georgetown, near Washington.
He broke down at the age of sixty-
two. A life which, under less try-
ing circumstances, might have been

considerably prolonged, in the pos-
session and exercise of those men-
tal gifts with which he was richly
endowed, was thus terminated be-
fore its natural time.

What is the lesson which it pre-
sents to us ? We say without hesi-
tation that the Cross of St. Gregory
which the Holy Father presented
to him hung on the breast of a
true Christian knight. Not for
gold nor earthly honor would he
sacrifice one jot of Christian liber-
ty. He preferred to be paid poor-
ly for his work as a Catholic than
to be paid richly, as he might have
been, had he chosen to lay out the
gifts of eloquence and clear reason-
ing and the power of satire which
he possessed, in some of many non-
Catholic causes. Had he even
chosen to write, as many Catholics
think themselves constrained to do,
on secular subjects, merely taking
care not to offend the spirit of the
time intensely anti-Catholic n <
that spirit is had he written wit
all his energy and wit, not against
his religion, but keeping it in his
pocket, he would, we think, not
have died at sixty-two nor in pen-
ury. But, so doing, he would not
have been worthy of the Cross of St.
Gregory; he would have been the
world's journeyman, not the Cross's
knight. Rather than so live, he has
died sans peur et sans reproche, with
his career shortened, as is the wont
of knights; with his shield battered
but stainless ; with his lance un-
lowered. God grant many knights
of such temper to his church in
the last quarter of the nineteenth
century, for the times are coming
when they will be wanted !

Strictures on an Article.

STRICTURES ON AN ARTICLE ENTITLED " POLITICAI
RAPACITY OF THE ROMISH CHURCH."

FOLLOWING the advice once
given by an old Anglican preacher
to a newly-fledged brother, " When
you have nothing else to say, pitch
into the pope," Rev. Mytton Mau-
ry contributes to the January num-
ber of the American Church Re-
view an article having for title
" The Political Rapacity of the Ro-
mish Church." Intrinsically the
article hardly deserves a reply,
owing to the recklessness with
which it puts forth mere assertions
and inferences as though they were
facts; while yet it should, perhaps,
under present circumstances, not
be silently passed by without at
least a statement of historical truth
in regard to some of the events
and their causes, which are therein
so perverted as to seem to present
a sort of partial foundation for
deductions that are utterly false.
The explicit aim of the article is
to show that u in recent as in past
times, the unalterable aim of the
Church of Rome has been the es-
tablishment of its unconditional
supremacy, as in things spiritual,
so in things political."

It is the old, often-exploded tale
that took very well with \\\Q gobe-
mouches in the days when every-
thing said against the church, true
or false, was grist to the Protestant
mill, but which cannot stand for a
moment against a clear, full, and
impartial examination of history.
The gist of Mr. Maury's argument
is that, as the demeanor of the Pa-
pacy was intolerably overreaching
and overbearing during the pon-
tificate of Gregory VII., as the
Church of Rome is always the same,

as not even the gratitude which
Pope Pius VII. owed (tests Mau-
ry) to the Allied Powers who over-
threw Napoleon was sufficient to
make that pontiff bate a jot or tittle
of the rights of the church, and as
not even outrage, injustice, and
spoliation were sufficient to induce
Pius IX. to forget or barter any
of the doctrines or claims of the
church, so there is nothing to be
expected of any future occupant of
the Holy See but that he shall be
politically a ravening wolf. Q. E. D.
There pervades the article a cu-
rious after-taste of a once straight-
forwardly-asserted but throughout-
insinuated straining on the part of
the church in these United States
after political aggrandizement a
charge well suited in itself, could it
only be made plausible, and we
think intended, to catch the ears
of the groundlings. Reference is
made to a late pamphlet of Von
Sybel, from which the writer would
seem to have culled his one-sided
statements; and we have in the
meantime tried to procure that
pamphlet, deeming it far better to
examine the original than to refute
mere excerpta. The brochure in
question has not yet been receiv-
ed, and we must content ourselves
with a refutation of the ill-founded
charges and an exposition of the
baseless statements contained in
Mr. Maury's article.

There is an exquisite appro-
priateness in the fact that the
charge of political rapacity comes
from a minister of that sect of
which Henry VIIL, half-Catholic,
half-Protestant, and wholly beast,

112

Strictures on an Article entitled

was the acknowledged supreme
head, the so-called bishops of which
sit in the British House of Lords,
and owe their appointment to any-
body, Jew or Gentile, who may
happen to be prime minister. Lord
Melbourne by no means a model
Christian, unless as entitled to the
name by being an adept in profan-
ity leaves us ample testimony of
the cliquingand caballing by which
the appointments to vacant sees
were secured, and puts on record a
jocose saying that they (bishops
and deans) just died to plague
him. It is true that their presence
in the Lords means nothing, and
that they have no power but that
of being a little obstructive. That,
however, is not their fault. They
would fain have more power, if
they could. Even in their dioceses
they have no sort of effective power
belonging to a bishop. Neither
clergy nor laity obey them even in
spiritual matters, whether in Eng-
land or in the United States ; nor
can we for our life see why, on Pro-
testant grounds, in view of the
utter nullity of their office, so far
as its influence for good is concern-
ed, they have not long ago been
abolished, as much more valuable
articles have been done away with.
In political life other sinecures
have in this century been got rid
of. Irish disestablishment, which
these bishops opposed to their ut-
most, will infallibly prove the pre-
cursor of a similar fait accompli in
England. If, after that, the mem-
bers of their sect choose to main-
tain them, and even to add to their
number, we can have no sort of ob-
jection, because then those who
utterly repudiate their ministry will
not, as now, be obliged to contri-
bute to their support. They may,
if they please, match the American
army in the proportion of highly-

paid, showy, and useless officials to
the number of rank and file ; in fact,
they come in the United States
pretty near doing so already. But
that is not our business, since we
do not pay for them ; still, we can-
not help having an opinion in the
matter.

Again, an impartial observer
might reasonably think that a
preacher of a sect whose ministers,
and, we suppose, their congrega-
tions, are of every persuasion or
utter want of creed touching the
essentials of faith, from the narrow-
est Calvinism to the most pronounc-
ed Puseyism some of whose high-
est dignitaries deny the inspiration
of Scripture, while others are Uni-
versalists, and others, again, de-
nounce the doctrine of baptismal
regeneration a sect which has, in
short, less claim to consistency
either of faith or practice than any
other of all Protestantism would
have enough to attend to in trying
to find out what his church did be-
lieve and what he should preach,
without travelling away to Rome
and back to the days of " Hilde-
brand " for the purpose of raking
up falsehoods or misapprehensions
with which to bespatter or cast sus-
picion upon the Church of Rome.
This is, perhaps, but a matter of
taste; and Mr. Maury's idea both
of taste and duty differs from what
ours would be in the same premi-
ses. In any case let us see what
he has to say, giving his statements
such credit as they may prove to
deserve.

It is strange, by the way, how
the ignorant and insane prejudice
which exists among many Protes-
tants against the church warps
otherwise fair minds and kindly
hearts in the consideration of any
question in which she is a party or
her rights are in question. We

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church.

venture to say that if any gov-
ernment attempted the same sort
of tyrannical interference at this
day with the Jews, not to speak of
any Christian sect, that Prussia is
now striving to exercise over the
Catholics of her dominion, a cry of
righteous indignation against the
wanton and palpable injustice
would go up from all the rest of
Christendom. We should, perhaps,
except the Anglicans, who are less
a sect of Christendom than a clique
or set of recipients of government
pap, with no fixed doctrinal or mo-
ral principles save an overweening
idea of their own eminent respec-
tability, a thorough knowledge of
the buttered side of their own
bread, and a keen appreciation of
number one. They have become
hereditarily accustomed to con-
sider Anglicanism less as a scheme
of doctrine and morals than as an
institution for distributing govern-
ment patronage among their minis-
ters, and for securing in these a
somewhat superior police in aid of
the state. Yet some of the best
minds even among these have been
very outspoken in condemnation
of the aggressions of Prussia upon
the principles of religious freedom.
Let us imagine even a George
Washington appointing the rabbins
who should minister to the adults,
and the teachers who should in-
struct in Judaism the rising gene-
ration of Hebrews in this country.
Is there anybody who does not see
at a glance the wrong thereby done
these people ? Does any one need
argument on the subject? Sup-
pose, in addition, he were to claim
the right to appoint the instructors
in the rabbinical seminaries, to se-
lect schismatic or suspended rab-
bins for the purpose, and to insist
on prescribing the curriculum of
the establishment in which young
VOL. xxvii. 8

men are instructed for their minis-
try. Would we not all consider
them very unjustly treated, and do
our utmost to rectify the wrong ?
Yet this is exactly what the Prus-
sian government has for some years
been attempting to do with the
Catholics within their territorial
limits; and the vast majority of
Protestants either look on with in-
difference or actually encourage
the efforts made for rendering the
church but a subordinate bu-
reau of government under Bismarck
and Falk, of whom it would be ex-
ceedingly difficult to say whether
they are Protestants, simply infi-
dels, or downright atheists. What
is certain is that they are not Cath-
olics and that they hate the church.
Not long since the body of a
drowned man was being towed
ashore in the East River, and a con-
siderable crowd had gathered to
see it, when some one on the edge
of the dock remarked, "Oh! it's
only a negro." Nobody took any
further interest in the corpse,
and the crowd dispersed at once,
every one going his way. So,
in this case, the idea seems to be
that it is only the Catholics that
suffer. But these gentlemen will
find out, in the long run, that it is
a blow at liberty of conscience (for
which theoretically they express
great regard), struck, it is true, at
Catholics only as yet ; they will
find out, if any sect of Protestant-
ism but holds together long enough,
or ever believes anything with
sufficient seriousness to imagine it
vital, that the same Prussian gov-
ernment has just as strong an ob-
jection to any other decided con-
science as to the Catholic. In the
references that Mr. Maury makes
to this struggle we will assume him
to be honest ; and, in so doing, we
must also take for granted that he

114

Strictures on an Article entitled

does not understand the nature of
the contest between Prussia and
her Catholic population, else he
would not attempt to represent it
as a flaming instance of " unsparing
political rapacity " on the part of
the church. The fable of the wolf
and the lamb has rarely had a more
apt illustration.

It will simplify matters very
much if we state once for all at
the outset that Mr. Maury entirely
mistakes the ground held by the
church or by Catholic writers on
her behalf when he represents
them as apologizing for what he
calls medieval pretensions, and de-
precating any apprehensions as to
their renewal. No Catholic writer
takes any, such ground; and as
the salient instances adduced of
such mediaeval pretensions is the
controversy about investitures, and
the action of Pope Gregory VII.
towards Henry IV. of Germany,
which produced their meeting at
Canossa, we, .as Catholics, have
no apology to make for either. As
head of the church, Pope Leo
XIII. must to-day protest just as
strongly against the right of lay
investiture in spirituals ; and had
he lived at that day, he could, as
minister of the sacrament of pen-
ance, in view of the shameless
debaucheries, atrocious cruelties,
monstrous acts of injustice, and
heinous sacrileges of Henry, not
have done otherwise than impose
on the emperor a penance that
should be known of all men. The
church has yet to learn that one of
her members, though he may wear
a crown, is any more exempt from
her spiritual jurisdiction than if he
were clad in corduroy and wield-
ed the pick. St. James would
seem quite to have agreed with
her; and as before God in heaven,
s.0 there can be within the church

of God no exception of persons.
We accept, then, as crucial instan-
ces by which this alleged political
rapacity of the church is to be test-
ed, both the question of investi-
tures and the excommunication
and deposition of the Emperor
Henry by St. Gregory. They real-
ly contain all that can or need be
said on the subject at issue. If it
be shown that only malevolence and
ignorance of the times and circum-
stances could have twisted them
to an apparent support of the ac-
cusation founded upon them, and
not now for the first time brought
against the church, we shall have
accomplished our task. Apart
from what he says on these mat-
ters, which are essentially but one
transaction, the rest of Mr. Mau-
ry's article is but des paroles en
fair.

In the middle ages and under
the feudal system all the lands
of each separate country were
looked upon as belonging to the
sovereign, and were held of him /;/
feudum (hence the name of that
system) on condition, namely, of
certain services to be rendered. In
no country had the feudatory pro-
cess got such vogue and attained
such magnitude as in that portion
of the Holy Roman Empire now
going by the name of Germany,
about the beginning of the eleventh
century. \ There is no Holy Ro-
man Empire now. Each separate
parcel of it has had perhaps twen-
ty different forms of government
since, and may within a hundred
years have as many more. That
emperor was at that time essential-
ly the master of Christendom ; and
between him and the few smaller
monarchs then existing there was
no breakwater, no umpire, but
the pope. Now, it came to pass in
course of time that many bishops

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church:

and abbots in Germany became
possessed, by legacy, gift, purchase,
or otherwise, in their own personal
right or as appanages of their sees
or abbeys, of farms, estates, de-
mesnes and castles, to the posses-
sion of each of which was attached
the condition of rendering at stat-
ed times some certain services to
the sovereign as their liege lord.
Many archbishops, bishops, and
abbots there also were who were
not simply ecclesiastical rulers but
at the same time temporal lords.
The people, who unfortunately had
then and for ages afterward very
little to say, or at least could say
but little effectively, in regard to
how they should be governed, have
left on record an enduring monu-
ment of the view they entertained
as to the difference between the
rule of the secular knights and the
ecclesiastical regimen in that most
trustworthy of all forms, that evi-
dence which cannot be forged i.e.,
the proverb. To this day there is
not a dialect of Germany that has
not, in one form or other, the
saying: "Unterm Krummstab ist
gut leben " Happy the tenant whose
landlord bears the crosier. They
were well cared for, kindly treated,
and their complaints attended to
by their clerical landlords, which,
we all know, was far from being
the case with the serfs and vil-
leins under the marauding knights.
There was no reason for objection
to the service or homage by which
ecclesiastical persons, dioceses, or
abbeys held those lands ; and with
the usual care of the church, which
has always laid stress first on the
physical well-being of the people
and then on their moral improve-
ment deeming the former at least
highly conducive to the latter, and
esteeming it of no use to leave a
moral tract in a house where there

is no bread the church, we repeat,
for the benefit of the people, en-
couraged at that time the holding
of these lands by ecclesiastics, and
neither pope, prelate, nor people
complained for over two hundred
years^of the acts of homage ob-
serve that the homage of the mid-
dle ages is not our homage of to-
day by which those estates were
held. And this, too, though the
rulers of the church, having nearly
all the prudence, wisdom, and
learning then existing in Christen-
dom, must have known, just as well
as we do to-day, that every acre of
land beyond what is indispensably
necessary held by the church, and
every building that can be utilized
for any other than an ecclesiastical
purpose, is simply an inducement
to the extent of its value, a temp-
tation to plunder, sure to be acted
upon sooner or later by the civil
government, until that one shall
arise which the world has never
yet seen, in which right shall ever
be stronger than might.

But under Conrad II. and Hen-
ry III. the possession of these lands
began to give rise to an abuse
which had not been foreseen.
Both these emperors were chroni-
cally in want of money. They were
afflicted with a standing incapa-
city to pay what they borrowed ;
and there resulted, as a natural
consequence, an exceeding hesi-
tancy on the part of lenders to
take the royal word in lieu of
funds. The name was no doubt
regal, imperial, and all that, but
the paper to which was attached
the signature or thumb-mark of his
imperial majesty was not what
would now be denominated on
'Change gilt-edged; and money
must be procured. In the words -
of another and later august empe-
ror : Kaiser bin i, und Knodel muss

Strictures on an Article entitled

i hale. So these emperors com-
manded on sundry occasions,
when a bishop or abbot died, that
the ring and pastoral staff, em-
blems and insignia of spiritual dig-
nity and jurisdiction, should be
brought to them. They appropri-
ated the revenues during the va-
cancy of the diocese or abbey, pre-
vented the canonical elections
from being held, or refused to al-
low the prelates elect to exercise
their functions. But to men of
thi? stamp a lump sum of money
in hand was of far more impor-
tance than a regularly-recurring
income, and they began to give
over the ring and crosier to that
cleric (of course noble, and of
course unfit) who could pay the
highest price for them. This
knave was then supposed to be-
come bishop or abbot, so far, at
least, as to have a right to the tem-
poralities of the see or abbacy
generally all that such a man
would care about. In this way
dioceses were kept vacant for a
series of years and flourishing
monasteries went to ruin, since
the pope would not (save where a
deception was resorted to) permit
the consecration of flagitious per-
sons. We need not argue to show
that this was simony of the basest
sort. The thing had become so
general in Germany, and the effect
such, at the time of the accession
of Henry IV., that, instead of the
election of a bishop by the cler-
gy of the diocese, or of an abbot
by the monks of the monastery
(which is the only canonical mode),
the power of appointing and install-
ing both had been seized by the
emperor; and it may more readily
be imagined than described in
words what sort of men the pur-
chasers were. Bishoprics and
other prelacies were shamelessly

put up at auction ; and not merely
the right to the temporalities (in
itself sufficiently unjust) but the
sacred authority itself was current-
ly believed to be conferred by the
investiture per annulum et bacidum.
It was only when things had come
to this pass 1 one plainly not to be
borne, unless with the loss of all
ecclesiastical liberty and the griev-
ous detriment of religion that the
Roman pontiffs, who had previous-
ly intervened but in special instan-
ces of complaint, deemed that the
foul system must be plucked up by
the roots. A more flagrant abuse,
or one more imperatively demand-
ing redress, it would be hard to
find in all history.

Henry IV. made no scruple
whatever of selling all ecclesiasti-
cal benefices to the highest bidder,
and had already twice disposed in
that way of the archiepiscopal see
of Milan. He seems to have been
a sort of prototype of Henry VIII.
of England, but to have ruled
over a people of a much less elas-
tic conscience and possessing a
stronger sense of religion. In the
early part of his reign he sought
by all means in his power to pro-
cure from the pope a divorce from
his wife, Bertha, using the basest
means for the purpose of tempting
her into seeming criminality. He
saw at the time a Gospel light
beaming from the eyes of another
Anne Boleyn of that day. The re-
fusal of the pope, coupled with the
threats of his subjects (we mean
the nobility, for there were at that
time no subjects in the modern
sense), who were more willing to
put up with his tyranny than to
see the innocent empress treated as
poor Katharine of Aragon subse-
quently was, caused him to desist ;
but he was a monster of lust, in-
justice, mendacity, and cruelty.

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church:

Hildebrand, while yet cardinal,
wrote to him that, should he ever
become pope, he would surely call
him to account for his tyranny, li-
centiousness, and for his making
merchandise of benefices. Having
been elected in 1073, Hildebrand
assumed the tiara under the name
of Gregory VII. ; wrote at once to
the Countess Mathilda not to rec-
ognize or countenance in any way
the simoniacal bishops of Tuscany ;
to the archbishop of Mainz to the
same effect concerning the intrud-
ing prelates of that country ; and to
Henry himself he addressed at in-
tervals three several letters, warn-
ing him of the injury he was do-
ing to religion by his uncanonical
and simoniacal course toward the
church of God, and exhorting him
to desist from his detestable pre-
sumption. These several letters
and all of them having proved of
no effect, he issued his decree, the
important words of which begin :
Siguis deinceps.

This decree, repeated and con-
firmed in several Roman synods
under St. Gregory, iterated and
amplified by Victor III. in 1087,
and reiterated by Urban II. in two
councils, ended in an agreement
between Paschal II. and the Em-
peror Henry V. that the emperors
should cease henceforward to claim
the right of investiture, while the
bishops and abbots should give up
the estates for which they owed
service to the crown. It was found
impossible to carry this agreement
into effect, principally on account
of the unwillingness of the people
to accept the proposed change of
masters ; and the last-mentioned
pope granted to the emperor that
he might go through the form of
investiture per annulum et baculum,
"providing the elections of bishops
and abbots were freely and legiti-

mately held by the clergy and
monks, all stain of simony being re-
moved" However, this agreement,
notwithstanding that the liberty of
the church was fairly guarded by its
provisions, was regarded by the
Catholic world as but a temporary
repressal of the arrogant claims of
the state, which would infallibly be
but held in abeyance, to burst forth
again under the pretext of the form
by ring and crosier; and the agree-
ment was recalled in 1112. The
matter was at length finally settled,
to the entire satisfaction of the
church, by a convention at Worms
between Callistus II. and Henry V.,
which mutual agreement was defi-
nitely sanctioned by the First Coun-
cil of Lateran.

It would be hard to imagine any-
thing more absurd in the face of
history than the charge of rapacity,
and that, too, political rapacity, al-
leged against St. Gregory because
he would not allow ecclesiastical
benefices, abbacies, and bishoprics
to be sold like meat in the sham-
bles, and the miscreants who could
gather together the largest sums of
money to minister at the altar and
bear rule over God's people. That
controversy was not excited on ac-
count of, or in opposition to, the
homage exacted or the investiture
conferred on the transfer of secular
estates. Those ceremonies were
both legal and right. Nobody ob-
jected to them then, nor would any-
body object to them at this day if
lands were held on feudal tenure.
If Mr. Hayes chose to grant an
estate to the archbishop of Cincin-
nati in trust for the church (the
archbishop has no other use for it),
on condition that the archbishop
should appear on a certain day of
every year and bow three times
reverentially toward him, we sup-
pose there is not a Catholic in the

Strictures on an Article entitled

State of Ohio that would enter the
smallest objection to the annual
ceremony. But let Mr. Hayes, or
any President of the United States,
on the death of, say, the bishop of
Columbus, send for or take his
crosier and ring; still more, let him
appoint some one (cleric or not),
who is willing to pay for the billet,
to the vacant see, and we promise
that there would be unpleasant
times and doings. There never has
been but one legitimate way to
preferment, high and low, in the
church that is, the canonical ; and
now, as in the days of the apostle,
he that comes not in by the door,
the same is a thief and a robber.
As to the statement that the action
of the pope, in abolishing investi-
ture by ring and crosier, was in
any sense a blow aimed at the in-
dependence of civil government, it
is simply false ; while it is manifest
that neither the dignity, the liberty,
nor even the very existence of the
church was consistent with simony
and the advancement of the most
unworthy men to her dignities.
The pope, whoever he might be,
could not have acted otherwise
than did St. Gregory ; and had the
latter not done as he was inspired
by the Almighty to do, he could,
when dying at Salerno, not have
used those words which thrill one
as do no other dying words, save
those uttered from the cross : " Di-
lexi" said the dying saint " dilexi
juslitiam et odi iniquitatem : propte-
rea morior inexilio"

So far is the whole, or any por-
tion, of the history of the church
from lending even a semblance of
color to the alleged political rapa-
city of the popes, or any of them,
that the plain inference of the man
who reads true history in order to
find out truth will be that they in-
variably spurned every considera-

tion of the kind. To keep what
influence they held, or to gain any
in future, their plan would have
been to divorce those bestial mo-
narchs whenever they desired it
to play (like Parker and the Eliza-
bethan bishops) a perpetual minor
accompaniment to the monarch's
fiddle. Had they done these things,
leaving duty undone and right dis-
regarded, there would have been
fewer execrable, political anti-popes
in history, fewer popes would have
died in exile, and there would have
been no trouble whatever about
investitures. The complaisance
displayed by Luther and Melanch-
thon toward the landgrave of
Hesse, if shown by the pope toward
the original head of Anglicanism,
would have obviated the necessity
for any outward change of religion
in England herself. It must be
admitted that conscience and not
interest seems to have carried the
day at Rome.

Under the head of this contro-
versy about investitures, of which
we have given the true, as Mr.
Maury has given a false and gar-
bled, history (principally from Mos-
heim, who seems to have manipu-
lated every event simply with a
view to favoring Protestantism), he
has made incidentally several ran-
dom and several false assertions.
Observe that we do not attribute
to him wilful falsehood ; but his
zeal outruns his judgment, and, if a
statement seems to make in his
favor, he is not sufficiently careful
in verifying it; e.g., "In view of
the fact that this church (the Ca-
tholic) is making rapid advances
in the acquisition of political influ-
ence in the United States," etc.

Here is a statement very glibly
uttered and flatly untrue. The
church, as such, neither has nor
desires to have any political influ-

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church:

119

ence in this or in any other country ;
and we challenge the assertor to
the proof of his slander. Her mem-
bers have votes like other people ;
and there are probably in the
United States within her commu-
nion (taking the ordinary statistics
and ratio of voters to population)
about a million voters. But they
vote on both sides, liks their neigh-
bors ; and whenever there are three
parties the third always presents a
sprinkling of Catholic voters. The
proportion of Catholic office-hold-
ers in our country never has been
in any sort of proportion to the Ca-
tholic population ; nor do we men-
tion the fact to complain of it.
Our prayer is that they may be
long kept out of the foul wallow.
The only prominent official that we
can for the moment recollect was
Judge Taney. We believe there is
one Catholic in the present Senate,
but we doubt very much whether
the present House of Representa-
tives contains ten Catholic mem-
bers. Men like James T. Brady
and Charles O'Conor are not apt
to be chronic office-holders. These
alleged advances toward political
aggrandizement, if made at all, have
not been made in the dark or in
a corner. They must be capable
of being pointed out. Put your
finger on them ; show them to us.
What are they? Where are they?
Where were they made ? We had
occasion lately in these pages to
insist that the statement was false
by which Catholics were represent-
ed as all voting one way, or as vot-
ing under the direction of their
priests and bishops ; and we repro-
duce the words then used, viz. :

" But we appeal to the Catholic voters
of this country, of American or foreign
birth, to answer : Has your bishop or
parish priest ever undertaken to dictate
to you how you should vote ? Has your

vote, on whatever side given, interfered
in the slightest degree with your status
in the church? Do you know of a sin-
gle instance in which one or the other
of these things has taken place? We
cannot lay down a fairer gage. If such
things happen, they cannot occur with-
out the knowledge of those among and
with whom they are done. Had the
proof been forthcoming, the country
would have rung with it long ere this.
We demand and defy the proof."

We stand now by what is therein
said, adding that people who are
unwilling to be brought to taw-
should not assert, at least in print,
what they do not know to be true,
or might, with very little pains, as-
certain to be false. It will not do
to make hap-hazard assertions, mere-
ly on the ground that they will be
well received by a portion of the
community, whether small or large.
There are people who do not think
that it is honest, and who charac-
terize such conduct by a very harsh
name. If a writer in the Church
Review chooses to address Episco-
palians, and those alone, on matters
connected with their own special
organization, we shall care but very
little what he says, and shall cer-
tainly not interfere. With them be
it. But he shall not make sweep-
ing, false statements about the Ca-
tholic Church, without being in-
formed that, however it may have
happened, these utterances lack the
essential element of truth.

Again, he says : " They (the bi-
shops and abbots) assumed the
leadership of the soldiers of the
district over which they had juris-
diction," etc.

We did not imagine that there
was any man at this day, pretend-
ing to an inkling of education, who
did not know that it has at no
time been lawful for a clergyman
of the Church of Rome to bear
arms. Clergymen bearing arms are

I2O

Strictures on an Article entitled

excommunicated by the law of the
church. Mr. Maury, in another
part of his article, undertakes to
give a definition of canon law
which is misleading, and bears eve-
ry appearance of having been cull-
ed from some writer who knew as
little of the canon law as does Mr.
Maury. The drill-master needs
only to see a recruit take up a
musket in order to state positively :
" My lad, you never had a lesson
on musket-drill in your life." To
us Mr. Maury's uncouth and large-
ly false definition of canon law is
proof positive that he never open-
ed a book on the subject in his
life. And yet he undertakes deli-
berately to enlighten people upon
its nature in print. Fie, Mr. Mau-
ry ! Let us give you your first les-
son on canon law, and it is this :
Those clerics who enlist are irre-
gular, and it is prescribed by canon
law that " they shall be punished by
loss of their grade, as contemners of
the holy canons and profaners of the
sanctity of the church" Of course
we, like others, have frequently
read that little story, well befitting
a Protestant ecclesiastical history,
in which it is stated that a certain
bishop of Beauvais was taken pri-
soner in arms, and that, on the
pope's interceding for him, the coat
of mail in which the prisoner is
said to have been clad was sent
to His Holiness with the message :
" Disc erne an hcec sit vestis filii tui"
It is more than probable that the
story was made for the sake of the
supposed jest. Certain it is that
the attempt to trace it deprives it
of any authority, while even as a
fiction it shows on the part of its
author what Mr. Maury has not
viz., a knowledge of the canon law
on the subject. Did not a late bi-
shop of Louisiana act as a major-
general in the army ? Now, canon

law is not binding on members of
that sect, nor are its ministers at
all bound to know the canons, un-
less, indeed, they undertake to in-
struct others upon them, and then
we humbly submit that things are
different.

Once more : " It (the state) ex-
pressly limited its right to the tem-
poral advantages belonging to the
endowments, and made no claim
to conferring the spiritual func-
tions," etc.

What the state actually did was
this. It said : " We have sold to
the highest bidder this see or that
abbacy. We know full well that to
be simony, and that the person on
whom we have conferred the cro-
sier and ring is ipso facto excommu-
nicated by reason of that simony.
We also know him to be an unfit,
and even a grossly immoral, person.
But there he is ; and you must
either consecrate him or that pre-
lature shall not be filled. At all
events he shall have the revenues.
He has bought and paid for them."
How any man of ordinary honesty,
how any one not previously deter-
mined by his prejudices to make
out a case, should talk of its " not
suiting the views of the ambitious
pontiff that the church should be
subjected to the state even to this
limited (sic f) extent," is one of
those things that must remain a
mystery till the day when we shall
be able to look back on the affairs
and actions of this world with a
clearer mental vision than any we
have borne while in it. Mr. Mau-
ry's sect, founded by a king, the
doctrines of which (if it have any)
are in England defined by a par-
liament and its practice decided
by the courts, the convocation of
which has for two hundred years
not ventured to cheep, and then
hardly above its breath, can of

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church."

\2\

course endure, in view of the loaves
and fishes, to be subject to the
state in all matters. But the church
of God can only, like her Master,
render to Caesar the things which
are Caesar's ; and she does not deem
conscience to be one of his perqui-
sites. Instructive, if not edifying,
reading in regard to the results
brought about by the secular pow-
er's appointment of bishops, deans,
etc., may be found in the lives, au-
tobiographic and otherwise, of the
prime ministers of England. The
doctrines of Anglicanism are now,
notwithstanding parliaments and
courts, just what they have been
from the beginning a series of in-
comprehensible shifts and evasions,
a set of enigmas with no fixed
response to any of them. The co-
lumns of the London Times will
show how " livings " are disposed
of, canted at public sale, puffed
into fictitious value by representa-
tions of the age of the present in-
cumbent and the short-livedness of
his family. If we must take in-
structions from anybody, surely
ministers of such a sect as this are
not the persons to be listened to
either in matter of religion or of
taste.

Further on, and in relation to
the decree of Pope St. Gregory,
we find : " It is impossible to con-
ceive of (sic) presumption surpass-
ing that which inspired this, or to
imagine a more absolute disregard
of the rights of sovereigns. It was
a declaration of war by the church
upon the state. Disobedience to
it was absolutely unavoidable un-
der the existing system of feudal
tenure," etc.

After what has been given of the
history of this controversy it is
but a work of supererogation to show
that each one of the statements in
these three sentences is a separate

and distinct falsehood. St. Gre-
gory excommunicated and debarred
from entrance into the church the
simoniacal holders of bishoprics or
abbacies, as also every emperor,
duke, marquis, count, knight, or
other person who should presume
to confer the investiture of a bish-
opric or other ecclesiastical dignity;
he finds no fault with the tem-
poral homage or service due on
account of secular estates, whether
pertaining to the incumbent or to
the prelature. Being head (not of
a sect nor of a church, but) of the
church, he was not, like a titular
archbishop of Canterbury, a mere
figure-head, whose presence served
to give a false show of authority to
ecclesiastical decrees made by a
collection of laymen, perhaps not
even Christians ; and his excom-
munication must consistently strike
all the accomplices in a most ne-
farious work. It is impossible for
a Catholic to conceive how the
pope could have acted otherwise
than he did, since the church knows
to this day, and will till the end of
time know, no different rules to
apply to those of her members who
are highest in temporal dignity
from those which affect the poorest
inmate of the almshouse. The state
had now for nearly a century been
making war upon the church ; and
as to the impossibility under feudal
tenure of anything but disobedi-
ence to the decree of His Holiness,
we see in point of actual fact that
the matter was quietly and satis-
factorily settled by the withdrawal
on the part of the state of the of-
fensive and impious claim to con-
fer investiture in spiritualibus. No
one found any fault with the pure-
ly temporal homage, and it was
only when, by seizure and sale of
cross and crosier (with which, ac-
cording to the rude ideas of many

122

Strictures on an Article entitled

people in that age, was involved
the spiritual authority), the king
put forth a claim to the power of
appointing bishops, that the church
withstood him to the face. He
strove to usurp a spiritual power
which never belonged to him or to
any other temporal authority. We
can all see in history what has
been the fate of those sects of Pro-
testantism which, for the sake of
mere existence or of temporary
courtly favor, have given up the
rights and powers that would have
been inherent in them, were they
a church. Their doctrines are a
mass of doubt and contradiction.
Their ministry, having neither au-
thority nor message to the world,
consists of dumb dogs that bark
not. Perhaps Anglicanism has
been the most successful of them.
Is there any thoughtful man, even
among its own members, that can
in reason look hopefully forward to
its future ?

But it will be objected: "All
this, however satisfactory so far as
it goes, only proves that Henry IV.
attempted a very gross outrage
against the church ; and we freely
admit that the pope could then, as
he can, in case of necessity, now,
excommunicate from the church.
The church would be a sham if he
could not. But how about the
claim to the right of deposing
kings, set up by the popes and car-
ried out by St. Gregory against the
emperor of Germany?" We en-
tirely acknowledge the reasonable-
ness of the question, not merely
from the Protestant point of view,
but from the general standpoint of
our own days ; and we propose to
answer concisely (allotted space
allowing nothing else) the question
put, though a complete response
thereto would require a separate
book. Meantime, we refer such as

wish a full and expansive treatise
on the subject to M. Gosselin's
" Pouvoir du Pape au Moyen-Age."
This power was not, nor was it
ever claimed to be, inherent in the
Papacy, but was simply the result
of a necessity, alike felt and ac-
knowledged by all in those turbulent
and unruly times, for some tribunal
of final arbitrament. It had its
source in the common consent of
all Christendom in the fact that
the popes were, in the language of
Count de Maistre, "universally re-
cognized as the delegates of that
power from which all authority
emanates. The greatest princes
looked upon the sacred unction as
the sanction and, so to speak, as
the complement of their right."
Even the highest of all the mon-
archs of the middle ages, the Ger-
man emperor, derived his august
character and was regarded as em-
peror in virtue of the unction and
coronation by the pope. It was
" the public law of the middle
ages," as Fenelon has well explain-
ed ; and it is the universal acquies-
cence in that law which explains
the conduct of popes and councils
in deposing incompetent or vicious
rulers. " In exercising this power,"
says M. Gosselin, " the popes but
followed and applied the principles
received, not merely by the mass
of the people but by the most virtu-
ous and enlightened men of the age."
We sometimes nowadays have
sense enough to avoid a war by
leaving the decision of a question
to a convention of arbitrators, as
in the case of the Geneva confer-
ence ; sometimes to a single umpire,
as the difficulty about the occupan-
cy of the island of San Juan was
submitted to the decision of the
late king of Belgium. Several in-
ternational disputes, which might
doubtless otherwise have eventu-

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church:

123

ated in war, have been left to the
emperor of Brazil as arbiter. We
know very well that the right to
bind by such decisions is in no
way inherent in the sovereignty of
Brazil or of Belgium, but in the
fact that mankind agrees to abide
by their decision in the matters
submitted to them. Now, in those
days, while unfortunately, as histo-
ry shows us but too many proofs,
knaves and scoundrels existed as
no\v, yet while feudalism lasted
the theory was that civil society
was completely swayed by the
spirit of Christianity. All the new
governments which had sprung up
from the de'bris of the Roman Em-
pire were indebted both for foun-
dation and nurture, during what
may be termed their infancy and
childhood, to the fostering care of
the popes and bishops. Had it
not been for the church, mankind
would without doubt have relapsed
into a state of barbarism. It is
not, then, matter of surprise that
common consent should, under
those circumstances, have vested
in the pope the right of deposing a
sovereign in cases where no other
remedy existed. Our sole remedy
nowadays for such evils rests in
the power of insurrection, which
may or may not be successful, but
must, in either case, be the cause
of at least as much misery and far
more actual bloodshed than the evils
it was meant to remedy. There is
room extra ecclesiam for difference
of opinion on the subject, and
minds do, no doubt, honestly differ
as to which of the two is the better
plan. For our own part, while we
utterly disclaim the remotest sym-
pathy with the feudal system, yet
we are not prepared to say that it
was not the best possible in that
age, and should most unhesitatingly
give the preference, first, to papal

intervention, as being least likely to
be biassed, and, second, to any fixed
and recognized, fairly impartial tri-
bunal, rather than risk the doubts
and undergo the horrors of rebel-
lion, successful or otherwise. Far
be it from us to wish to recall the
middle ages with their utter disre-
gard for the rights of the people,
who, but for the popes, would have
had none to put in a word in their
behalf; and it was only under the
feudal system that the public law
of Europe could call for the inter-
ference of him whom all then be-
lieved the vicegerent of the Al-
mighty. Laws, nationalities, cus-
toms, languages, and religion have
all changed. What then was legal
and desirable, nay, absolutely ne-
cessary, is no longer law ; and the
lapse of whole nations and of large
parts of others from the faith of
Christ has abrogated a custom
which, like all other civil regula-
tions, could but derive its authority
from international consent. It may,
however, " be doubted whether in
a historical light," to use the words
of Darras, " the system of the mid-
dle ages was not quite equal to
our modern practice." But this
troublesome and invidious duty
thus thrown upon the popes was,
however, never claimed to be an
integral or essential part of their
authority, but simply to attach tem-
porarily to the office by law, con-
sent, and necessity. Of course
there were then, as there are now,
men who imagined that the politi-
cal system of their day would never
change, and that the Holy Roman
Empire and the feudal system
would last for ever. It is well to
remember that there is but one in-
stitution that is sure and steadfast
among men the church to which
He has promised who can perform.
The risjht and dutv of excom-

124

Strictures on an Article entitled

municating professing Catholic
kings and princes is, on the other
hand, and always has been, inherent
in the Papacy, to be exercised by
the pope when all other means
have failed, in case of stern neces-
sity and for the good of the church.
Such right is inseparable from his
office, and can be exercised just as
fully from the Catacombs or from
a dungeon as from the high altar
of St. Peter's at Rome.

It astonishes us somewhat to find
that the mind sufficiently clear to in-
dite the following sentiments should
have failed so completely to under-
stand the nature of the struggle over
the investitures, and should have
seen but through a glass darkly the
condition of governments, men, and
things requiring the application of
his doctrines to practice. Mr.
Maury says, and says well :

" It is to be admitted that the interven-
tion of the popes in foreign political
affairs in early and mediaeval European
history was not unfrequently matter
of moral necessity. The papal authority
constituted for those periods the High
Court of International Arbitration. Not
seldom the pontiffs stood forth as the
solitary champions of right and justice.
. . . We cannot but make ample al-
lowance for their interference ; nay, in
many cases we must admire it. ... In
the case of the popes themselves moral
necessity must'often be allowed to have
more than justified their interference in
the domestic policy of foreign govern-
ments," etc.

We must hasten through the re-
mainder of Mr. Maury 's article. A
great portion of it strikes wide of
the mark, having no application to
the point at issue, which we under-
stand to be the political rapacity
of the "Romish" Church. The
sketch of the career of Napoleon,
his imprisonment of the pope, the
theological opinions of the canaille
of generals that the Little Corporal

gathered about him, and the action
(not of the French people, but) of
the rude rabble of the large cities
at the time of the Revolution, would
seem even to evince that the ra-
pacity existed elsewhere. Again, it
would be mere waste of ammuni-
tion to argue with an opponent who
seriously maintains that gratitude
for what he terms " the restoration
of the Papacy " ought to have in-
duced Pius VII., or any other pope,
to govern the church thenceforward
on such principles as would meet
the approval of the so-called Holy
Alliance. The man who can enter-
tain such a notion has not the first
rudimentary idea making toward a
conception of what the church of
God is, however well he may under-
stand that of Queen Victoria.

Only two further points shall we
briefly notice. One is the restora-
tion of the Jesuits by Pius VII. a
fact upon which Mr. Maury lays
great stress, as indicating the poli-
tical rapacity of the church. The
order had been suppressed by Pope
Clement in 1773, not as having
been proved guilty of any wrong
whatever, but simply because their
existence as an order, under the
then circumstances and state of
feeling in Europe, seemed to that
pope and his council to give not
cause but pretext for scandal to a
certain portion of nominal Chris-
tendom. It is admitted that the
prime movers in exciting this en-
mity against the Jesuits were the
infidels in France, the Pombal fac-
tion in Portugal, the persons bear-
ing in Spain the same relations to
the monarch which were in France
held by Madame de Pompadour,
and those weak people who believe
all that is diligently sounded in
their ears from the rostrum or pre-
sented to their eyes by the press.
Pope Clement deemed it the most

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church."

prudent course to suppress the
order, and he did so. It was their
duty to obey, and they obeyed to
the letter. Had he been a Protes-
tant archbishop or bishop, would
he have been so thoroughly obey-
ed ? Would there even have been
a pretence of obedience ? Had the
Jesuits been the wily knaves they
are frequently represented as being,
would they have disbanded on the
instant? Has any association in
history, we will not say so power-
ful, but even one-tenth part so nu-
merous, so able, and so well disci-
plined, ever been extinguished by
the myrmidons of the most power-
ful civil government ? Had they
been Protestants, we should at once
have had a new and powerful sect.
Had they been merely a conscience-
less, oath-bound society, they could
have gone on, despite all the civil
governments on earth. Being Je-
suits, they obeyed the mandate of
the Vicar of God. Pius VII.
deemed the time opportune for
their revival. It may be that his
experience of the favor shown to
the usurping Napoleon during the
period of his own imprisonment,
and the manifest tergiversations of
nearly all the higher French clergy
at that unhappy time, caused him to
long for the faithful Jesuits. Of
this we know nothing. His right
to restore them was just as clear as
had been that of Pope Clement to
suppress them. We propose neith-
er to go into a eulogy of the Jesu-
its nor to defend them from the
slurs and slanders cast upon them,
mostly by those who know little
more of them than the name.
They need no eulogy from us, and
are quite competent to defend
themselves by word and pen.
Mr. Maury (who seems to be an
ardent Jesuit-hater ; we know no-
thing of him but his article) is evi-

125

dently one of those who fancy
that the church is a political party,
and that, on gaining an advantage
over her opponents, she may bar-
gain^ to shift principles and suit
discipline to those who have been
instrumental in bringing about the
result. We quite agree with him,
however, that, judging by all his-
tory, the church does not seem to
regard herself in that light. Very
many popes have died in exile.
For seventy continuous years the
head of the church was in captivi-
ty at Avignon. Pope Pius VII.
was long a prisoner at Savona.
For all that we know, the present
pontiff may yet have to hide in the
Catacombs. But neither in the
past has there been, nor will there
be found in the future, a pope who
for personal duress or temporal do-
main (however clear his right
thereto) will barter away one iota
of the sacred deposit of faith and
practice. The church leaves it to
the politicians to seek foul ends by
base means to bargain that "in
case you commit this forgery or
that perjury for me, I shall, on at-
taining power, see that you are not
only held guiltless but rewarded."
Were this her way of acting, she
would be very unlike her Founder,
and certainly would not be the in-
stitution with which our Saviour
has promised to be till the consum-
mation of the world. Mr. Maury
would seem to think that he is
making a point in charging the
church with being true to her
principles, with being changeless,
with not giving way to feelings of
gratitude (?) so far as, upon occa-
sion, to give up her position as the
conservatrix of faith and morals.
He repeats the charge, under differ-
ent forms, sundry times in the
course of his article. Does he
perchance not know that this is

126

Strictures on an Article entitled

exactly the characteristic of the
church in which Catholics glory?
Did he never hear of the church
before? Does she now come be-
fore his mental vision for the first
time ? One is really tempted to
think so from the fact that he
speaks of the pope's styling him-
self " God's vicar upon earth," as
though it were a new title never
assumed until Pope Pius used it in
his encyclical of March, 1814. If
it will do Mr. Maury any good or
save him future labor in writing,
we can inform him that we Catho-
lics would have neither faith nor
confidence in a church that could
sway and swerve, that allowed her-
self to be ruled by politicians or by
heretics ; and that we all believe
Pope Leo XIII. to be, like his pre-
decessor St. Peter, " God's vicar
here on earth." Let him stop the
first Catholic boy he meets who
attends catechism class, ask him
what is the pope, and he will get
that answer in so many words.

The other point is this : Mr.
Maury takes it very ill that the
church should find fault with the
Falk laws and the supervision that
the German government claims and
attempts to exercise over her in
that country ; while he asserts
that no fault is found with the Ba-
varian government, which (he says)
exercises the self-same jurisdiction
over the church that Germany is
now striving to carry out. The
latter part of his statement is un-
true. But, admitting that it were
true, cannot even Mr. Maury see
that there would be all the differ-
ence in the world between permit-
ting to a Catholic ruler certain
rights of supervision touching ec-
clesiastical matters, and giving the
same rights to infidels, rationalists,
transcendentalists, atheists in any
case to non-Catholics ? Perhaps

we should hardly expect this,
since, unless our information be
very incorrect, wardens or vestry-
men, or both, may be, and often
are, in his own sect, not mere non-
communicants but of no profession
of religion whatever. That such is
the case in England we know; and
Mr. Thackeray painted from life
both the Rev. Charles Honeyman
and Lady Whittlesea's chapel,
which is there depicted as a spe-
culation of Sherrick, the Jewish
wine-merchant. True, the Bava-
rian government has adopted a
new constitution subsequent to
the establishment of its concordat
with the Holy See ; and we are
far from denying that things
would be on a very unsatisfactory
footing in Bavaria were the reign-
ing house to become Protestant, or
the government, by an accidental
(and we admit possible) influx of
free-thinkers, to determine to give
trouble. This, however, has not
yet taken place, and the proverb
holds that it is unnecessary to
greet his satanic majesty till one
actually meets him. We doubt not
but that any overt act against the
freedom of the church will, in that
country, be as promptly resented
and rendered as thoroughly inef-
fective as has hitherto been the
case in Prussia. All the power and
influence of the German govern-
ment has, so far, been unable to
push the so-called Old Catholics
into even a decent show of repute ;
and no Catholic in communion with
the pope will ever lend himself to
any such thing as the Bismarckian
scheme of a German national
church, or national church of any
other empire, kingdom, or repub-
lic. An independent provincial
church is to the mind of the Catho-
lic an utter absurdity ; and no pro-
position looking to any such end

"Political Rapacity of the Romish Church:

would for a moment be entertained
at Rome. Catholics do not and
cannot exist without being in com-
munion with the pope, whosoever
or wheresoever he or they may be.
It seems grievously to vex Mr.
Maury that in no single instance
lias the church allowed herself to
be made, as has the legal sect in
England, a mere tool in the hands
of the state ; and he takes pains to
stigmatize what he ironically de-
scribes as the " gentle suavity " of
Pope Pius and the Cardinal Con-
salvi, intimating that it was mere
stratagem ; but he forgets that
there is no sort of hypocrisy in
doing the best that can be done
under given circumstances, provid-
ing always that no principle be given
up. Even on his own showing the
church has under no circumstances
abandoned for a moment the prin-
ciple that she should and must be
entirely free from any control of
the state in matters spiritual. Were
it any one of the little sects that
set up such claim for religious
freedom as against governmental
interference, a cry in its favor
would go up along the line from
Dan to Beersheba ; but in the case
of mother church it only furnish-
es a reason for an article on her
political rapacity. Some original
genius once remarked that consis-
tency is a jewel. It certainly is
very rare ; and here is a radiant
instance of it on the part of our
opponents. The moment that the
state presumes to trench upon the
domain of conscience we must all
obey God rather than man. Usque
hue et ne plus ultra. Up to that
point we stand ready to act and
obey loyally as citizens. Beyond
that line we neither can nor will
be bound ; and they who demand
that we should put our consciences
in the keeping of Reichstag, Par-

127

liament, or Congress know but lit-
tle of human rights and less of the
rightful domain of civil law.

A little reflection might have
shown Mr. Maury the absurdity of
his statement that Consalvi de-
manded of the Bavarian govern-
ment the expulsion of the Protes-
tant population of that country, then
amounting to nearly a million.
Surely Mr. Maury is joking! In
the many centuries during which
the popes have had full sway in
the Eternal City, not one of them
has ever proposed the expulsion of
the Jews, a large number of whom
have at all times resided in Rome.
Mr. Maury represents Cardinal
Consalvi as an eminently shrewd
man, whereas he must have been
little better than an idiot to enter-
tain such an idea, much more to
express it in writing, even to the
dullest court in Europe. He never
did do so. Surely this must be,
like several other statements of the
writer which we have not time at
present to take up, a lapsus penncz
into which haste in Writing and
zeal for " the good cause " betray-
ed him. Authority for it we have
been utterly unable to find, though
the account of the negotiations of
that cardinal are in the main given
with tolerable fulness in the books
at our hand.

That system of religion is surely
in a very bad way the hold of
which on the minds and consciences
of its adherents cannot be maintain-
ed without the aid of government;
nor does it deserve the name of
religion at all when its ministers
are such as those must be who owe
their appointment to the back-stair
intrigues by which men attain poli-
tical offices. The Roman Curia
has shown both wisdom and a high
sense of honor in persistently re-
fusing, on principle, to recognize

128

Strictures on an Article.

any other than the canonical elec-
tion of her prelates. But it does
seem somewhat hard that her un-
willingness to curry favor with the
various reigning houses and their
ministries should be attributed to
political rapacity. So far as the
pope is concerned, he was just as
much the head of the church under
the persecution of Diocletian as in
the days of Leo X., and is just as
really and effectually the father of
all the faithful to-day as on the day
when the Papal States were restor-
ed to him by Pepin in 768. The
minds of men have, however, become
so accustomed to acts of injustice
that they regard them with com-
parative indifference. The justice
of the pope's claim to the patri-
mony of St. Peter is infinitely
clearer and of far more ancient
standing than that of any sovereign
in Christendom to the throne he
occupies. Necessary to the exis-
tence of the Papacy those states
certainly are not, save in the sense
that he who is not a temporal

sovereign must to a certain extent
be a subject, and that an ill-dispos-
ed government, under or within
control of which the pope may be,
will always be in a condition to
hamper him, and to put trammels
on his intercourse with his people
over the entire world. As it may
well be doubted whether there ever
was a period when the Holy Father
was more firmly entrenched in the
affections and confidence of his
faithful children than now, when
despoiled of territory, courtly pomp
and splendor all of which he might
have retained had he been willing
to stretch principle to compliance
with iniquity so a more unsuitable
season could hardly, in the view of
any impartial on-looker, have been
selected for charging the church
with political rapacity. Had she
possessed that, or desired its re-
sults, her position, however high in
a worldly point of view, would
hardly have been so honorably
glorious in the eyes of her faithful
members.

The Death of Pius IX.

129

THE DEATH OF PIUS IX.

THE CONCLAVE AND ELECTION.

(FROM A SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE CATHOLIC WORLD IN ROME.)

ROME, February 21, 1878.

HE is no more ! As a Christian, he
loved justice with the charity of his di-
vine Master ; as a priest, his vows ; as a
bishop, his flock ; as a Sovereign Pontiff,
he kept the deposit of faith with a great,
intelligent love. And we loved him
dearly in life, as pontiff never was loved
before, and shall ever think of him as
the one colossal figure of justice, un-
moved and immovable, of the nineteenth
century. In memoria sterna erit Justus
ille ; ab auditione mala non timebit,

We thought, as we gazed upon his
loving face on the Feast of the Purifica-
tion, and the seventy-fifth anniversary of
his First Communion, that he never
looked better. He looked younger, 'twas
said by those present. His face had a
glow that suggested his early manhood.
His voice, too, was vigorous and robust
as he addressed the parish priests, the
heads of the religious orders, and the
rectors of the colleges, who had present-
ed him with the Candlemas taper, ac-
cording to custom. And when he had
thanked all present, and requested them
to bear his thanks to the faithful for hav-
ing offered up prayers to God and the
Virgin Immaculate for his recent recov-
ery from illness, he pronounced the
sweetest little homily, so characteristic
of Pius IX., on the necessity of giving re-
ligious instruction to the little ones.
Alas ! it was the sweetest song of the
swan, because the last.

THE LAST HOURS.

Towards evening, on the 6th inst., it
was observed by his physicians that the
Holy Father was somewhat feverish.
This excited no alarm, for such attacks
seemed but the .lingering traces of his
recent illness. The Pope retired to bed
at his usual hour, about ten o'clock.
His rest, however, was not tranquil. He
seemed to be oppressed in his breathing.
About four o'clock on the morning of
the 7th he was seized with a shivering
chill, his breathing became quick and
VOL. XXVII. 9

hard, his pulse excited. About half-
past six o'clock the fever came on with
greater force, producing an utter pros-
tration of the august patient. Mis men-
tal faculties regained clear and undis-
turbed, and at half-past eight he received
the Viaticum with great devotion from
the hands of his sacristan, Mgr. Mari-
nelli. The malady became more intense,
the catastrophe inevitable ; so at nine
o'clock he was anointed. Meanwhile,
the news of the Pope's sudden and dan-
gerous illness had spread through the
city, and the cardinals hastened to the
Vatican. By order of the cardinal-vi-
car the Blessed Sacrament was exposed
in all the churches of the city. That
fact contained the dread significance
that the Pope was dying. The Romans
flocked to the churches and prayed fer-
vently against the crisis, yet trembled at
the thought that, when the Blessed Sa- ,
crament would be restored to the taber-
nacle, all would be over, well or ill.
The cardinals and prelates assembled
around the bed of the sufferer knew too
well what the issue would be. He
knew it himself, for, taking the crucifix
from under his pillow, he blessed them.
His suffering increased. At one o'clock
P.M. Cardinal Bilio, the grand-peniten-
tiary, began to repeat the last prayers of
the church for the dying. The Holy
Father pronounced distinctly, though
with the greatest difficulty, the act of
contrition. Then he subjoined in a
voice that betokened great trust. " In
domum Domini tl>iwus"Wewi]l go into
the house of the Lord. When the car-
dinal came to pronounce the last address
to the departing soul, he hesitated at the
word profidsccre (depart) ; but the Pope
added quickly, " Si! profidscerc" Yes !
proficiscere. When he had repeated the
exhortation the cardinal knelt down
and asked the dying Pope to bless the
cardinals. There were present Cardi-
nals Borromeo, Sacconi, De Falloux,
Manning, Howard, and Franchi. He
raised his right hand and made the
triple sign of the cross. It was the last

130

The Death of Pius IX.

Apostolic Benediction imparted by Pius
IX. At half-past two in the afternoon
the rumor spread through the city that
the Pope was dead. Telegrams to the
same effect were sent to all parts of the
world by the correspondents of the press.
The secretary of the Minister of the In-
terior had caused a bulletin of the same
tenor to be posted up in the vestibule of
Parliament. But the agony of death had
not even set in upon the venerable pa-
tient, though all hope of a change for
the better was abandoned. At half-past
three the struggle began in very earn-
est. It was a sight that brought copious
tears to the eyes of the beholders Pius
IX. in his agony. Never more strongly
than during those supreme moments
did the youthful vitality of the Pontiff
manifest itself. Two hours and a half
of a death-agony is something we asso-
ciate only with robust constitutions in
the flower of manhood. At five o'clock
the physician requested Cardinal Bilio
to pronounce a second time the recom-
mendation of the departing soul. He
did so, and then, kneeling down, he be-
gan the rosary, giving out for contem-
plation the Five Sorrowful Mysteries.
At the fourth the carrying of the cross
he stopped, looked anxiously at the
face of the Pontiff, stood up, and gazed
still more eagerly upon those loving fea-
tures. The eyes had closed sweetly, a
pearly tear, just born, glistened on the
lids, the lines of agonizing pain seemed
to disappear perceptibly it was all over,
and the Angelus bell rang out over a
fatherless city, ay, a fatherless world.

HOW ROME RECEIVED THE NEWS.

The news created no excitement.
There was no crowd to speak of in the
Square of St. Peter. Only a few loiter-
ers stood for a moment gazing up at the
bronze doors which open into the Vati-
can ; but they " moved on " at the quiet
request of a policeman. There were no
soldiers visible nothing war-like, if ex-
ception be made to the bristling bayo-
nets of the Swiss Guards. Soon after the
Ave Maria the bronze doors were closed,
and the loiterers betook themselves
across the Bridge of St. Angelo into the
city. There all was quiet, too, save and
except the theatres ; they went on per form-
ing, though the authorities had a super-
abundance of time to order them to be
closed. The two lesser theatres, in

which Pulcinella gives nightly amuse-
ment to the unlaved of Rome, closed of
their own accord on hearing of the
Pope's death. The other theatres re-
ceived official notice to suspend perfor-
mances until further notice, on the fol-
lowing day. During the day of Pius
IX. 's suffering King Humbert and Queen
Margherita sent repeatedly to the Vati-
can to inquire after his health. Dur-
ing the night the following notification
from the cardinal-vicar of Rome was
affixed to the churches :

" TO THE CLERGY AND PEOPLE OF ROME.

" Raffaele, of the title of St. Crcce in
Gerusalemme, cardinal-priest of the Holy
Roman Church, Monaco La Valletta,
Vicar-General and Judge-Ordinary of
Rome and its district, Commendatory
Abbot of Subiaco.

"The Majesty of God Omnipotent has
called to himself the Sovereign Pontiff,
Pius IX., of holy memory, as we have
just been advised by the most eminent
cardinal-chamberlain of the Holy Ro-
man Church, to whom it belongs to give
public testimony of the death of the Ro-
man Pontiffs. At this announcement
the Catholic people in every corner of
the world, devoted to the great and
apostolic virtues of the immortal Pontiff
and to his sovereign magnanimity, will
mourn. But above all let us weep pro-
foundly, O Romans ! for to-day has un-
fortunately ended the most extraordina-
rily glorious and prolonged pontificate
which God has ever granted to his
vicars on earth. The life of Pius IX.,
as Pontiff and as sovereign, was a series
of most abundant benefits, both in the
spiritual and temporal order, diffused
throughout all the churches and nations,
and especially upon his own Rome,
where at every step monuments of the
munificence of the lamented Pontiff and
father are met with.

" According to the sacred canons, in
all the cities and distinguished places
solemn obsequies and suffrages shall be
celebrated for the soul of the deceased
hierarch, and every day, until the Holy
Apostolic See be provided with a new
chief, solemn prayers shall be offered up
to implore from his divine Majesty a
most speedy election of the successor of
the never-to-be-sufficiently-lamented de-
ceased.

"To this effect, i, notice is given

7 he Death of Pius IX.

that public and solemn funeral services
will be' celebrated in the patriarchal
Vatican basilica by the chapter thereof,
whither, as soon as possible, the body of
the immortal Pontiff will be carried, and
placed, according to custom, in the cha-
pel of the Most Holy Sacrament. 2.
It is ordained that in all the churches of
this illustrious city, as well of the secu-
lar as the regular clergy, and privileged
in any way, all the bells be rung in fune-
ral notes for the space of an hour, from
three to four, to-morrow. 3. As soon as
the precious mortal remains of the Sov-
ereign Pontiff be carried into the Vati-
can basilica, solemn obsequies shall be
celebrated in the aforesaid churches.
4. The reverend clergy, secular and re-
gular, are exhorted to offer up the un-
bloody Sacrifice in suffrage for the soul
of the august deceased, as has always
been done, and the communities of both
sexes, as also all the faithful, are invited
to recommend his blessed soul in their
prayers. 5. Finally, it is prescribed
that in each of the aforesaid churches,
in the Mass and other functions, the
collect Pro Pontifice be added as long
as the vacancy of the Apostolic See
shall last.

" Given from our residence, February
7, 1878.

" R. CARD. MONACO, Vicar.
" PLACIDO CAN. PETACCI, Secretary."

Soon after the soul of Pius IX. had
departed his physicians returned to the
chamber of the dead, now guarded by
two of the Noble Guards who never
lose sight of the body until it is consign-
ed to the tomb and made a formal au-
topsy, which they couched in these
terms : ' We, the undersigned, attest
that His Holiness Pope Pius IX., al-
ready affected for a long time by slow
bronchitis, ceased to live, through pul-
monary paralysis, to-day, February 7, at
5.40 P.M. Dr. Antonini, physician ;
Dr. Ceccarelli, surgeon ; Dr. Petacci,
assistant ; Dr. Topai, assistant."

Dr. Ceccarelli then composed the
body reverently on the bed, and covered
it with a white cloth ; whereupon it
was carried into a neighboring chamber,
looking north, towards the Belvedere
wing of the palace. Detachments of .the
chapter of St. Peter's kept a vigil, recit-
ing psalms the night long. On the fol-
lowing morning, the 8th inst., Mgr.
Macchi, Master of the Chamber, attend-

ed by Mgri. Casali del Drago and Delia
Volpe, Participating Secret Chamber-
lains of His Holiness, repaired to the
apartment taken possession of the pre-
vious evening by Cardinal Pecci, Cham-
berlain of the Holy Roman Church, and
gave him a formal announcement of the
death of the Pope. The cardinal, having
put on robes of violet, which is the
mourning of the church, repaired in
procession with the rest to the room
in which the venerable remains lay, to
effect a solemn mortuary recogniticn.
All knelt down and prayed for a while
in silence. His eminence then recited
the De piofundis, and, standing up, he
reverently raised the cloth from the face
of the dead. Taking a little silver ham-
mer from the hand of a master of cere-
monies, he struck the forehead of the
Pontiff with it thrice, pronouncing at
each stroke, in a loud voice, the name of
the Pope. After a momentary silence
he turned to those present and said :
Papa vere morttius est The Pope is in-
deed dead. The cardinal then tendered
a request to Mgr. Macchi, Master of the
Chamber, for the Fisherman's ring,
which was still on the finger of the
Pope. The monsignore removed it and
gave it to the cardinal, who wrote a
receipt for it. Thereupon Mgr. Peri-
coli, Dean of the Apostolic Prothono-
taries, knelt down and read the follow-
ing attestation : " This morning, Febru-
ary 8, at eight o'clock A.M., the Most
Eminent and Reverend Cardinal Pccci,
Chamberlain of the Holy Roman
Church, accompanied by the College
of Clerics of the Chamber, by Mgr.
the Vice-Chamberlain, by Mgr. the
Auditor of the Reverend Chamber,
by the advocate-general of the Aposto-
lic Chamber, by the procurator-general,
and by the two secretaries and chancel-
lors of the Chamber, repaired to the
private rooms of His Holiness, in one of
which he found on the death-bed the
corpse of his same Holiness.

" Having ascertained the death of the
Holy Father, and recited opportune
prayers in suffrage of the blessed soul,
his aforesaid most reverend eminence
made a request to the Most Illustrious
and Reverend Mgr. Macchi, Master of
the Chamber of His Holiness, for the
Fisherman's ring, which was immediate-
ly consigned by the same Mgr., the
Master of the Chamber, to the most emi-
nent chamberlain, who received it, with

132

The Death of Fins IX.

a view of presenting it in the first car-
dinalitial congregation (to be broken) ;
for which ring his most reverend emi-
nence gave an act of receipt to the afore-
said Mgr. the Master of the Chamber.
* "Whereof, at the request of the most
eminent and reverend chamberlain, a
solemn act was drawn up, rogated by the
Most Illustrious and Reverend Mgr.
Pericoli,- cleric of the Chamber, and
Dean of the College of Apostolic Pro-
thonotaries, the act being signed by the
most eminent and reverend chamber-
Iain, by the others above named, and by
the two secret chamberlains of His
Holiness, the Most Illustrious and Rev-
erend Mgri. Casali del Drago and
Delia Volpe, in the quality of witnesses.
"According to the injunctions made
by the eminent and reverend chamber-
lain to the clerics of the Reverend
Apostolic Chamber, these assembled in
the presence of his most reverend emi-
nence, in an apposite congregation, and
in the regular manner, divided among
themselves the different offices."

THE INTERREGNUM.

The supreme government of the church
during the vacancy of the Apostolic
See belongs to the cardinal-chamberlain
of the Holy Roman Church, and to the
deans of the three orders of cardinals
bishops, priests, and deacons. These
are respectively Cardinal Pecci, Cardi-
nal Amat, dean of the cardinal-bish-
ops, Cardinal Schwarzenberg, dean of
the cardinal-priests, and Cardinal Ca-
terini, dean of the cardinal-deacons.
Cardinal Simeoni's office as Secretary of
State ceased with the death of Pius IX.,
and will be discharged ad interim by
Mgr. Lasagni, secretary of the Council
and of the Consistory. He retains the
office of prefect of the apostolic pala-
ces. Every day during the Novendiales
(that is, the nine days on which solemn
obsequies are celebrated for the deceas-
ed pontiff) there is a congregation of the
cardinals, whereat their eminences ap-
pear with the rochet uncovered, as a
sign of jurisdiction. They are all popes
in fieri. In consideration of this a car-
dinal always rides alone in his carriage
during the vacancy. Moreover, during
the conclave, in the general reunions
of the cardinals, each one has a canopy
erected over his seat. When the elec-
tion takes place all the canopies are re-

moved, save that which is over the seat
of the pontiff-elect.

Immediately after the ceremony de-
scribed, an extraordinary congregation
of the cardinals was held in the palace
of the Vatican. Object, the manner of
celebrating the funeral services ; and the
question, Where is the conclave to be
held ? The first question was disposed
of quickly, it being unanimously resolv-
ed to observe the constitutions as re-
gards the funeral. The question of
where the conclave should be held pre-
sented many difficulties, considering the
political circumstances of the Holy See at
present. The foreign cardinals, and Car-
dinal Manning in particular, supported
the proposal of not holding the conclave
in Rome, not only because little faith
was to be placed in the Law of the Guar-
antees, but for the reason that it would
be a new and powerful protest against
the usurpations consummated by the
Italian government. The Italians over-
ruled these considerations, and consti-
tuted a majority in favor of holding the
conclave in Rome. Cardinal Man-
ning's project of holding the conclave at
Malta received thirteen votes.* Some
city on the Adriatic coast of Austria
was also proposed, but with little favor.

Pending this discussion the canons of
St. Peter's washed the body of the Holy
Father in scented water, and then gave
it to the physicians to be embalmed.
This was on the evening of the 8th inst.
They performed the operation in the tra-
ditional way, taking out the pracordia
and embalming them separately ; after-
wards the body. The prtzcordia, accord-
ing to an old tradition, are interred in
the parish church near which the pontiff
dies ; consequently those of Pius IX,
will be buried in St. Peter's. Had he
died at the Quirinal, the church of SS.
Vincenzo and Anastasio would receive
them. The operation of embalming was
brought to a successful termination on
the morning of the Qth.

The city on the 8th presented a sad
appearance. All the shops were closed,
traffic for the most part was suspended,
the Bourse was closed, and the soldiers
marched to and from their regular stations
without music. There were no amuse-
ments in the evening, and very few peo-

* The Roman Correspondent of the London Tab-
let ^ February 23, denies the truth of this ' project"
so far as Cardinal Manning is concerned. ED.
C. W.

The Death of Pius IX.

pie to be seen in the streets. A shadow
rested on the city. There was a great
blank. Something was wanting ?>want-
ing. The world seems strange, purpose-
less, and unutterably dreary without
Pius IX.

THE DEAD PONTIFF.

After the embalming process his body
was vested in the white cassock, the red
cope bordered with ermine, and the
camauro, or red cap, likewise bordered
with ermine, placed on the head. He
was then laid out on a modest cata-
falque, under a canopy, in one of the
halls of the Vatican. The Roman no-
bles and persons of distinction were per-
mitted to see him. Never have we seen
death so beautiful as in Pius IX. His
face, always aglow with a sweet smile,
was now doubly sweet and restful. There
was not a trace of pain left on it, and
its beautiful whiteness seemed a super-
natural glow which God had breathed
there for his well-meriting servant. The
hands, too, clasping his beloved crucifix,
seemed to have a warmth about them
which is not associable with death. In-
deed, he seemed to sleep, did our Holy
Father. Towards nightfall the body was
habited in full pontificals, golden mitre,
red chasuble, red satin gloves, gold-em-
broidered, and red satin slippers, also
richly wrought in gold ; and when dark-
ness descended upon the Eternal City
they carried Pius IX. down into St. Pe-
ter's. The Swiss Guards formed them-
selves into a double line in the halls of
the Vatican and along the Loggie of Ra-
phael, whose classic beauty, recently re-
stored and enhanced, will bear testimony
ages hence to the munificence of Pius
IX. as a Maecenas. Masters ot the
horse in their fantastic and quaint live-
ries, the canons of St. Peter's bearing
torches and chanting the psalms, mace-
bearers robed in sable velvet, and a de-
tachment of the Swiss, bearing their
pikes reversed, preceded the bier. This
was borne on the shoulders of the throne-
bearers, and a square was formed around
it by the Noble Guards in full uniform
and the penitentiaries of St. Peter's.
They were followed by the domestic
prelates of the papal household, and the
secular and military officials, likewise in
dress uniform. The cardinals succeed-
ed, marching two abreast, bearing torch-
es, and responding to the psalms as in-

'33

toned by the clergy in advance. They
were followed by a detachment of the
Palatine Guard. The Roman nobles,
and other personages of distinction,
brought up the rear of the procession.
The naming torches lighting up the halls,
the corridors, the regal stairway, down
which the cortege moved, the liveries of
the servants, the uniforms of the sol-
diers, the robes of the priests, the purple
of the cardinals, and, above all, that al-
ready heaven-lit face looking upwards,
as if in placid and joyous contemplation
of the Truth Eternal, the assertion and
vindication of which was his dearest ob-
ject in life, produced a sensation in the
beholder which baffles description, there
being no term of comparison to which
we can liken it. And the muffled psal-
mody in those silent halls, inexhaustibly
silent because of the circumstance and
the hour, seemed to be, what it indeed
was, the music of another and a tranquil
sphere, where there is no " hostile domi-
nation," no death.

The procession entered St. Peter's, by
an innerdoor communicating with thepai-
ace, at seven o'clock. It was met by the
chapter of St. Peter's, who led the way to
the chapel of the canons in the right aisle.
The bier was placed precisely within the
iron railing of the chapel, so that the feet
of the venerable Pontiff extended out-
side sufficiently far to allow the people
to kiss the papal slipper. It gently in-
clined towards the railing, thus giving a
perfect view of its precious burden even
at a distance. It was covered with a
red silk pall, delicately embroidered
with gold thread. At either side hung
a red cardinalitial hat of the primitive
form, which used to be carried before
His Holiness in grand processions.

At an early hour on Sunday morning,
long before dawn, the steps of the great
temple were crowded with people, wait-
ing for the moment when the bronze
doors would swing open and admit them
to view the remains of their father. De-
tachments of the Italian soldiery had tak-
en up positions within the vestibule and
outside. Others marched around the ba-
silica and entered by the sacristy door.
They formed a double line from the door
of entrance on the left, up along the
corresponding aisle, across the nave,
and down to the door of egress. Those
stationed at the iron gates of the vesti-
bule had a difficult task in trying to stem
the onflowing and irresistible tide of

134

The Death of Pius IX.

thousands of people when the gate at
last swung open. They acquitted them-
selves well, poor fellows, and as rever-
ently too, both within and without the
temple, as could be expected under the
circumstances. As the people entered
the temple at half-past six A.M. a solemn
Mass of requiem had already commenc-
ed in the chapel of the canons. It was
the first of the Novendiales. Throughout
that day and the three following a con-
tinuous stream of people of all classes
flowed into and out of St. Peter's, and
.every individual paused, at least, to con-
template that figure lying in peaceful re-
pose, a heavenly contrast, to the intelli-
gent, against the pleasure-surfeited and
revolting mass which defied theembalm-
er's art, yet was enshrined at the Quirinal
not a month since. And thou, Mark
Minghetti, who didst abandon this saint-
ed figure to serve that other in the
name of liberty, forsooth, what has
brought thee into St. Peter's, and face
to face with the holy dead ? Speak,
thou whose deeds for the past quarter
of a century have been at cross-purposes
with good faith ; unbosom thy sentiments
as thou didst linger at the catafalque of
thy old and too-trusting master ! Thou,
too, Visconti Venosta, author of the no-
torious Memorandum of 1870, wouldst
gaze once more on the face of him thou
conspiredst to betray? Many a traitor
besides these two went there, and the
exponents of their iniquity, the liberal
papers, said that Pius IX. seemed to
sleep, and commended the martial bear-
ing of the four Noble Guards who stood
erect and vigilant around the catafalque.
On Wednesday, the I3th, in the
churches of St. Mary Major and St.
John Lateran, solemn obsequies were
also celebrated, and every parochial
church in the city was on that day the
scene of pious suffrages for the soul of
Pius IX. In the basilicas lofty cata-
falques were erected, surmounted by a
tiara, and surrounded with blazing
torches. That in the church of St. Mary
Major bore, inscribed on its four sides, a
pithy yet adequate panegyric of the Pon-
tiff Religio, Fides, Spes, Caritas.

THE LAST ACT.

It is Wednesday evening ; the great
aisles of St. Peter's at seven o'clock are
empty. The bronze doors are shut.
Torches, blazing in the nave of the basi-

lica, reveal to our gaze a procession of
cardinals emerging from the door of the
sacristy, and moving with measured and
reverential steps to the chapel of the
Blessed Sacrament ; the domestic pre-
lates of the papal household, already
there ; the canons in surplice one of
them, Mgr. Folicaldi, in black pontifi-
cals and a snowy mitre, attended by
deacons and subdeacons of honor, also
in black ; the officials, civil and military,
of the palace in full dress ; the Noble
Guards ; the Swiss in burnished helmets
and cuirasses ; the little garrison of the
Vatican ; the gentlemen of the pontifical
court, and the Roman nobles. All form
themselves into a procession. The choir
sings the Miserere. Eight canons take
up the catafalque. The procession
moves up past the bronze statue of St.
Peter, around the tomb of the apostles,
and down the further aisle, to the chapel
of the canons. It is the funeral of Pius
IX. The catafalque is placed in the
middle of the chapel. Arranged in order
on the floor are three coffins one of cy-
press-wood, one of zinc, and a third of
chestnut. The officiating- prelate blesses
the first, sprinkling it with holy water,
and then incensing it. Meanwhile, the
cardinals press around the bier, and
reverently kiss that sacred right hand
which had so often blessed them, and the
feet of the Pontiff. All who can come
near enough do likewise. Mgr. Ricci,
major-domo, spreads a white cloth over
the face of the Pontiff, thus hiding it for
ever from the view of man. The canons
take up the pall, with its precious bur-
den, and place it in the coffin. When
the body had been properly composed,
Mgr. Macchi, Master of the Chamber,
placed beside it three purses of red vel-
vet, containing respectively as many
medals, gold, silver, and bronze, as there
were years of the pontificate of Pius IX.
A violet ribbon was sealed crosswise
over the body to the edge of the coffin,
with four separate seals : that of the
cardinal chamberlain, that of the major-
domo of the palace, a third of the arch-
priest of St. Peter's, and a fourth of the
chapter. Two masters of ceremonies
spread a red silk cloth over the body,
and a third dropped at the feet a tin
tube containing a roll of parchment, on
which was written in Latin the eulogy of
the Pontiff. The carpenters do the rest.
On the lid of the zinc coffin there is the
following inscription :

The Death of Pius IX.

CORPUS.
PH. IX. P.M.

VIXIT. AN. LXXXV. M. VIII. D. XXVI.

ECCLES. UNIVER. PR^FUIT.

AN. XXXI. M. VII. D. XXIII.

OMIT. DIE. VII. FEBR. AN. MDCCCLXXVIII.

When the workmen had closed the
last coffin they carried it out of the chapel
to a place on the left, where there was
an opening in the wall high up. It was
the temporary resting-place of Gregory
XVI., and is of every deceased pope
until he obtain permanent sepulture.
It is surmounted by a marble sarcopha-
gus adorned with a tiara. By means of
ropes and pulleys they hoisted the coffin
into the niche, and, after having walled
up the aperture with bricks and cement,
they laid on the outside a small slab of
marble, with this inscription :

PIUS IX. P.M.

A cardinal was heard to say in a voice
of emotion, as all quietly moved away :
Tanto noniini nullum par elogium !

Two days after, the will of Pius IX.
was opened by the cardinal-chamber-
lain in the presence of the relatives.
It was written with his own hand, and
dated in the year 1875. A few codicils
were added since that date. He be-
queathed 100,000 francs to the poor of
Rome. He always loved them, and it
was to perpetuate the memory of that
love that a subscription was immediately
opened after his death by the Italian
Catholic journals : under the title of
41 Pius IX. Eternal in charity." To
this end, by the advice of the cardinal-
vicar of Rome, a sumptuous church will
be erected on the Esquiline, and dedi-
cated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and
the Immaculate Conception. Side by
side with the church will rise up two ex-
tensive asylums for the poor, old and
young, of both sexes.

THE CONCLAVE.

The funeral services performed by the
Sacred College of Cardinals began in the
Sistine Chapel on Friday morning, the
I5th. They were attended by the diplo-
matic corps accredited to the Holy See,
by the Roman nobility, and persons of
distinction who received invitations. A
wish was expressed indirectly by the
King of Italy to be present. The car-

135

dinal-chamberlam took no notice of this
indirect wish. The obsequies lasted for
three days. After each service the Sacred
College gave a reception to the diploma-
ic personages in the Hall of the Consis-
tory. Pending these events, the prepara-
tions for the conclave were completed.
I he story of the Vatican above (he apart-
ments of the Holy Father was divided off
into little cells for the cardinals and
tneir attendants. The windows outside
were covered with gratings, and the
court of St. Damasus entirely walled up
to prevent any communication with the
outer world. Physicians, an apothe-
cary, barbers, cooks, and bakers, were
appointed. On Monday morning, the
i8th, the Mass of the Holy Ghost was
celebrated in the Pauline Chapel by Car-
dinal Schwarzenberg. All the cardinals
and officers of the conclave were in at-
tendance. The diplomatic corps assisted
in stalls allotted to them. A Latin ora-
tion De eligendo Summo Pontifice was
read after the Mass by the Secretary of
Briefs. This might be termed the for-
mal inauguration of the conclave. At
half-past four of the same evening the
cardinals all, of the Holy Roman Church,
with but three exceptions their Emi-
nences Cullen, McCloskey, and Paya y
Rico assembled in the Pauline Chapel,
whence, having recited the usual prayers,
they proceeded in procession to the Sistine
Chapel, singing the Veni Creator Spiritus.
There the sub-dean of the Sacred Col-
lege, Cardinal di Pietro, read the Papal
Constitutions on Conclaves, after all but
the cardinals had been invited 'to with-
draw. The reading of the constitutions
was followed by a solemn oath, pro-
nounced by the cardinals in a body, to
observe them faithfully. This oath had
previously been sworn in the presence of
the cardinal-chamberlain, Pecci, by the
patriarchs, archbishops, and auditors of
the Rota, who were to mount guard at
the cells of the cardinals to prevent
their communicating each with the
other. The marshal of the conclave,
Prince Cliigi, had also been sworn. The
doors of jthe chapel were then opened, a
cleric took up the processional cross,
reversing the figure toward the cardinal?,
who followed, each one accompanied by
a Noble Guard, and all entered the pre-
cincts of the conclave. Each cardinal
entered the cell which had fallen to him
by lot. That night, in company with the
cardinal-chamberlain, and the deans of

136

The Death of Pius IX.

the three cardinalitial orders, and the
apostolic prothonotaries, the marshal
made a formal visitation of the cells and
precincts of the conclave, after which
the chamberlain consigned to him a
purse containing the keys, and, with the
other cardinals, retired to his cell. The
doors of the cells and the general en-
trance of the conclave were locked, and
a formal document attesting the opera-
tion was read and subscribed to. The
reign of silence and communion with the
Paraclete began. Pending the inspira-
tions of the Holy Spirit, let us glance at
the world outside.

ROME DURING THE CONCLAVE.

In deference to the conclave the gov-
ernment postponed the opening of Par-
liament until the 7th of March. Whether
this was done from a sense of genuine
reverence for so sacred and imposing an
assembly, or with a view of showing their
loyalty to the Law of the Guarantees, is
not definitely known. But the fact
aroused the indignation of the radicals.
They at once proposed to organize a
mass meeting of disapproval of the Gua-
rantees, and, according^, demanded the
required permission from the Minister of
the Interior. He refused it. Indeira. As
may be supposed, speculations were rife
in all circles as to the future Pontiff. It
was hoped, and asserted pretty gene-
rally, that Cardinal Pecci would be elect-
ed. It was feared by all Italians, libe-
rals, conciliators, and non-compromittals,
that Cardinal Manning, who is exceed-
ingly unpopular jn radical Italy, would,
through some unexpected combination of
circumstances, come out of the conclave
a pontiff. It was reported that the Sacred
College itself was divided into three
parties the conciliating, of which Car-
dinal di Canossa was supposed to be
the exponent and hope ; the extreme
rigorists, of whom the favorite was the
young Cardinal Parocchi, of Bologna ;
and the statu-qtiotsts, represented by Car-
dinals Bilio and Simeoni.

On Tuesday, the igth of February, an
immense concourse of people, assembled
in the Square of St. Peter's, witnessed
the traditional sfumata, or smoke, rising
from a particular chimney of the Vatican,
which signalized the burning of the votes
at the first scrutiny in the Sistine Chapel.
This meant no election. It has been
ascertained since that Cardinal Franchi's

name was called out twenty times at that
verification. On the following day, the
memorable 2Oth, at half-past twelve P.M.,
the smoke again arose over the Vatican,
and the multitude began to move away
towards the Bridge of St. Angelo. Com-
paratively few people remained. But
about an hour after they observed the
window of the great balcony of St. Peter's
to open. An acolyte appeared bearing a
cross, and then Cardinal Caterini, who.
from old age, infirmities, and the emo-
tion of ihe moment, could scarcely make
himself heard to the following effect:
" Annuncio vobis gaudium magnum:
habcmus Papain Eminent! sdmum et Re-
verendissitmim Dominum Pecci, qui sibi
nomen imposuit

" LEONIS DECIMI TERTII /"

This announcement was received with
cheers in the square below. The great
bell of the basilica began to ring joy-
ously, and every bell in the Eternal City
re-echoed the glad news to the people,
and hurried them in haste to St. Peter's.
Let us go back an hour in our narrative.
The votes were counted at noon, and the
name of Cardinal Pecci was read aloud
forty-four times, thus giving him the two-
thirds majority required for election.
The sub-dean of the Sacred College then
opened the door of the chapel and
ushered in the master of ceremonies.
With the assistance of others, he lowered
all the canopies which covered the seats
of the cardinals, with the exception of
number nine on the gospel side of the
altar. The sub-dean of the Sacred Col-
lege, accompanied by Cardinals Schwar-
zenberg and Caterini, approached his
Eminence Cardinal Pecci, and asked
him if he accepted the election: " Ac-
ceptasne elcclionem in Summwn Pontijl-
cew?" He replied that, albeit unworthy
of the great charge, he would submit to
the will of God. The sub-dean con-
tinued : " Quomodo vis vocari?" "Leo
Decimus Tertius" was the reply. He
was then conducted into the sacristy by
two cardinal-deacons, Mertel and Con-
solini, and attired in the white cassock,
red slippers bearing the cross, the rochet,
red cope, stole, and white cap of ihe
Sovereign Pontiff. Returning to the
chapel, he received the homage of the
Sacred College, after which Cardinal
Schwarzenberg, just nominated pro-
chamberlain of the Holy Roman Church,
placed upon his finger the Fisherman's

New Publications.

'37

ring. The Pope immediately retired to
his cell. The cardinals followed his ex-
ample.

Meanwhile, the people had assembled
in great numbers in the square and in
the basilica, awaiting the appearance of
His Holiness. It was not known whether
lie would give his blessing from the outer
or the inner balcony of the temple. The
traditional place was outside. Conse-
quently, on the appearance of any one
at the window of either balcony, there was
a precipitous rush of the people in that
direction. The noise in the basilica was
like the roar of a storm-tossed sea. At
last it was half-past four o'clock two
prelates opened the window of the bal-
cony which looks into the church, and
hung over the railing some red bunting.
Soon after the anthem Ecce sacerdos mag-
mis was heard, and then a powerful,
robust voice, Sit nomen Domini benedic-
tuni. It reminded people of another
voice which erst rang out benedictions
with the clearness of a trumpet from the
outer balcony. But the figure which now
appeared was tall, spare, yet imposing,
and the features, worn and wan with
rigid austerities, were lit up by large,
brilliant orbs, that beamed gladly on the
excited people below. When he had
pronounced the trinal blessing in a firm
voice, a great, deafening cheer arose,
startling the dormant echoes of the vast
edifice, and sending them quivering from

nave to transept, and thence aloft into the
gigantic dome itself. Again and again did
the ewivas burst forth rom every lip, and
high, unmistakably pronounced above
them all rang out the Saxon hurrah!
Every difference, political and religious,
was forgotten in that moment of joy. Jew
from Ghetto, deputy from hostile Parlia-
ment, officer and private of invading
army, dissenting Anglican from Albion,
and downright, practical American joined
in the shout of Viva il Papa ! Viva Leone !
His Holiness stood for a moment gazing
on the enthusiastic multitude, then mo-
tioned with his hands, as if to deprecate
any demonstration, and moved away.
He did not appear at the outer balcony.
We forbear putting any construction on
this circumstance. The conclave was
opened formally in the evening by the
marshal, and the cardinals retired at
nightfall to their homes. The new Pon-
tiff moved to his apartments, and the at-
tendants read in the severe lines of
thought which had settled on his brow
that he wished to remain alone for the
night.

Glad words of congratulation are ex-
changed in all circles throughout the
city, and a universal, spontaneous confi-
dence has sprung into existence ; for the
man who has just blessed the Catholic
world as its father is pious, learned, and
very severity itself in firmness.

The Church is no longer a widow.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

NEW IRELAND. By A. M. Sullivan,
Member of Parliament for Louth. Phi-
ladelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co.
1878.

Mr. Sullivan has invented for his
country a new name that is pregnant
with meaning and significance. At least,
the name is new to us, and it represents
a great fact. The old Ireland, the land
of confiscation and bitter penury, of en-
forced ignorance and compulsory pover-
ty, of chronic revolution and periodical
famine, the exercise-ground of political
proscription and religious persecution,
is passing away under our eyes. A new
Ireland is indeed springing up in its
place by no means a land as yet flowing

with milk and honey, and stripped of all
that cumbered it and darkened its life
before, but a land full of hopeful possi-
bilities for all good in itself and for
good to its neighbors and the world at
large.

It was less to describe this hopeful
and bright land, whose day has not yet
come, but whose morning we see dawn-
ing in the east, than to set forth in a
clear light the stages that led up to it,
that, we take it, induced Mr. Sullivan to
write his brilliant, most interesting, and
valuable book, which, perhaps, no pen
but his could have written, or at least
written so well, with its series of graphic
pictures, its passionate reasoning, fleck-

138

New Publications.

ed with the gayest humor and most
mournful pathos. It is in itself an epi-
tome of the Irish character, with a nota-
ble improvement. The despairing cour-
age of a " forlorn hope " that marked
such writings in the past has yielded
here to a resolute and practical purpose,
which of all things is the most striking
and hopeful sign of a really new Ire-
land.

Ireland as it stands to-day presents a
problem of the deepest interest not only
to a thinking Christian man, but also to
the student of political history. It, of
all nations and peoples, has resolutely
refused to follow after the ignis fatuus of
the revolutionary spirit of the age. This
it has done in the face of the most press-
ing incentives to join hands with the
agents of social and political disorder.
From the first day of English rule in Ire-
land that country has been, perhaps, the
worst-governed country in the world ;
and this ill-government is only begin-
ning at last to cease. No better soil
could have been offered as a battle-
ground for the agents of evil. Yet, ow-
ing chiefly to the essentially conserva-
tive and Christian character of the Irish
race, informed and strengthened by a
true conception and grasp of the reli-
gion of Jesus Christ, the Irish people,
as a people, has steadfastly refused to
achieve right by doing wrong. For this
the English government has to thank
that religion which it was its avowed and
persistent purpose to root out of the
Irish heart, in which most wicked and
revolting purpose it would certainly have
succeeded long ago, were not God more
powerful than all the force and machi-
nations of man, inspired and guided by
the spirit of evil. Ireland has at last
shaken off some of the strongest chains
that bound her, a bleeding nation, to her
own earth ; and she has succeeded in
doing this by a persistent adherence to
the right. She would not die, because
Heaven made her immortal, and because
the principle of immortality was grafted
deep in her soul by an Almighty hand.
She would not live at a gift ; she would
not accept a false life at a sacrifice of
principle. She waited and suffered on.
Her patience and her constancy, her vir-
tue and her faith, have overcome all
things. A new era opens before her.
The question of questions is : What will
she do with it ?

Mr. Sullivan goes back in his narra-

tive fifty years, and gives us the salient
measures and movements that have af-
fected the Irish people during that pe-
riod. The state of education in Ireland
fifty years ago, " O'Connell and Re-
peal," "The Ribbon Confederacy,"
Father Mathew and the temperance
movement, the famine in " the black
forty-seven," the " Young Ireland "
movement, agrarian crime and its
causes, the land question, the " Tenant
League " party, the " Phcenix " conspi-
racy, the Fenian movement, the Dises-
tablishment of the Irish Church, and the
" Home-Rule" movement these form
the chief headings of Mr. Sullivan's
chapters. They are all worthy of study,
and must be studied in order to get a
right view of the actual state of Ireland
not under the Tudors or the Stuarts or
Cromwell, but here and now, within the
knowledge of most of us. Much of
what Mr. Sullivan has written was al-
ready sufficiently well known. It was
well, however, to link all of these to-
gether, to weave them into a continuous
narrative, and show how singularly one
played into the other, how necessarily
one was a sequel of the other, until the
story is laid down at our own doors.
We are thus enabled to see how this
series of catastrophes, acting, apparent-
ly, independently of each other, wrought
up secretly to the whole that is before
us. The awful shocks that moved the
nation, now this way and now that ;. that
tossed it up as by a volcanic eruption ;
that shattered it and cast it to the ground
as though by the convulsion of an earth-
quake, senseless and bleeding, and be-
reft of life ; the storms that devastated
it ; the famine that decimated it all
were instruments of Heaven rudely,
to all seeming, but surely working to
a great end. Or, if the political philo-
sophers prefer it, they were mighty and
gigantic social and political forces
working through the dark up and into
freedom and light. They made Ireland
a spectacle to the nations ; they scatter-
ed her children over the world, bearing
their crying wrongs to all lands ; they
welded together those who were left at
home into a hard and compact mass ;
they shocked and shamed the power
that was chiefly answerable for them in-
to a sense of dawning justice. It was in
such throes as these that the new Ireland
had its birth.

It seems to us that never before was

New Publications.

J 39

Ireland so well fitted to play a large
part in history as it is to-day. It is now,
to a great extent, certainly it is in the
right way of being, its own master, its
own law-giver, its own educator, its own
priest. It has grasped the realities of
political life and political power. These
it has in its hands, and we do not well
see how they can be taken from it. This
fact ought to smother any smouldering
fires of revolution that may be left, and
it will smother them effectually, if the
English legislature, as seems to us like-
ly, can only rise to the fact that the best
cure for discontent is to remove the dis-
content by removing its cause. We do
not say that Ireland will leap at once in-
to full national life, prosperity, and so-
cial happiness. That, even in a far from
complete state, must be a work of time,
and care, and struggle, not alone to the
Irish but to all peoples. The Irish,
however, have now in their own hands
the adequate means of national repre-
sentation ; and this, it seems to us, is the
great first step towards a true nation-
al life. Whether in after-years that life
will have its centre in London or in Dub-
lin seems to us a question hardly worth
discussing just now. We like to take
hold of actual facts and shape the future
out of them. At present Ireland is re-
presented in the English Parliament by a
strong, resolute, and able body of Irish-
men. These men may not be collective-
ly or individually the ideals of political
wisdom and sagacity. They may not
have any great leader among them.
They may be a little newin their harness
yet. But their power, as a united body,
is very great and undeniable, and it can
be constantly exercised and increased.
To expect that in a session or two they
are going to wring from the English
government repeal of the Union, or total
separation, or even one-tenth part of the
measures that Ireland needs in order to
secure such prosperity as she has, or to
advance it, or to do away with crying
and cruel evils now existing, is to expect
altogether too much. It is like expect-
ing a city to be built in a day because
some of the chief artisans and imple-
ments and material for the building are
already on the ground.

Great and grave and manifold griev-
ances still exist in Ireland. Steadfast-
ness and patience and right political re-
presentation must succeed in removing
these in time. Great dangers also threat-

en the country, not the least of which
is the very freedom to which it is at last
rising. The hardest problem in regard
to freedom is to use it wisely and well.
It would be a sad thing for the Irish
people if on the altar of a new-found
freedom they sacrificed their grand old
conservative spirit, their deep sense of
the supernatural, their reverence for the
church and the things of God. For them
to drift into the liberalism of the age
would be to destroy them. They have
gained what they now possess by having
been steadfast Catholics and steadfast
Irishmen. Let them so continue. We
rejoice at the growing sympathy in poli-
tical and social life between Irish Ca-
tholics and Irish Protestants. There is
no harm in that ; on the contrary, it is a
great good. But to pass beyond that in
matters vital to the faith would be wrong.
To renounce, for instance, the right prin-
ciples of education would be wrong. Let
the Protestants go their way in all free-
dom, security, and peace, but let the Ca-
tholics also hold to their way, and insist
on it.

Mr. Sullivan is least satisfactory in a
point on which we are most deeply in-
terested the actual position of Ireland
to-day, in its industries, its mode of
life, its social condition, its educational
status, its income, its outlay, how money
circulates in the country, how the people
are housed, fed, and clothed, compared
with former years. These are matters
on which, of all things, we desire as full
and accurate information as could be
obtained, for they are the outward and
most visible signs of a people's progress.
Indeed, they are practically the only gauge
by which to measure the actuality of that
progress. But on this subject Mr. Sul-
livan gives us only a few rather hesitat-
ing words in his last chapter, with the
consoling assurance that, "despite all
disaster and difficulty, Ireland is march-
ing on." This is a very serious defect
in a work dealing with "New Ireland,"
and to remedy it we have applied to an-
other quarter, as seen in the preliminary
article on "Ireland in 1878" (THE CA-
THOLIC WORLD, March, 1878). This will
be followed b> others on the same sub-
ject, taking up just the matters which
Mr. Sullivan has allowed to escape him.

With this exception, we heartily con-
gratulate the author on his latest volume.
He is himself one of the political chief-
tains who has nobly helped to make a

140

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new Ireland. He is a very able and
ready man, whose value was at once re-
cognized in the English Parliament, and
whose services to his country and to the
party which he materially helped to form
have been of the most marked and im-
portant character. His life has been an
honorable one, and he has well earned
the fame that now attends him. No man
who looks hopefully to the new Ireland
can help following with sympathy and
interest the future career of A. M. Sul-
livan.

DE ECCLESIA ET CATHEDRA ; or, The
Empire-Church of Jesus Christ. An
epistle by the Hon. Colin Lindsay.
Vols. i. and ii. London : Longmans,
Green & Co. 1877. (For sale by The
Catholic Publication Society Co.)

Mr. Lindsav, who is a Scottish con-
vert of some ten years' standing, and
was formerly one of the principal lay-
leaders in the ritualistic party, has al-
ready won a high reputation by a valua-
ble work on St. Peter's Primacy. The
present one is original in its conception
and different from any other on the same
subject in its method of treating the
topics indicated by the title. The grand
principles and laws of the church and
the Papacy are considered in their uni-
versal character as forming the ground-
plan of the government of divine Provi-
dence over the human race from the be-
ginning. It has a wide historical sweep,
and embodies a great mass of solid learn-
ing and sound reasoning. The author
is sometimes fanciful in his theories and
occasionally deficient in theological ac-
curacy of expression, as well as in his
style and construction of sentences.
These are but faults of minor importance,
however, not seriously detracting from
the great merits of his most interesting
and instructive work. It is quite in the
same line of argument with the articles
on Historical Christianity we have lately
published, and those who are interested
in that important and very attractive as-
pect of religion will find the greatest
profit and pleasure in perusing it. One
most valuable and quite novel portion
of the author's exposition of the apos-
tolic and divine institution of the Papal
Supremacy, is his application of the
principle of reserve contained in the dis-
cipline of the secret to the particular
doctrine in question, as explaining the

guarded and reticent manner in which
the sacred writers and the early Fa-
thers speak of those high preroga-
tives of the Christian hierarchy and
its chief, which would give umbrage
to the Jewish priesthood and the
Roman emperors. Full justice could
not be done to Mr. Lindsay's com-
prehensive and elaborate production
without making a long and careful an-
alysis and review of his positions and his
manner of supporting them. We trust
many of our readers will gain a much
better knowledge of its contents than we
could possibly give them in this way,
by making a careful study of the work
itself. It contains a complete historical
demonstration of that which we think
will soon be as universally admitted as
any other great fact of undisputed his-
tory that Catholicity and Christianity
are identical and convertible terms, and
that ancient and modern Catholicity are
one and the same identity in respect to
all which pertains to their essence and
integrity as the one, universal religion,
whose continuity has remained unbroken
since the creation, and is destined to be
coeval with the world.

THE NABOB. From the French of Al-
phonse Daudet, author of Sidonie,
Jack* etc. By Lucy H. Hooper.
Author's edition. Boston : Estes &
Lauriat. 1878.

Sldonie and Jack have been briefly
noticed in these columns. The Nabob is
a large advance upon either. Possess-
ing all the characteristics that individu-
alized those stories, it is larger in scope,
firmer in touch, fuller in character, more
vigorous and finished in execution. As
far as writing, plot, and development go,
it is a very remarkable book. We must
say of it, however, as we said of its pre-
decessors, it is not a pleasant story.
There is a kind of hot-house effect about
it, a forced process, so to say, that, while
fascinating for the moment, is not natural
and healthy. We breathe in an over-
charged atmosphere. There is any quan-
tity of intoxicating odors, of lights and
flowers, and soft music and rich costumes
and beautiful faces. But the light is not
the blessed sunlight ; the odors and
flowers oppress us with their heaviness
like those around a bier ; the beautiful
faces are painted, and we sigh for some-
thing fresh and free, even if it be not half

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141

so elegant or well " made up." There
is from the beginning a brooding sense of
a storm coming, and the stcrm comes
with awful and repulsive vehemence.

Doubtless the author meant to pro-
duce just such an effect and to achieve
just such a result. If this were his
chief intention he is to be congratulated
on his success. He has given a highly
dramatic story melodramatic, in fact.
There is wit enough and humor enough
throughout ; but even the wit is biting
and the humor sour. The laughter has
the sardonic tone of Mephistopheles,
and an honest man shivers a little even
while he joins in it. Every scene fits
with niceness ; the curtain always falls
on a strong situation ; there is not a dull
incident throughout ; and if nearly
everybody in whom you have been in-
terested gets murdered, or destroyed,
or run away with, or debauched at the
end, what will you have ? A melo-
drama is a melodrama, and Paris is its
paradise.

The Nabob is a story of Parisian life,
as Parisian life is popularly supposed to
have been when Napoleon III. was the
arbiter of Europe and Paris Europe's
capital a capital, if the novelists are to
be believed, of political, social, literary,
scientific, and moral charlatanism.
Doubtless this is true to a great extent ;
for the leader of it all had, unfortunately
for France and himself, much of the
charlatan in his disposition. There is
everything there but honesty and purity ;
or if honesty and purity there be, they are
kept severely in the background. Their
garb is too homely, their faces are too
fresh, for this garish light and exotic
atmosphere. They are out of place in
this fashionable dance of death, as we
say here the scholar and the gentleman
are out of politics. There is a wonderful
duke and statesman De Mora whose
habit is to give a bored half-glance to
the affairs of France, and the rest of his
time to dilettanteism and amours, looking
all the while to a quack doctor's globules
to keep his eyes bright, his step elastic,
and his nerves steady enough for an
evening party. There is a sculptor
Felicia Ruys full of the noblest aspi-
rations, but whose bringing up has been
bad. She has been among Bohemians
from her infancy, and she is left alone
among them, under the care of k an old
aunt, a famous dancer in her day, whose
wonderful toes had turned the crowned

heads of Europe. Felicia's noble nature
finds itself bound in by an iron barrier of
wickedness. She is surrounded always
by a vicious circle from which she sees
no outlet or escape. Is it so wonder-
ful that she mistakes her narrow circle
for the universe, and sees nothing but
wickedness in all the world ? How
many do this in real life !

There is the wonderful Nabob himself,
risen from nowhere, to whom one of the
strange turns of Fortune's wheel sent a
fabulous fortune gathered by his own hard
and not too scrupulous hands in Algeria.
He is ignorant, vulgar, low, without any
very strong moral sense, but with a real-
ly kind and good heart: he goes to
Paris with his millions, and his millions
conquer Paris as long as they last. All
the charlatans circle around him. He
is a rich man ; he wants now to be a
great and a distinguished man; and it
is truly wonderful to see how many
kind friends spring up to make this rich
man great and distinguished in a day.
Even the Duke de Mora condescends to
sell him his cast-off pictures at ducal
prices ; the illustrious and philanthropic
Dr. Jenkins Jenkins the great feeds
him on his globules at fees that are for-
tunes; Felicia Ruys makes a bust of
him, and would have married him only
that he is stupid enough to have
been burdened with a wife ; Moessard,
one of the vampires of the press, writes
the Nabob up, and, when the Nabob at
last closes his pocket, writes the Nabob
down. And so they go on all of them, in
a whirl of gold-dust and pearl-powder
and moral filth that is their world until
they are swept out, each in his or her
way, on the strong eddy that is for ever
noiselessly, silently, relentlessly sweep-
ing off human lives into the vast and
eternal hereafter.

Alphonse Daudet has all the gifts that
a powerful novelist needs, and has culti-
vated them to the highest degree. He
writes with that passionless tone of an
intense but calm observer who sees
things as they are, and sees deeper and
farther than other men, and paints his
picture with pitiless truth. He misses
nothing that can add even incidental ef-
fect to the firm yet delicate stroke of his
pencil. He writes with that apparent
effortless ease which is really the result
of the strongest effort in a man who is per-
fectly master of his work. He has even,
we believe, that highest quality a moral

142

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purpose in what he writes. But though
he sees virtue and the possibilities of
virtue even in his Paris, vice seems too
strong for it and always to get the best
of the bargain, even if in the end it goes
out in darkness, disaster, and despair.
This undertone of despair of the good is
principally what imparts so unhealthy
and morbid an air to his stories. Thack-
eray pictured bad enough people, and
with an awful accuracy. But the devil
never had it all his own way in Thack-
eray's stories, as he has not in real life.
He invariably came out of the fight with
his tail between his legs, very limp and
woe-begone, and in a disgraceful condi-
tion generally. There was rude health
and pure blood in all Thackeray's sto-
ries strongly set off against the other
side. If M. Daudet could only muster
moral pluck enough to make his virtu-
ous people a little more robust and ag-
gressive and there are plenty of such
virtuous people in Paris his stories
would gain rather than lose in tone and
make much more pleasant reading than
they do at present. After all, we tire of
a crowd of " awfully wicked " people,
goinof through all their wickedness for
our special edification and instruction.

Miss Hooper's translation is excel-
lent.

THE CHURCH AND THE GENTILE WORLD
AT THE FIRST PROMULGATION OF THE
GOSPEL. Considerations on the Ca-
tholicity of the Church soon after her
Birth. By the Rev. Aug. J. Thebaud,
S.J. Vol. I. New York: Peter F.
Collier. 1878.

We can do no more now than acknow-
ledge the receipt of advance sheets of
this first volume of a work that promises
to be one of great value and importance.
Father Thebaud needs no introduction
to our readers. He is known to them
as a man of wide and accurate know-
ledge, keen observation, and deep
thought. These qualities are not con-
ceded to him idly and for the sake of
saying something graceful. They are
too rare in these days, and are still
more rarely found united in one person.
Nothing, then, that comes from the pen
of this learned Jesuit can be thought un-
worthy of careful attention by an intel-
ligent Catholic reader. The title of the
present volume gives some indication of
the scope and aim of the work. These
are still further set forth in the following
words, which we quote from the preface :

" Her (the church's) expansion took
place instantaneously, as soon as the
apostles began to preach. Thenceforth
her universal sway on earth began, never
to end until the last day, when she will
be transferred to heaven. The whole
world at the time was comprised in the
three old continents. It is doubtful if
there were already on this western hemi-
sphere any of the nations which were
found in it when it was discovered by
Europeans at the end of the fifteenth
century. . . . The church, therefore, be-
came at once universal if she filled the
greatest part of the old world, and sub-
dued the chief nations that inhabited it.
It can be proved at this time that her
conquests in Asia went much further
than was for a long time believed, and
that she was rapidly spreading toward
the Eastern ocean when Moslem fanati-
cism arrested her in her career. A like
result follows an attentive study of her
early progress in the interior of Africa.
Of Europe all concede that she rapidly
attained the leadership, and that she was
afterwards mainly instrumental in giving
birth to European civilization.

11 But what renders more attractive the
detail of all these considerations is the
enumeration of the obstacles she had to
surmount in so arduous a task as this.
The main one was not only the natural
opposition between the leanings of cor-
rupt human nature and the doctrines of
the Gospel, but in particular the extreme
dissimilarities existing between the va-
rious races of man dissimilarities in ap-
titudes, in though'ts and ideas, in lan-
guage and manners, but especially in
religion and worship. For the Gospel
of Christ was preached not only at a
time of a high civilization, but also of
great corruption and religious disinte-
gration. The primitive traditions of
mankind were then nearly all forgotten ;
the pure religion and morality which ex-
isted at first had given place to the most
degrading polytheism ; and, worse yet,
this polytheism had lost all the homo-
geneity it may have possessed formerly
in many countries, and had become a
mere jumble of absurd superstitions.

" This is, in a few words, the portrai-
ture of humanity which met the apostles
at every step, and which must be ex-
amined in detail to understand the diffi-
culty of their task."

We defer to a later number the criti-
cism which a work of this kind de-
mands.

New Publications.

THE VATICAN LIBRARY. New York :
Hickey & Co. 1878.

The " Vatican Library " has been start-
ed by Mr. P. V. Hickey, the active and
enterprising editor of the Catholic Review,
with the aim of supplying the general
Catholic public with the best Catholic
works in the cheapest possible form.
Such an object is on the face of it its
own best recommendation. Two vol-
umes from the " Library " have already
reached us : a twenty-five-cent edition of
Cardinal Wiseman's beautiful story of
Fabiola, one of those stories that is des-
tined never to grow old, and an origi-
nal story (price ten cents) entitled 7 he
Australian Dtike. The latter we have
not yet had an opportunity of examin-
ing. Both volumes are handsomely
produced very much more so, indeed,
than many far more costly books. Quite
a series is promised of " cheap, amusing,
entertaining, and instructive Catholic
literature."

An attempt of this kind, seriously un-
dertaken, and not in a haphazard fash-
ion, cannot be too highly commended.
Whatever tends to cheapen Catholic
books books, that is, that are really
Catholic and spread them abroad
among the people is a good and noble
work. More harm is probably done by
cheap literature in these days than by
any other means. The readiest and
most effectual antidote to this universal
literary poison is undoubtedly a litera-
ture such as the projectors of the "Vatican
Library " aim at supplying. But they
cannot work alone. Generous and ear-
nest Catholics must help them generous-
ly and earnestly. It goes without saying
that the attempt must prove a failure un-
less it is seconded on all sides. The
purchase of a single copy of a ten cent
book will not help the publishers very
materially. The books are chiefly in-
tended for those who have the will to
read but not the means to purchase. In
such a case it is for those who have the
means to come forward and help their
poorer brethren all they can by placing
in their hands books that cost next to
nothing, yet are in themselves a long de-
light and unceasing source of sound in-
struction.

LEO XIII. AND His PROBABLE POLICY.
By Rev. Bernard O'Reilly, D. D. New
York: Peter F. Collier. 1878.
This little biographical sketch of

ninety-six pages has , for title on the

cover, "Who is the new Pope? and
What is He Likely to Do?" As to who
the new Pope is, Dr. O'Reilly gives a
pleasing and picturesque sketch of him
whom it has pleased Providence to call
to the highest dignity in the church and
on earth. The personal familiarity of
the author with the scenes where the
present Pontiff passed his early youth
and strong and vigorous manhood add
value to the charm of a brisk and stir-
ring narrative. Those who wish to know
the character of Leo XIII., what manner
of man he is, and how he passed his life
previous to being summoned to sit in
the chair of Peter, will find Dr. O'Reilly's
sketch by far the best of any that we
have thus far seen. Speculations as to
the future policy of the Pontiff can
hardly prove very satisfactory just yet.
It may be as well for impatient men to
wait a little, and not attempt to forestall
the Holy Father. What his future policy
may be can only be made plain by his
own words and acts. He has thus far
spoken very little and done very little.
Indeed, he has scarcely had time to do
either one or the other. His position is
one where the most extreme caution and
circumspection are needed, and it au-
gurs well for his future "policy" that
he is so very slow to declare any policy
at all. The present state of Europe
hardly admits of a hard-and-fast line of
" policy " to be drawn by any one. It is
enough for us to know that the church
is safe in whatever hands it falls, so far
as regards the deposit of faith. For the
rest, the march of circumstance must
greatly influence the actions of the su-
preme head of the church. Prayer is
rather needed at this crisis than advice.
These observations are not at all intend-
ed disparagingly of Dr. O'Reilly's inter-
esting brochure, but of a well-meant ten-
dency manifesting itself, amongour non-
Catholic friends chiefly, to map out be-
forehand a convenient little policy for
Leo XIII. which shall make everybody
happy here and hereafter.

A FEW OF THE SAYINGS AND PRAYERS OF
THE FOUNDRESS OF THE SISTERS OF
MERCY. Edited by a member of the
order, authoress of Catherine McAtiley,
Venerable Hofoauer, etc. New York :
The Catholic Publication Society Co.
1878.

A beautiful little book made up of
beautiful maxims and prayers. Such a
gem will, we are sure, meet with a wel-

144

New Publications.

come reception by religious of all orders.
Its reading will also benefit those who
are not religious.

" GHOSTS." Father Walworth's Reply
to Robert G. Ingersoll. A Lecture
delivered at St. Mary's Church, Al-
bany, Jan. 20, 1878. Albany: Times
Company Print.

THE HISTORY OF JOHN TOBY'S CONVER-
SION. With his Views on Temperance,
the Liquor Trade, and the Excise Law.
A Lecture by the Rev. C. A. Wai worth.
Albany News Company. 1878.

These are two excellent lectures, de-
serving of a wide circulation. The first
is a plain, common-sense yet effectual
and eloquent reply to a lecture by Mr.
Ingersoll, who has recently gained some
notoriety as a preacher of a very " cheap "
and very " nasty " form of infidelity. Fa-
ther Walworth's is just the kind of argu-
ment to apply to men of average intelli-
gence who are as open to the teachings
of truth, when plainly presented to them,
as they are apt to be carried away by a
bold assault of scoffing infidelity. The
lecture is a straightforward, manly,
matter-of-fact defence of religion as
against no-religion, none the less ef-
fective and thorough because the lec-
turer has contrived to conceal under the
guise of a popular form of address the
wide knowledge and learning which
give its inherent force to what he says.
Mr. Ingersoll ought to feel peculiarly
flattered at being answered by a gentle-
man and a man of real power and cul-
ture.

The second lecture is the story, very
tenderly and charmingly told, of a drunk-
ard's conversion. It brims over with
real humor and flashes with " palpable
hits"; while there is a touch here and
there of pathos that brings tears to the
eyes, and that could only be the outcome
of a tender heart that loves its fellows
and sorrows over the woes for which
their vice and folly are chiefly answer-
able.

ST. JOSEPH'S MANUAL : Containing a se-
lection of Prayers for Public and Pri-
vate Devotion. With Epistles and
Gospels for Sundays and Holydays.
Compiled from approved sources. By
Rev. James Fitton. Boston : Thomas
B. Noonan & Co. 1877.

This is an old friend with a new and
very pleasing face. The St. Joseph's

Manual, compiled by the skilful hand
of Father Fitton, has long been, and is
likely to continue long to be, a favorite
prayer-book with Catholics. It is formed
on an intelligent plan. It is a book of
wise instruction as well as devotion.
The first seventy pages are devoted to a
clear and sound exposition of Catholic
doctrine and practice. With regard to
this valuable portion of the book we
would offer two suggestions for future
editions: i. The English here and there
would be better for a little trimming ;
2. A special chapter on the dogma of
Papal Infallibility, which might be made
brief and concise as the rest, would do no
harm. For the rest, the volume is every-
thing that could be desired. It contains
over eight hundred pages, printed in a
large, clear type very grateful to the eye.
The illustrations are, without exception,
excellent. Indeed, the whole work re-
flects real credit on the publishers.

CANTUS ECCLESIASTICUS PASSION-IS D. N.
JESU CHRISTI, secundum Matthaeum,
Marcum, Lucam et Joannem, editus
sub auspiciis Sanctissimi Domini nostri
Pii Papae IX., curante Sacrorum Rituum
Congregatione, Fasciculi III. Chro-
nista, Christus, Synagoga. MDCCC-
LXXVII. Ratisbonse, Neo Eboraci et
Cincinnatii sumptibus, chartis et typis
Frederici Pustet, S. Sedis A post, et
Sacr. Rit. Cong. Typographi.
These three superb volumes exhibit
the same elegance and taste in composi-
tion that mark all the ritual and choral
works edited by Mr. Pustet, and for
which his house has earned a so deserv-
edly high reputation. Besides the chant
of the Passion as appointed for Palm
Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Good
Friday of the Holy Week, the second
volume contains a form of chant for the
Lamentations, and the third volum'e the
chant of the Exiiltet.

THE WAY OF THE CROSS. Drawn by N.
H. J. Westlake, F.S.A. With a let-
ter of approbation by His Eminence
Cardinal Manning. Devotions by St.
Alphonsus Liguori. Baltimore: Kelly,
Piet & Co. 1878.

A very beautiful little volume, whose
title explains itself. It is brought out
in a tasteful and convenient form, and is
admirably adapted for the Lenten sea-
son. The name of Mr. Westlake is suf-
ficient guarantee for the superiority of
the drawings.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. XXVIL, No. 158. MAY, 1878.

THE DESTINY OF MAN IN A FUTURE LIFE.

DOCTRINE and speculation con-
cerning the destiny of man in that
future which follows the termina-
tion of his earthly life, have always
held a most important place in all
religions and systems of philosophy.
Nothing interests the human mind
so much, when it escapes in any de-
gree from the spell of present, sen-
sible preoccupations, and is awak-
ened to the sentiment of its own
perennial nature and duration.
The recent agitation of the pub-
lic mind in England and the Unit-
ed States concerning retribution
in a future life has shown how uni-
versal and deeply seated is the anx-
iety to know what lies beyond the
veil which separates the period of
existence on this side, from the
endless duration on the other side,
of the common grave into which
all human generations descend.
The question of eternal punish-
ment has occupied the pulpits and
the press, as the one most deeply
disturbing the general mind of that
great mass of men whose traditions
and beliefs are derived from Chris-
tianity, although they are them-
selves actually separated from the
great Christian body, the Catholic

Church. That which strikes the
mind of an instructed Catholic
most forcibly in all this discussion
is the want of clear and settled
principles in philosophy and theo-
logy, the lack of the requisite pre-
mises and data, the absence of any
sure criterion for deducing certain
conclusions, testing and determin.-
ing doctrines and opinions. The
controversy seems to be interminar
ble, for all those who have no law-
ful and unerring external criterion
in authority. And it really is so.
For this reason, we regard it as the
only practicable way for a Catholic
to take in treating of this subject,
that he should present the doctrine
of revelation as defined and de-
clared by the church ; and resort
to reason and the Holy Scripture,
only to refute objections to the
Catholic doctrine from these sources,
and to present corroborative proofs
and explanations, in so far as these
can be found and their validity as
certain or probable established.

We do not propose to discuss
directly the subject of the reality
and the nature of eternal punish-
ment. There is a previous ques-
tion respecting the destiny for

T. HECKER. 1878.

146

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

which man was originally created,
upon which depends the whole so-
lution of the subsequent one con-
cerning the necessity or contingency
of its attainment. We must know
what this destiny is, and what are
the means ordained by the Creator
for securing its fulfilment, before
we can know whether there is a
danger of final and irretrievable
failure on the part of those who
are placed in the way of attaining
their end, involved in the very na-
ture of these means.

In plain words, is there a hea-
ven for man hereafter, and what is
the way to obtain it ? The doc-
trine of hell is the shadow of the
doctrine of heaven, and follows it
necessarily, when it is rightly pre-
sented.

The idea of heaven is that of a
state of endless and perfect beati-
tude, in the possession of the sov-
ereign good, and of every kind of
inferior good suited to the nature
of man. This idea is absolutely in-
compatible with every form of athe-
ism, which does not acknowledge
the existence of the sovereign good.
It is entirely above the scope of
philosophy and natural theology.
For, although God, the sovereign
and infinite good, is manifested by
the light of reason, as the first
and final cause of all things, the
light of reason does not dis-
close the possibility of a light in-
trinsically superior to the natural
light, by which the created spirit
can see God in his essence, and
thus obtain the sovereign good as
its own proper possession. Much
less can it discover any reason why
man should be regarded as destin-
ed to such an elevation above his
own natural mode of knowledge.
The utmost that can be proved by
pure philosophy is the possibility of
a perfect and permanent state, in

which the ideal of humanity only
partially realized in this life is
brought into complete and actual
existence. It is certainly most
consonant with the dictates of
sound reason to expect that God
will bring all reasonable creatures
to a state of permanent felicity, un-
less they voluntarily thwart his
benevolent purposes. But it does
not seem possible to determine with
certainty whether this benevolent
will of God determines him to put
an end to all moral and physical
evil in the universe or not, from
arguments of pure reason. The
whole subject of the existence of
evil must remain covered with ob-
scurity, so long as it is considered
in the light of mere rational philo-
sophy. It is only by the light of
divine revelation that the dealings
of God with the human race be-
come intelligible, and we are able
even to reason about the future
destiny of man in a satisfactory
manner. Even those who profess
to be guided by this light, if they
follow the rule of private judgment,
fail to obtain clear and consistent
ideas. The proper idea of the
heaven for which men were creat-
ed, if not lost, is obscured in the
minds of the greater part of those
who profess to be Christian believ-
ers and yet reject the authority of
the Catholic Church. All other
doctrines connected with this fun-
damental one are similarly obscur-
ed and perverted, rendering the
theology which rests on them ab-
surd or inadequate.

It is supernatural beatitude
which the revelation of God pro-
posed by the Catholic Church dis-
closes to faith as the end for which
man was created. By its very es-
sence and definition it is infinitely
beyond and above the end which
human nature spontaneously aspires

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

147

to attain, in which it finds the per-
fection and scope corresponding
to its essence and its capabilities.
To attain this end it needs grace,
or a supernatural mode of being
and acting, elevation above every
nature excepting only the divine,
transformation, and, in a sense,
deification. Such a destiny for a
mere creature, especially one which
is lowest in the intellectual order,
would be inconceivable, and in-
credible, unless explicitly revealed
by God. Even when it is made
known by revelation, its intrinsic
possibility cannot be apprehended
or proved by reason. It is one of
the mysteries which is above rea-
son, and the utmost we can do by
a rational argument is to prove
that it has been revealed by God,
and therefore rationally demands
our assent to its truth because of
the divine veracity. We can, how-
ever, by a rational argument, prove
that such an elevation of a created
nature must necessarily be super-
natural and cannot be effected by
any evolution of a natural capa-
city, or expansion of the intrinsic
being even of a pure spirit, al-
though it were to increase in in-
telligence by an indefinite progress
for ever.

Cognition is a vital act, immanent
in the intelligent spirit, determined
in perfection by the essence of the
spirit itself, and incapable of tran-
scending its limits as a created
and finite being. By this act other
beings are received into and unit-
ed with the intelligent being, ac-
cording to the mode of the recipi-
ent ; that is, ideally, by a represen-
tation through which they are per-
ceived and known as objects in
their own proper reality outside
of the subject. This representa-
tion cannot exceed the capacity of
the intelligence which is its active

recipient. The idea by which a
created spirit receives God into it-
self and unites itself to him, can-
not represent his essence and pro-
duce immediate cognition, because
the essence of God absolutely and
infinitely transcends all genera and
species of created beings. The
highest angel can perceive no es-
sence which intrinsically transcends
his own, and must therefore repre-
sent God to himself by and through
himself, that is, analogically and by
abstractive not intuitive cognition.
His intellectual vision is as utterly
incompetent to perceive the es-
sence of God, as the sensible vision
of man is to see a pure spirit, or
his finger to touch the points of an
argument. The indefinite increase
of the power of sensible vision will
never bring it any nearer to spi-
ritual vision, and, in like manner,
the indefinite increase of intelli-
gence will never bring it any near-
er to divine intuition. The es-
sence of a created spirit is finite
and its intellectual light is finite.
Its immediate intelligible object is
within the limits of its created na-
ture. As the mind of man cannot
rise to any natural knowledge of
God except by discursive reason-
ing from first principles on the
works of God, that is, by the argu-
ment from effects to the first cause,
so the purely spiritual being can-
not rise above his own intellectual
cognition of God as the cause
and first principle of his own in-
telligent nature. It is vain, there-
fore, to think that it is the gross-
ness of the body, or the body it-
self, which hinders the human spi-
rit from seeing God. Separated
from the body, and elevated to an
equality with the highest angel, it
could never possess itself of an in-
telligible object outside of its own
supreme genus as a created spirit,

148

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

outside the limit of created and
finite being.

It is evident that all the perfec-
tion and felicity of an intelligent
being is measured and determined
by its intelligence. It possesses
the object in which it voluntarily
rests as its chief good by cognition,
and according to the mode of its
cognition. No creature, therefore,
by its nature, can rise to that state
of immediate communion with God
which is properly called friendship,
which demands as its basis a simi-
litude and equality resulting from
a real filiation, such as the creative
act cannot impart to a being brought
into existence out of nothingness.
The possession of the sovereign
good belongs exclusively to the na-
ture of God. To the created na-
ture is due only a participation and
imitation of that sovereign good
within its own specific and finite
limits of being. The heaven in
which God eternally dwells in his
own infinite beatitude is not there-
fore the natural term and end of
man's future destiny, nor of the natu-
ral destiny of any higher order of
creatures. The distance dividing
the most perfect beatitude of created
nature from that of the uncreated
and creative nature is equally infi-
nite with the distance between the
essence of God and created essen-
ces. The Father, the Son, and the
Holy Spirit alone have natural so-
ciety, each person of the Blessed
Trinity with the other persons, in
unity of intelligence and volition,
in the possession of the divine es-
sence, the sovereign good, the ab-
solute beatitude.

A created spirit cannot be rais-
ed to this divine level, unless God
so unites his divine essence with
the essence of his creature, in an
interior and vital union penetrat-
ing to its very centre and the seat

of its intelligent and vital action,
that in the essence of God present
to it as immediately as it is present
to itself, it sees as through a divine
medium that same divine essence
as its immediate object, without
losing its own proper act and dis-
tinct individuality.

That God can and does thus ele-
vate created nature we know by di-
vine revelation. Jesus Christ is true
God and true man in two distinct
natures and one person for ever.
All the blessed in heaven are af-
filiated to God after his likeness,
in an inferior degree which leaves
them in their distinct personalities.
This state of glory is properly
speaking what is called the king-
dom of heaven. Annexed to it, as
the proper inheritance of those
who share in the royalty of the
Son of God, is every kind of the
most perfect natural beatitude, in
the possession and enjoyment of
everything which the universe con-
tains, according to the different na-
tures of men and angels.

It is evident, without any rea-
soning on the subject, that in pro-
posing this supernatural and pure-
ly gratuitous beatitude to created
beings, God might select whom he
pleased as the recipients of so great
a grace, and prescribe any condi-
tions which are possible and rea-
sonable for securing its permanent
possession. It is perfectly conso-
nant with justice and goodness,
that it should be made a prize and
reward of merit, and that a state of
trial and probation should be ap-
pointed for those who were permit-
ted to aspire to this reward. Di-
vine revelation, whose teachings
are confirmed by universal experi-
ence, makes known to us, that in
fact God did place the angels, and
afterwards mankind, in a state of
probation for this supernatural

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

destiny. A probation must be real
and not illusory. It involves the
possibility and danger of failure.
It must have a prescribed period
for each individual and for the
whole number. When this period
is finished, those who have failed
are by the very terms of the pro-
bation finally excluded from the
hope of retrieving their loss. Di-
vine revelation informs us that the
probation of the angels was termi-
nated long ago, and resulted in the
winning of eternal beatitude by a
certain number and the loss of it by
the others. One among the chiefs
of the angelic hierarchy rebelled
against God and drew after him
many other spirits, and with these
fallen angels for his ministers and
associates, he has continued and
will continue on the earth the re-
volt he began in another sphere,
until the clay appointed for the
final judgment. He has continued
it on this earth, by seducing men
to join in his rebellion, and making
war against Jesus Christ and his
kingdom, the universal church.
The conditions of human probation
are of a very special and peculiar
nature, in accordance with the
specific nature of mankind, which

149

ral gifts suitable for their high des-
tination, to be transmitted to their
offspring. Their disobedience and
fall entailed on themselves and
their descendants the loss of the
supernatural destiny and cf all
the gifts and privileges connected
with it. Nevertheless, the human
race was restored again by another
dispensation, which is that of the
Redeemer Jesus Christ. All those
who receive from him the grace
which he merited by his atonement,
and do not wilfully and finally re-
ject this grace, obtain in the end a
complete resurrection to the glory
and beatitude of heaven. The
rest of mankind are for ever ex-
cluded from the kingdom of hea-
ven. This is a summary of first
principles and fundamental truths
pertaining to the very essence of
Christianity. In so far as the des-
tiny of mankind is concerned, the
first constitution of human nature
in the person of the common pro-
genitor of the race in the state of
grace and integrity, with a right to
the kingdom of heaven ; the ruin
of the whole human race by the
sin of Adam; the redemption of
the race through Jesus Christ ; are
the sum of the teaching of the Old

is extremely different from that of and New Testaments, of the tradi-

the angels. The angels, as pure
spirits and having a simple, intel-
lectual essence, were created sin-
gly, and in the actual possession
from the first instant of existence
of their complete being. Man was
made a rational animal, by the law
of his nature increasing numerical-
ly by generation, and progressing
from an inchoate state to his per-
fection through gradual and suc-
cessive stages of growth. The first
progenitors of the race alone, were
immediately created, in full matu-
rity of perfection, and endowed
with all the natural and supernatu-

tional doctrine concurrent with it,
and of the common belief of all
generations of men who have pro-
fessed to make this .doctrine their
rule of faith, especially those who
have lived in the full light of
Christianity. It is idle to pre-
tend to call any doctrine different
from this by the name of Chris-
tianity, for the whole world knows
that this is of the very essence of the
genuine, historical religion which
acknowledges Jesus Christ as its
founder. Those who reject it, and
yet call themselves Christians, are
only philosophers, professing a

150

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

merely natural religion, partly con-
structed from materials borrowed
from Christianity and altered to
suit their own private notions, but
really in its fundamental principles
and distinctive character nothing
more than a system of rationalism.
The traditional and orthodox Chris-
tianity has invariably taught that
all men naturally descending from
Adam and Eve need salvation, and
can receive it only through an act
of gratuitous mercy on account of
the merits of the divine Redeemer.
No man is entitled by the rights of
his natural birth to heaven, or ca-
pable of obtaining a right to it by
any exertion of his natural powers.
All are under a doom of exclusion
from the kingdom of heaven. That
future state, with all its circum-
stances of locality and other ad-
juncts and environments, to which
all are destined by virtue of this
doom, is called in the authorized
language of the Catholic Church
Infernum, in the English language,
Hell. The doctrine of hell as an
eternal state is therefore necessa-
rily the shadow which must accom-
pany the doctrine of heaven. It is
impossible for any one to believe
in salvation by grace through Je-
sus Christ, without implicitly at
least acknowledging that all men
might have been left under the
doom of destination to the infernal
state, without any prejudice to the
justice or the goodness of God.
The case is not one whit altered, if
one supposes that all men are actu-
ally saved because Christ died for
all. If the mercy of God were
universal, it would still remain evi-
dent that mercy is not identical
with justice. It could not be ar-
gued that any man has a natural
right to salvation, because salva-
tion is bestowed as a boon upon
all men. It is vain, therefore, to

argue on a priori grounds, that all
men must eventually be saved.
In truth, it has never been a doc-
trine of traditional and orthodox
Christianity, that the simple fact
of redemption placed every one of
the human race in the possession
of an inalienable right to final sal-
vation. That many never recover
the lost right to heaven, and that
many who have obtained it lose it
again irretrievably and for ever, is
the common and universal doctrine
of Christians. The efforts made to
twist the language of Christ and
the apostles into a contrary sense
are so futile, that only a fixed de-
termination to force the Holy
Scripture into agreement with one's
own private opinions and feelings
can account for them. The doc-
trine of the Catholic Church is un-
alterably determined. The fallen
angels were not redeemed by Je-
sus Christ, and for them there is no
restoration to the place which they
have forfeited. Of men, all, be
their number greater or smaller,
who have been regenerated by the
grace of Christ, and have passed
out of this life in the state of grace,
will obtain the kingdom of heaven,
and the remainder will be forever
excluded. The notion of an arto-
HaTaffTaffiZor future restitution of
all angels and men, proposed as a
mere theory by Origen, and allud-
ed to by one or two other Catholic
Fathers of the early ages as a pos-
sible conjecture, was universally
reprobated and condemned by the
church as soon as it attracted gen-
eral attention. There is no doubt
as to the Catholic faith on this mat-
ter.

The recent discussion has turned
chiefly on the question of moral
probation, the cause and reason
of the mutability and liability to
error in the intellect and perver-

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

sion in the will of rational beings,
and the manner and extent of their
passing through the state of mu-
tability to a state of permanent sta-
bility in good or evil. The errors
of Origen were derived from the
Platonic philosophy. So far as
the PeriarcJwn really presents his
fanciful conjectures, we must con-
sider them as vagaries of a man
who, although richly endowed with
intellectual gifts and moral virtues,
was destitute of a truly rational
and Christian philosophy, and
therefore unable to think consist-
ently, when he ventured beyond
those primary doctrines of the
faith which were clearly known to
him. We perceive the same cause
of aberration and incoherence in
most of the current statements and
expositions of theological opinion
which appear in our modern pub-
lications. It would seem that Ori-
gen considered it to be a necessary
law of creation, that God must
create all souls alike, and in an
elementary state, with a most ca-
pricious and uncontrollable liberty
to choose good or evil, so that they
were for ever liable to indefinite
mutations of character and condi-
tion, and could never become sta-
ble in one fixed position. His
state of restitution was no more per-
manent and eternal than the previ-
ous one of degradation. There
is no eternal heaven possible,
according to his hypothesis, or
rather that of the Periarchon, any
more than an eternal hell. Our
modern Protestant religious writ-
ings are affected by a similar ten-
dency to a chaotic confusion of
ideas. It would be an endless
task to attempt to follow them
through the maze of conflicting and
incoherent reasonings with which
they contend mutually, and strive
to construct some sort of rational

and credible eschatology. It is
only in Catholic theology based on
dogmas of faith, and a philosophy
in harmony with this theology de-
rived from the ancient masters of
intellectual science, that a remedy
for this chaotic state of things can
be found. We cannot do more at
present than merely state a few
sound and certain principles, with-
out attempting to reproduce the
arguments by which they have
been often and fully demonstrated.

The first principle we lay down
is, that God can impart his own
immutability of intelligence and
will to intelligent beings. It is
because his intelligence is infinite
that God is immutable, that is, can
never change his mind. His will
necessarily conforms to his intelli-
gence, and he therefore is, and is
in full possession of, the sovereign
good, by his self-existing essence.

The intelligent creature partici-
pates in this intelligence, in that
degree of being which God gives
him. The object of the spontane-
ous and natural act of intelligence
is the real verity of being, and by
his intelligent nature he can never
be deceived. The object perceiv-
ed by the intelligence contains in
it the good, toward which the will
moves by a spontaneous and natu-
ral act. It is only necessary that
the object be so placed before the
intellect that it compels assent, to
make all error, voluntary or involun-
tary, impossible. The good which
is thus perfectly presented neces-
sarily draws the will to itself, and
thus immutability in good is pro-
duced. Error in the intellect is an
accident and a defect in nature,
and all perversion of will or evil
choice is a consequence of error.
The liability of sinning is therefore
no necessary adjunct of the spon-
taneity or liberty of will which is an

152

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

attribute of intelligent beings. It
is removed by making the intelli-
gence perfect. It is easy, there-
fore, for God to make any intelli-
gent being immutably good, even
from the beginning of his existence,
since it is easy for him to give to
nature any degree of perfection,
within the purely natural order.

In the supernatural order, the
gift of the intuitive vision of the
divine essence imparts to the reci-
pient the knowledge and posses-
sion of the sovereign good, with
which it is immovably united by a
spontaneous and necessary act.
It can no more lose its beatitude
than it can lose its essence. It is as
impossible for one of the blessed
to be changed into a sinner, as for
an angel to become an ape.

Liability to error and sin be-
longs, therefore, not to any neces-
sary order of things, resulting from
natural and necessary laws which
God is obliged to follow in crea-
tion and providence, but it is a con-
dition of defectibility pertaining to
a law of probation which God has
established by his sovereign will.

This defectibility supposes an
equilibrium or indetermination of
the will in respect to contraries
which is overcome by a self-de-
termining power. Such an equili-
brium can only exist, when oppo-
site objects, in which some good
corresponding to the spontaneous
tendency of the will is contained,
are presented to the intellect as
desirable and worthy of choice ; in
such a way that the motives for
choice balance each other. The
will must follow the intellect, and
therefore an error in the choice
must be preceded by an erroneous
judgment, which is possible only
when the object presented to it
does not compel assent. Moral
probation requires that there should

be an obligation, arising from the
eternal law of God or a positive
command, to choose one of the op-
posite objects and reject the other.
It is this which makes these objects
contrary to each other in a moral
respect, and is the reason why lib-
erty of choice between them is call-
ed the liberty of contrariety, and
the determination to the one is a
virtuous, while that to the other is
a vicious act. It is easy to under-
stand this liberty of contrariety
and the moral discipline which is
requisite for its due control and
direction, in respect to human na-
ture. From its complex constitu-
tion, the sensible good is often op-
posed to the rational good, and rea-
son, which ought to govern, is eas-
ily deceived by the imagination.
In the case of pure spirits, it is
more difficult to see how they can
be subject to any illusion, or capa-
ble of undergoing any moral proba-
tion. In the natural order, they
are perfect, and cannot err in the
apprehension of that which is truly
desirable as their chief good. They
are not, therefore, capable of proba-
tion in the moral order of pure na-
ture. But in the supernatural or-
der, the object proposed to them
being presented in an obscure, su-
pernatural light, which does not
compel assent, there is room for a
suspension of the act of consent,
and a power of rejecting the sove-
reign good by a voluntary self-de-
termination, in adhering to the
inferior object which they naturally
comprehend and love. In fact, it
was in this way that the fallen an-
gels sinned and rebelled against
God. In like manner, Adam, who
was elevated to a perfect state like
that of the angels, and enjoyed ab-
solute dominion over all sensible
concupiscence, underwent a super-
natural probation, in which he fell

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

153

tli rough the seduction of Eve, who
was the instrument of the demon,
who had previously made her the
victim of his diabolical sophistry.
The only moral order which is
known to exist as an order of pro-
bation, in reference to an ultimate
destination and end of intelligent
creatures, is the one which is super-
natural. If we conjecture that the
universe is filled with intelligent
beings who are neither angels nor
human beings, we have no need
and no reason to imagine that they
are subject to a moral probation
with the trials and pains connected
with the order under which angels
and men were constituted. The
great problem of the reason of pro-
bation is one which is restricted
within the sphere of those beings
who have been constituted by the
Creator in the order of a superna-
tural destiny. The difficulty of the
problem arises exclusively from the
moral and physical evil which is an
incident of probation. In itself,
the sufficient reason for probation
is obvious and evident. The ori-
gin and nature of evil really pre-
sent no insoluble difficulty, when
the principles of sound theology and
philosophy are understood. The
difficulty consists in accounting for
the permission of sin and misery
in view of the known attributes
of infinite goodness and almighty
power in God. If the final con-
clusion of the vicissitudes and tem-
porary evils of the state of probation
were a universal anoHarafffaffi^^
including the eternal abolition of
evil in the universe and the attain-
ment in general and in each indi-
vidual of a permanent good of the
highest order, to which the tem-
porary conflict of good and evil
was a necessary means, the human
reason might be completely satis-
fied. But, although in general, and

in a multitude of individuals, this
is really the predestined and cer-
tain result, it is not the case with
another multitude, the whole num-
ber, namely, of those who finally
forfeit the sublime destiny to which
they had an original right, but
which they have lost irrecoverably.
There is a repugnance in the hu-
man mind to the contemplation of
permanent and eternal evil in the
universe, and this is much increas-
ed by the human sensibilities, and
natural sympathy with those of our
own kind who suffer even the con-
sequences of their own violation of
the eternal law. This repugnance
causes the effort to find a way of
escape, or at least of mitigating
the severe integrity of the truth by
resorting to some kind of fatalism.
These efforts are all futile and
foolish. It is absurd to question
the infinite goodness or the infinite
power of God. The fact that mor-
al and physical evil exists, is only
too well known by experience.
There is but one way to account for
it, which is that God permits it as
incident to the law of moral proba-
tion. We can have no knowledge
of the finality of evil except from
the divine revelation. And, that
revelation having made known to
us that the decision of destiny for
each individual at the term of his
probation is irreversible, it is rea-
sonable, as well as imperative in
respect to faith, to assent to the
judgment of God because of his
own knowledge and veracity, wheth-
er we can or cannot understand
how and why that judgment is con-
sistent with his goodness.

There is no prohibition placed
on the exercise of intellect and
reason in seeking to understand
these revealed doctrines, provided
we respect the authority which
God has established as our ex-

154

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

trinsic rule and criterion of truth.
Under this regulation, reason can
go very far toward solving the pro-
blem of the origin, nature, and rea-
son of evil.

The origin of evil is in the abuse
of free-will by intelligent beings
who are placed by the Creator in a
state of probation. Its nature is
merely privative, consisting in de-
ficiency and disorder. The suffi-
cient reason for permitting it is
either that it is a necessary incident
to any order of moral probation, or
to such an order as the one actually
established, in view of the greater
glory of God and the greater gen-
eral good of the universe. The
evil condition, or state of deficiency
and privation, into which intelligent
beings are degraded in consequence
of their abuse of the power of free
choice, is the natural consequence
of their voluntary sin, and is, in
itself, permanent and irremediable.
Since the order of probation is
supernatural, and the power of effi-
caciously electingthe sovereign good
is a grace freely given by God, sin,
which is a supernatural death, is
eternal in its duration and conse-
quences, unless God restores the
lost state of grace by his divine
power. He can easily do it, and it
is therefore vain to attempt, as it
were, an apology for the Almighty,
by pretending that he actually does
all that is possible, to restore the
fallen, and to bring every intelligent
being to the perfection for which he
was originally destined. It is by
the will of the Almighty, that each
one who has been placed in a state
of probation, if he passes out of
that state with the guilt of sin
upon him, is for ever deprived of
the grace which is absolutely nec-
essary for expiation and restora-
tion. The probation of angels
ended long ago, and those who sin-

ned were left without any offer of
pardon and reconciliation. The
pardon which is offered to men, is
offered to them as a gratuitous act
of mercy on the part of God, which
is available so long as they live and
have the use of reason and free-
will. Probation ceases with death,
and all merit and demerit become
eternal. The doom awarded to me-
rit is eternal reward, to demerit
eternal punishment. The final pri-
vation of that good which is the
reward of merit, and of that grace
which is necessary for making the
least movement toward it, is a penal-
ty which God has annexed to sin.
This is the Christian and Catholic
doctrine, and to deny it is equiva-
lent to a complete renunciation of
the genuine Christian religion. The
recent developments of the extent
to which this fundamental tenet
of orthodox Protestantism is disbe-
lieved or doubted among the va-
rious sects, are an evidence that
their dogmatic and historical basis
is crumbling and passing away with
unexpected rapidity. The genuine
dogmatic system of Protestantism is
Calvinism. And although the Cal-
vinistic system retains a number of
the fundamental articles of Ca-
tholic faith, its omissions and ad-
ditions and perversions make it as a
whole self-contradictory and absurd.
The principle of private judgment
logically results in rationalism, and
no such system as Calvinism can
long stand a rational test. AH
other theological systems which have
sprung up as modifications of the
Luthero-Calvinistic system are too
incoherent and incomplete to be
permanent. An irresistible current
is sweeping away all these fabrics
hastily built upon the sand, leaving
only a confused debris of truths and
errors to the amazement of mankind.
While this breaking up of old and

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

155

general beliefs and convictions is
in many respects lamentable and
dangerous, we recognize, never-
theless, that there is a divarication
in the irresistible logical current
which is sweeping them into the
sea of oblivion. The tendency of
the general mind is not exclusively
destructive. There is a yearning
and an effort toward universal
truth, and a deeply-seated convic-
tion that this truth is really con-
tained in Christianity rightly un-
derstood, which makes a strong
and wide counter-current, bearing
away from the tide that sets so
strongly toward materialism and
atheism. We recognize in the
views and arguments more or less
rationalistic which have been re-
cently put forth in respect to the
future destiny of the human soul, a
revival of ethical and theological
ideas in respect to the relation of
the soul toward God, which are
more in harmony with the Catholic
faith than those of the old Protes-
tant belief. The intrinsic, inher-
ent good qualities and state of the
soul itself, its voluntary determi-
nation to the good, its actual per-
fection in spiritual excellence and
virtue, are acknowledged to be the
ground and measure of the relation
of friendship with God, and the
want of this subjective fitness and
worthiness is confessed to be a
necessary cause of a corresponding
alienation. The state of interior
rectitude, integrity, and likeness to
God, is acknowledged to be the
necessary qualification of congru-
ity and condignity in the soul,
which gives it an aptitude to re-
ceive from the Creator that perma-
nent and perfect enjoyment of its
highest good which constitutes its
everlasting beatitude. Sin is ac-
knowledged to be the supreme evil
of the soul which deprives it of its

true good and degrades it below
the order in which its proper ex-
cellence and felicity are placed.
Therefore, the whole question of
the final restoration of all intelli-
gent beings who have lapsed from
good, is resolved into a question
respecting the cessation or the per-
petual continuance of a moral order,
under which renovation is possible,
and the possibility sure to become
actual, by a necessary and eternal
law, in every individual instance.
What is the criterion by which
those who maintain this aTronara-
6Ta6i$ intend to determine its
truth or falsity ? It must be either
divine revelation distinctly and
certainly made known, or pure
human reason. Every one who
thinks logically must select be-
tween the two. As we have before
said, we judge it by the criterion of
revelation. What is the Christian,
that is, what is the Catholic doc-
trine, founded on the veracity of
God, clearly declared, and unaltera-
ble ? We have already stated it,
and it is known to all men. Those
who still profess that they have in
the Scriptures interpreted by their
own private judgment an infallible
rule of faith, are bound to demon-
strate that their doctrine is clear-
ly taught in the Scriptures, or is
at least compatible with what is
taught in them. It is open to any
Catholic writer to discuss the mat-
ter with them on that ground if he
thinks fit to do so, and it may be
of some utility. It is equally suit-
able to discuss the question on
purely philosophical grounds with
those who do not admit revelation.
But, as this is not our present pur-
pose, we confine ourselves to the
statement of what is the Catholic
doctrine, and merely affirm that it
is impossible to bring any con-
clusive argument against it, either

156

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

from Scripture or from reason. It
is really only the objections from
reason which have any weight in
the minds of men. Now, it is im-
possible to prove from reason that
God may not propose to intelligent
creatures a supernatural end to be
attained by their voluntary opera-
tion under a moral law, and fix
definite limits to their probation ;
or that it is not just to leave those
who have misused their liberty by
turning away from their prefixed
end, in the permanent state of pri-
vation of their sovereign good.
Nor is it possible to prove that pen-
alties are not justly inflicted as a
retribution for violations of law, in
the state which succeeds the term
of probation. It is God alone who
is the judge of the nature and
quantity of retribution which is due
according to justice to individual
demerits. Reason is not qualified
to criticise the divine judgment
which has decreed an eternal pen-
alty for sin. The only rational
mode of inquiring into the penalty
for sin in the future life, is by seek-
ing to ascertain what the divine
revelation actually discloses and
teaches on this momentous subject.
This is determined with certainty
by the Catholic rule, and taking all
that is contained in this certain
doctrine as a point of departure
and a regulating principle, a theo-
logical and philosophical exposi-
tion of its relations with the other
known principles and doctrines of
revelation and reason manifests its
harmony with all these truths, in a
sufficiently clear light to command
a firm rational assent. If all diffi-
culties and obscurities are not com-
pletely removed, many misconcep-
tions and apparent objections are
dissipated, while the obscurity
which finally remains is shown to
be a necessary accompaniment of

the dim light, by which the human
mind, in its present condition, per-
ceives these remote objects of eter-
nity ; and to make part of that limi-
tation of knowledge which is an
element of our moral discipline.

It is a demonstrable truth, con-
tained in the first principles both
of natural and revealed theology,
that God has made all things fpr
good, and that he will not permit the
abuse of free-will by his creatures
to thwart the final attainment of the
end he has proposed, by causing
permanent disorder in the universe.
St. Thomas teaches that the pun-
ishment of the future life is decreed
for this very reason. " It pertains
to the perfect goodness of God,
that he should not leave anything
inordinate in existing things. Now,
those things which exceed their
due quantity are comprehended in
the order of justice which reduces
all things to equality ; but man
exceeds his due measure of quanti-
ty when he prefers his own will to
the divine will by satisfying its de-
sires inordinately; and this in-
equality is removed, when man is
compelled to suffer something con-
trary to his own will according to
God's established order" (Con.
Gent., iii. 146). F. Liberatore,
commenting on this text, says :
'* Punishment is therefore a certain
reaction of reason and justice for
the restoration of the disturbed or-
der. The argument which demon-
strates the necessity of a sanction
for the natural law, shows also that
when God punishes those who com-
mit mischievous acts he is not im-
pelled by a movement of vengeful
ire, but only by the love of good-
ness and order. For retribution,
which proceeds from the order of
justice according to the quality
of the works done, imports in
its very notion the concept of rec-

The Destiny of Man in a Fiiture Life.
(Eth., c. iii

157

titude and goodness
art. 2).

In respect to the essential nature
of the punishment, the same au-
thor lays down the proposition :
" That the punishment of retribu-
tion for the impious consists princi-
pally in the loss of their ultimate
end. By those good works which
are commanded by the law, man
puts himself on the road which
leads straight to his end. For vir-
tuous actions are a kind of steps
by which a man walks toward this
end ; while on the other hand by
vicious actions he deflects from his
end and goes in an altogether op-
posite direction. Therefore, when
the time destined for the journey
has expired, it will necessarily fol-
low that the one who has travelled
by the road leading to his end
should attain his end. Again, it
is necessary for a similar reason
that the one who through disre-
gard of his end has followed a road
leading in an entirely opposite di-
rection should be deprived of the
attainment of his end. It is a
contradiction to assert that a way
leading to a certain term does not
lead to it ; and equally absurd to
say that this same term is reached
by a way which leads directly away
from it. Therefore, it necessarily
follows that at least the loss of the
ultimate end should follow the vio-
lation of the natural law and be, as
it were, a certain internal and natu-
ral sanction for it. But the loss of
the end inflicted in view of the
acts which one has committed has
the nature of a punishment.

" Nevertheless, that by no means
suffices for a complete retribution
corresponding to the works done;
but a positive infliction of punish-
ments according to the diversity
existing between individuals is re-
quisite. Therefore they are not

all to be made to receive an exact-
ly equal punishment (which would
happen if they were only deprived of
the attainment of their end), but to
be chastised by a greater or lesser
positive punishment according to
the quality of their transgressions.
This is required for still another rea-
son, viz., that by their vicious acts
they have not only despised their
end but also positively disturbed
the right order " (Ibid!)

The reproach of dualism, and of
a failure to establish a final sub-
jugation of evil by good and of dis-
order by the triumph and domina-
tion of order, made against the or-
thodox doctrine, is shown by these
arguments, in connection with
other well-known principles of Ca-
tholic theology and philosophy, to
be groundless. There is no dual-
ism in God, for his creative act,
and all that he does for bringing it
to its ultimate term, proceeds from
love diffusive of the good of being
in a wise and benevolent order.
There is no dualism in the essence
and being of intelligent creatures,
in respect to God or each other.
Their essence is good, and all na-
ture whatsoever is essentially good.
No evil substance does or can ex-
ist. Evil is privation and dis-
order. The temporary disorder,
which is permitted as an incident
to the liberty of a state of proba-
tion and movement toward a stable
order, is rectified in the final ordi-
nation of all things under the su-
premacy of sovereign law. The
loss of some good, which might
have been added to the actual sum
of good if all had attained their
end, is compensated by the greater
good which God has brought out
of evil. Reason and order and
law are vindicated and satisfied, by
the compulsory subjection and
homage of those who have refused

158

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

to give their concurrence and pay
their just tribute of obedience and
labor freely. Privation does not
disfigure the spiritual universe in
which all that is requisite to con-
summate order and beauty exists,
any more than empty space dis-
figures a stellar system. The good
has therefore a complete and uni-
versal triumph, which leaves no de-
ordination in the universe.

Disorder is only in the moral or-
der of liberty in the election of con-
traries, by which the permanent
order of those who exercise this
power is determined. Those who
rise above the moral order go to a
higher order which is permanent ;
those who fall below it go to an or-
der beneath which is permanent.
The moral order passes away, and
with it all conflict between oppos-
ing moral forces. Those who have
fallen below their proper destiny
receive precisely what is due to
them and results naturally from
their voluntary choice. Whatever
is superadded to the misery natu-
rally involved in the state of aliena-
tion from God and the frustration
of their proper end, is directed to
remove and prevent but not to per-
petuate and increase deordination ;
and thus eternal punishment, what-
ever its nature, qualities, and in-
strumentalities may be, really re-
stricts the limits of evil. It is the
bonum honestum and not the bonum
delectabile which is the just and
reasonable object of the primary
and direct complacency of intelli-
gent beings. The bonum delectabile
is secondary. That which is most
contrary to this highest good is the
revolt of free-will against the will
of God. When the term allowed
by the Almighty for the rebellion
of Lucifer to run its course has
been reached, it will be suppressed
by that act of sovereign power,

which places each one of those who
have merited exclusion from hea-
ven in a fixed and unchangeable
state, precisely suited to his char-
acter. No further disturbance of
the moral order is possible, no fur-
ther privation can be incurred,
no new injuries can be attempted
against any of God's creatures.
Those who suffer, actually endure
nothing beyond the retribution
justly due to the demerits of their
state of probation, and their suffer-
ing compensates in the order of
the bonum honestum for their of-
fences against that order, restoring
the disturbed equilibrium of justice.
It is an effect of the divine good-
ness frustrated (in respect to them)
of its intention, and deprived of its
due quality as bonum delectabile by
their own voluntary opposition to
the benevolent will of God. Soc-
rates and Plato taught that it is
better even for the one who de-
serves punishment to undergo it
than to remain in impunity. As-
suredly it is better for the com-
mon order which he has violated.
Impunity for great political frauds
is the greatest of disorders in a
community, and the punishment
of the criminals is a reparation to
the public honor and the sanctity
of right, which adds decorum to a
state. This is in virtue of an eter-
nal and universal law, and holds
good in the supreme order, with
which the ethical constitution of
human society is in an analogical
resemblance. Justice reduces all
things to equality, by subjugating
the inordinate wills of created be-
ings under the coercive force of the
reaction of reason and order against
their rebellion. The inequality re-
moved by this violent reaction is
measured by the voluntary and free
excesses of the rebels and trans-
gressors against the sovereign will

The Destiny -of Man in a Future Life.

of God. Beyond this measure,
there is no violence done to the
spontaneous desires and natural
tendency to good intrinsic to the
essence of every intelligent being.
Unless there is an inequality caus-
ed by voluntary contrariety to the
divine will, there is no opposition,
and therefore there must be a per-
fect harmony and equality of pro-
portion between the eternal order
and the wills of those who are sub-
ject to it. Therefore, there is no
such thing possible as pain, discon-
tent, deficiency from the bonum
hones turn and bonum delectabile of
nature, in the eternal world, except
that which is the retribution for
voluntary transgressions.

The thousands of millions of hu-
man beings who never attain the
use of reason, never run the risks of
probation, and pass into the eter-
nal state without merit or demerit,
enjoy the good of being which is
consonant to their nature in what-
ever actual condition it exists.
Those whose nature is regenerate,
and spontaneously seeks the sover-
eign good of the supernatural order,
go immediately into the kingdom
of heaven. Those whose nature is
not regenerate possess an immor-
tality in which they enjoy the na-
tural good of being. There is no
such thing as fatality, calamity of
chance, misfortune, or deordination
of any kind in the true anoHa-
TaffraffiZ and restitution of all
things, which succeeds the present
inchoate, temporary order. It is
the absolute and universal and
eternal reign of God by his eternal
law, which is identified with the
physical and spontaneous laws of
being, and gives liberty of action
within the ordained circumference,
without any possibility of escape
from the orbit assigned to each in-
dividual existence.

'59

We return now to that which we
proposed at the beginning as a
primary question, not for those
who are already certain by Catho-
lic faith, but for inquirers into the
mystery of human destiny be-
yond the veil. Is there a heaven,
and what is the way by which it
can be attained ? Modern ration-
alism presents at best nothing
higher that the eternal state into
which human nature fell by the
transgression of Adam, and from
which we are redeemed by Christ.
This species of philosophical and
semi-Christian Theism, which is re-
spectable in pagans and those who
are in a similar condition of dim
enlightenment, has no intellectual
foundation which can stand or give
support, in opposition to the clear
Christian revelation. The firm as-
sent to its really sound and ration-
al principles and their logical con-
clusions, inexorably demands a
further assent, to the physical, mor-
al, and metaphysical demonstration
by which the certain truth of Chris-
tianity is made evident to reason.
A consistent and thorough rejection
of Christianity reacts with irresis-
tible logical violence against the
first premises of natural theology.
The prevailing rationalism is ma-
terialistic and atheistic. The con-
trary of Catholic faith, the real er-
ror of the age, the logical alterna-
tive of genuine undiluted Christian-
ity, is anti-spiritual, anti-theistic
Nihilism. To those who have a
repugnance for the hell which is
the shadow of heaven in Catholic
doctrine, the night-side of the su-
pernatural, this system cannot be
very attractive ; unless they are in
despair, and already so unhappy
and hopeless that existence seems to
them an intolerable evil. In this
system there is nothing besides
hell. Hell is the necessary, eter-

i6o

The Destiny of Man in a Future Life.

nal reality, the only being. The
negation of all eternal good, of all
beatitude whether natural or super-
natural, is the one, fundamental
dogma of Pessimism.

The aspiration and longing for
beatitude which cannot be wholly
extinguished in any human soul,
and which manifests its vehemence
even in the most gloomy and de-
spairing utterances of scepticism, is
strong and vivid among the multi-
tude of half-believers, whose Chris-
tian descent has left in their minds,
as an heirloom, some indistinct idea
of the heaven of Christian theology.
Even though they practically seek
to satisfy their thirst for the true
good by the pleasures of the pre-
sent life, they wish to cherish the
hope of a higher future happiness
in the next world. Therefore, they
eagerly welcome any plausible
teaching or speculation which seems
to make a happy immortality their
sure ultimate destiny, and are glad
to think they run no risk of losing
it, and need not give themselves
trouble to find the way to gain it.
Conscience, and the moral sense
which has had a semi-Christian edu-
cation, will not permit those who
still cling to their traditional re-
ligion to believe that the majority
of adults are actually fit for perfect
happiness, or capable of passing
out of this life at once into heaven,
without undergoing some thorough
transformation of character. The
view presented by the most reasona-
ble and high-toned of the writers
and preachers who have recently
advocated universal salvation, or a
doctrine tending in that direction,
places a prospect of indefinite trial
and suffering before those who have
sinned during their mortal career,
as awaiting them hereafter. Its

happy termination in the heaven
promised to the good is something
which is inferred by their own
reasonings and conjectures, but
which cannot be proved with cer-
tainty by reason, much less shown
to be a promise of the divine word.
Over against this there is the gen-
eral belief of mankind ; the general
consent of those who have read the
Holy Scriptures in the interpreta-
tion of their plain and obvious
sense ; and the teaching of the Ca-
tholic Church from the very begin-
ning, which she will certainly never
change. It is much more reasona-
ble to take the authority of the
church as the criterion of truth in
regard to this momentous matter
than to decide it by private reason-
ings or private interpretations of
Christian doctrine. The Catholic
doctrine proposes a heaven of super-
natural beatitude and glory to
every one, and points out a sure
way by which any one may secure
it, no matter how much he may
have sinned in the past. It is
the most rational course to begin
at once to follow the road which
leads to the right end, and leave
with God the responsibility of ad-
ministering his own just and sove-
reign laws by giving to each one
that retribution which he has de-
served.

NOTE. The reader is referred for a
more full exposition of the relation of the
supernatural to the natural order, and
the other principal topics belonging to the
subject of the future destiny of man, to
the following works : Aspirations of Na-
ture, by the Rev. I. T. Hecker ; Problems
of the Age and The King's Highway, by
the Rev. A. F. Hewit ; Catholicity and
Pantheism, by the Rev. J. de Concilio ;
The Knowledge of Mary, by the same au-
thor; and Catholic Eschatoiogy, by H. N.
Oxenham.

Lines. igj

LINES.

SUGGESTED BY ST. FRANCIS DE SALES* TREATISE ON THE " LOVE OF GOD.''

O PRECIOUS book! in lines of fire I see

Upon each page the record of a soul
Which soared above the clouds, serenely free,

Which read with eagle eye the mystic scroll;
To whose ecstatic love th' Eternal Three

Sublime and hidden mysteries did unroll.
A heart, a living heart, is throbbing here !

A heart whose every fibre * thrilled to One
Unknown to human wisdom, yet most clear

To him, whose spirit, as a luminous sun,
Caught from the splendors of high heaven's sphere,

A light for centuries set in shadows dun.
O shadows dark and sad ! with prophet-gaze

Did he foresee your baneful, blinding cloud
Enwrap man's reason, soul, and heart? the ways

Of God enveloped in a death-like shroud
Of folly, prejudice, and pride ? Amaze

Had seized that noble soul! Yet he had bowed
'Neath persecution's fury ; toiled with heart

Undaunted, while upraised were savage hands
To strike, as Jews of old, the deadly dart.

Through sufferings borne with joy he won those bands,
Through burning zeal and (his own heavenly art)

Divinest meekness, which all power commands.

What secret charm had he so early learned

Which made a joy of pain ? of sacrifice
His life-long pleasure ? Soul and heart had burned

Within love's fiery crucible where dies
Nature and self and sense ; for God he yearned ;

For God and souls were poured his nightly sighs.
Thou sacred volume, fruit of years of prayer,

Of holy contemplation, seraph love,
Dost unto me this hidden charm declare ;

With his own life each word is interwove.
His holy pen would oft, methinks, repair

To Calvary's shade or to the olive grove,
And, deep within the Wounded Side, would seek

The living flame, as strong as death, which breathes
In each dear line. Methinks he still doth speak,

* If 1 knew there was one fibre in my heart which was not all God's I would instantly pluck it oat, 5V.
Francis de Sales.

VOI* XXVII. II

1 62 Lines.

And with celestial sweetness still bequeathes
His dying legacy of love ; his meek
And gentle lessons in the soul imvreathes
Like flowers, the garden of the Spouse to grace.

O zeal inflamed and generous! No rest

While heart and hand the path to heaven may trace
For souls brought back on Calvary's bleeding crest ;

No rest while he one tender lamb may place,
All bruised, for healing on the Saviour's breast.

No sweet repose of prayer and love while pure
And virgin hearts, aspiring heavenward, pine

For light and guidance in the way obscure
And thorny leading to the mystic shrine

The " inner temple," where God, throned secure,
Binds fast the soul in his embrace divine.

No rest for him while still on earth the fire
His Master brought remains unkindled ; while

One human heart, Grief's trembling, deep-toned lyre,
Vibrates not to his Master's touch with smile

Of peace, ev'n while the chords are breaking ; higher,
And higher still ! the sacrificial pile

Awaits a host of generous souls who mount
With ardor at his word ; new strength endows,

And, like the phoenix,* they from Light's own Fount
Draw odorous flames of love ; while sacred vows

Bind them, like Isaac, hand and foot, who count
The sword and fire but pleasure with their Spouse.

O priceless heritage of poet-saint !

What wisdom born of Heaven adorns each page !
To fancy seems some master-hand to paint ;

To intellect speaks philosophic sage ;
Passion impulsive yields to sweet constraint,

And heart and will bow down in every age.
Strange spell which o'er the soul it casts ! the strong,

Clear message more like ancient prophet's tone ;
Again, to his full gaze as mysteries throng,

Its breathings are the loved disciple's own ;
And now it rises like th' ecstatic song

Of some grand seraph veiled before the throne !

* St. Francis draws many beautiful illustrations from this mythical bird. The ancients asserted that
when age had exhausted the strength of the phoenix it built a funeral-pile of aromatic gums and wood on
the top of some high mountain, and, ascending it when the sun was in his meridian splendor, lit the pile by
the fanning of its wings, and was consumed to ashes. From these ashes sprang another phoenix.

Ccnrad and

"53

CONRAD AND WALBURGA.

CHAPTER I.

AMONG the many beautiful paint-
ings by world-known artists which
adorn the old Pinakothek in Mu-
nich is one symbolizing Innocence,
by Carlo Dolce. It represents a
lovely, rosy-cheeked girl gazing
frankly at you ; down her shoul-
ders floats a stream of golden hair,
and clasped to her bosom is a
lamb.

Before this picture, one spring
day in the year 1855, stood a gentle-
man admiring it with all the rap-
ture of one who knows how diffi-
cult it is to achieve such a mira-
cle of art to place upon canvas a
face so instinct witli life, so full of
that divine something which only
genius can impart.

" It is indeed beautiful, most
beautiful," thought Conrad Seins-
heim. "And yet," after an in-
ward pause, during which his eye's
rested on a young lady who was
copying it "and yet real flesh
and blood, when cast in the mould
of beauty, infinitely surpass aught
that was ever accomplished by
brush or chisel."

It was only a profile view he had
of her face for the painting hung
in a corner, and she was in the
corner too, with her left side next
to the wall but this view sufficed
to send a thrill through every fibre
of his body.

Conrad was no longer a very
young man ; his age was five-and-
thirty, and he had already seen a
good deal of the world. His father,
a, wealthy merchant of Cologne, had
died, leaving him a handsome for-
tune, and with his last breath al-

most had urged him to marry. And
Conrad had travelled and visited
well-nigh every capital in Europe,
enjoying to the utmost the pleasures
which choice society affords, but
had not yet found the woman
whom he could really love. The
fair women whom he had met
had been mere butterflies of fash-
ion, idlers basking in the smiles of
men as vain and idle as themselves.
But here, at last, was one who came
up to his high ideal of female love-
liness, and who withal was not a
drone. But it was Walburga's ex-
pression, rather than the exquisite
classic outline of her countenance,
that made his heart throb as it did ;
it imaged a soul nourished upon the
visions of genius. The girl was
evidently enjoying, with delight too
deep for words, this Carlo Dolce ;
and, guided by the light of sympa-
thy, its ethereal life, which other
copyists might have missed, she
was catching and retaining, and
you might almost have fancied,
from her mien of rapture, that she
knew the spirit of the old master
was hovering over her and guiding
her delicate white hand.

" The sunshine of her soul is in-
spiring, and fills me with gladness
too," exclaimed Conrad inwardly.
"She does not turn to look at me;
she goes right on, filled with the
joy of her work. Oh ! have I not
found here the being whom I have
been so vainly seeking ?"

After admiring the young artist
a few minutes he continued his
way along the gallery. But his
mind was. too occupied with the

164

Conrad and Walburga.

living picture which he had just
seen to care a jot for anything else,
and all the rest of the day this
vision of beauty haunted him.

At three o'clock the Pinakothek
is closed ; and at this hour Wal-
burga betook herself to her hum j
ble but cosey home in Fingergasse,*
where, summoning her friend,
Moida Hofer, who lodged with her,
and who kept an old-curiosity shop
in the same street, the two sallied
forth for a stroll in the English
Garden. f They were fast friends,
these girls, having been many years
together, and never were they so
happy as in each other's company.
And now, while they wandered
through this delightful park, they
talked about their school-days, and
rejoiced that not yet a day of part-
ing had come.

" Well, as for me, I shall never
marry, you know," spoke Walbur-
ga.

" Oh ! yes, you will," the other
smilingly answered. Yet in her
heart Moida believed that what
Walburga said might be true.
Her dearest friend was born with
an affliction, a weighty cross one
which likely enough would prove a
barrier to marriage. Moida, how-
ever, had no such cross, and al-
ready she had a devoted lover,
whose name was Ulrich, and who,
moreover, was the brother of Wal-
burga.

Ulrich was uncommonly hand-
some and the last representative of
the ancient and noble family of
Von Loewenstein. But he was
poor, and far off seemed the day
when he should make Moida his
bride. The latter, however, was
patient. She built for herself no
castles in the air; she was one of

* The narrowest street in Munich ; hrnce the
name,
t The name of the park in Munich.

those practical souls, full of com-
mon sense, which is the genius of
everyday life, and nobody had ever
heard her utter a sigh. " Some-
time or other our honeymoon will
come," she would tell her betroth-
ed ; " therefore, much as I love you,
my Ulrich, I'll not die of impa-
tience."

It would have been hard to find
two young women more unlike in
temperament as well as looks than
Moida and Walburga ; and perhaps
'tis why they dwelt in such har-
mony together. Miss Hofer, in-
stead of being tall like her friend,
was short and plump, with a little
sprightly nose turning upward to-
ward the sky, and she had a some-
what broad mouth. But there was
a pretty dimple in her chin a very
pretty dimple ; just the place for a
kiss to hide itself and she had
lovely blue eyes, and such a fund
of mirth and humor that it was im-
possible ever to be sad in her com-
pany. Of painting Moida knew
absolutely nothing. But she was
glad that she was not an artist ;
" for if I were," she would say,
"how could I find time to attend
to my curiosity-shop and keep
our little household in order ?
Ulrich is an artist, and so are you,
Walburga; and we must not all
three be making mountains and
heads."

" No, indeed. And I don't know
what I should do without you,"
spoke Walburga, as they sauntered
along the gravelled path by the
lake. "You can't tell how much I
lean upon you. I really believe I am
better since I took your advice
about the skull."

Walburga, who was of a nature
inclined to melancholy, had for
more than a year kept a skull in
her bed-room, and before it she was
wont to meditate sometimes for

Conrad and Walburga.

165

hours, until the ugly thing stole
away the bloom from her cheek
and drew a black mark un-
der each of her eyes. Her appe-
tite, too, began to fail ; and 'twere
not easy to say what might have
happened if she had been living
alone. But one morning, while she
was plunged in one of her rever-
ies before this death's head, Moi-
da approached, and, after kneel-
ing beside her and saying a prayer
for Moida was a good girl, and
quite as pious as Walburga, only in
a different way she reverently
took the skull in her hands and
said: " Now, dear friend, I think 'tis
time to put this aside. 'Tis making
a ghost of you. It has honeycomb-
ed you with scruples, and I am
sure that your father-confes-
sor would approve of the reforma-
tion which I am going to inaugu-
rate. Therefore take one more
good look at this eyeless, grinning
object ere it disappears from your
sight for ever."

These bold words so astonished
Walburga that for about a minute
she could not reply, and she turn-
ed to Moida with an expression
which might have deterred any-
body with less spirit and determi-
nation from proceeding further.
But Moida who, let us here re-
mark, was a descendant of Andreas
Hofer, the Tyrolese patriot was
not in the least frightened by the
other's flashing eyes.

" I will use this skull with rever-
ence," she continued. "I promise
you it shall be laid in consecrated
ground ; if necessary, with my own
hands I'll bury it in God's-acre.
But here in this room it shall be
no more."

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed
Walburga, presently bursting into
a laugh, " you are the dearest,
sauciest girl I ever met."

" Then say I may do it," went on
Moida. " For, although I am very
determined, yet I prefer not to be
too great a despot and carry the
skull off absolutely against your
will."

" Well, let me bury it myself,"
answered Walburga.

" Agreed ! -But I'll accompany
you to God's-acre ; for I know one
of the grave-diggers, and before
another hour this poor old head
shall be resting in peace under-
ground."

So the skull was buried, after
which Walburga's cheeks recov-
ered a good deal of their bloom.
And now, while she and her friend
are enjoying themselves in the open
air this mild spring day, she looks
more sprightly than we have ever
seen her before.

" Pray tell me, Moida," said Wal-
burga, after they had gone round
the lake and were on their way
home, " what is Ulrich doing at
present? You had a letter from
him this morning, had you not ?"

" Oh ! yes," answered the other,
her ever-bright countenance grow-
ing brighter. "The dear fellow is
in the Innthal,* where he means
to make a sketch of the home of
his ancestors."

" Dear, sweet spot !" murmured
Walburga.

"Ay, and dear Tyrol!" added
Moida. "And he tells me Loew-
enstein Castle has been sold by the
state to a rich gentleman from Co-
logne, who has engaged Ulrich to
restore its faded frescos, and he is
beside himself with delight. The
least thing raises his spirits ever
so high, and now he imagines that
this undertaking will be the begin-
ning of his fortune. I must cau-
tion the dear boy, in my answer,
not to indulge in dreams."

* Valley of the Inn.

1 66

Conrad and Walburga.

"Ah ! true ; he is given to dream-
ing, like myself," said Walburga,
shaking her head. " But this is a
hard world, as you have often told
me, and dreams will not feed us.
I must sell my paintings sell them
and not work for pure love of
the beautiful."

" Yes, indeed. Murillo, Raphael,
and all of them had to eat, and
bread costs money," said Moida.

" Well, I hope this new-comer is
a good man, and may he know how
to keep his castle. Alas ! if our
family had known how to manage
things, instead of letting everything
go at loose ends. If there had
been heads among us like yours,
Moida, I should not have been liv-
ing to-day in narrow, dingy Fin-
gergasse, trying hard to make the
two ends meet, and not always suc-
ceeding."

" But then I should never have
known you ; a grand lady dwelling
in a castle would not stoop to look
at me."

"Oh! true; and 'twas worth
coming down in the world down
to a humble abode in order to
know you." Then, after a pause :
" But what else does my brother
say about this gentleman ?"

" Well, he says he is not a bit
handsome, and that he looks stern.
Ulrich says, too, he is passionately
fond of art, is a believer in the
aristocracy of nature, and declares
he doesn't know who his great-
grandfather was. The only thing
that is really not good about him
is that he has no faith."

" No faith !" sighed Walburga.
"Well, at any rate, Moida, he'll
not suffer for want of company; for
it cannot be denied that very few
of those learned men are ever seen
inside a church. Oh! how comes
this?"

Moida shrugged her shoulders,

but made no response. The truth
is, although a very good girl, she
did not think deeply on religious
subjects. Walburga, on the con-
trary, was often much distressed by
the infidelity which she saw spread-
ing around her, and trembled for
her dear brother, who had once
declared that out of every hundred
students who frequented the uni-
versity with him seventy lost their
belief in a God after being there
six months ; and nothing is so
dead as a dead faith. And now
she was not certain that Ulrich
himself went to church ; for of late
he had been away from her a good
deal. Walburga called to mind,
too, a grave conversation which
she once had with him about reli-
gion, when he told her something
that had left a deep impression up-
on her.

" Believe me, sister," said Ul-
rich, " a boy may be very good
at home and have the best reli-
gious instruction from his parents,
yet their advice and teaching
will prove but a slender safeguard
against the perils of the university.
This is the age of science ; 'tis im-
possible to prevent young men
from studying chemistry and ge-
ology. They will flock to our
halls of learning and crowd
round our great professors, who
are atheists, like moths about a
lamp, heedless of the risk they
run. Now, sister, I verily believe
one true Christian university
would be worth a thousand Sun-
day-schools. The great need of
the day is to Christianize science-
ay, Christianize it; make it a beacon-
light and not a consuming fire."

" Moida," spoke Walburga, after
dwelling a moment on these words
of her brother " Moida, do you
think Ulrich says his prayers and
goes to church as he used ?"

Conrad and Walburga,

" Oh ! yes, I am quite sure he
does," replied her friend. " He
declares that for love of me he will
always be good."

" Well, although 'tis not the best
reason he might have for keeping
his faith, yet some fish are held by
a very slender line," added the
other, smiling. "So, thank God!
he loves you."

Thus conversing about Ulrich
and Tyrol, and listening to the
merry songs of the birds, the girls
continued their walk. It was dusk
when they got home. And what a
snug little home it is !

But before we enter let us call
the reader's attention to three let-
ters, "CM B," chalked upon the
door. They stand for Caspar, Mel-
chior, Balthasar, the names which
tradition gives to the wise men who
came with gifts for the infant Sa-
viour ; and beneath the letters, and
likewise marked in chalk, are three
crosses and the year of our Lord.*

But now open the door and see
how clean and neat everything is
within. Yonder quaint-looking
closet, standing between the two
bed-rooms, albeit a century old and
more, shows no sign of age ; not
a particle of dust rests upon it,
not a spider's web. The floor, too,
is well scrubbed and polished, and
looks all the better for having no
carpet. In one of the windows are
a couple of flower-pots, wherein are
blooming two magnificent roses ;
while in the other window is a cage
containing a nightingale. The bird
at this moment begins to warble a
sweet melody to greet Walburga,
who is its mistress ; while Moida,
who also has a pet, finds it no easy
matter to prevent Caro a black,
shaggy poodle from tearing her in
pieces for joy.

* These are made afresh every year on the feast
of the Epiphany.

"Poor, dear Caro!" she said,
holding him at arm's length, " the
horrid police would kill you, if they
knew you were alive, and so I must
keep you shut up within doors.
Poor, dear Caro !" And this was
true. In Munich aged dogs are not
allowed to live ; and Caro is tooth-
less and nearly blind. But his
heart is as young as ever ; and his
tail oh ! how much expression
there is in a dog's tail. How it
wags to and fro! How it whisks
up and down ! How it thumps on
the floor ! Moida sometimes, for
fun, would try to hold fast Caro's
tail while she spoke endearing
words to him. But in vain. No
sooner would she open her lips
than away it went, ten times quick-
er- than the pendulum of a clock,
and as impossible to clench as if
'twere a bit of machinery driven
back and forth by steam-power.

Nothing could better show the
difference between Walburga and
her friend than a glance at the dif-
ferent books which each of them
reads. In Walburga's sleeping-
chamber, on a table close by her
bed, lie two well-fingered volumes :
one is Master Eckhart, the Father
of German Mystics ; the other is
Blessed Henry Suso's Little Book of
Eternal Wisdom. Fora number of
years these have been well-nigh
her constant companions, and she
knows them almost by heart.
More than once have they inspired
her to renewed effort when she felt
disheartened, as well as lighten-
ed the cross which afflicted her.
"The swiftest steed to carry us to
perfection is suffering," says Eck-
hart; and these words Walburga
often repeats to herself.

But in Moida's apartment, in-
stead of the mystics we find a song-
book, an arithmetic, and the Re-
gensburg book of cookery.

i68

'Conrad and Walburga.

While Caro was frisking about
and yelping, the nightingale, as we
have already observed, was war-
bling a song for its mistress, who
stood listening with a pensive air.

" You shall never die in a cage,"
she murmured presently. "'Tis a
shame to keep you even one day a
prisoner."

" How so ?" exclaimed Moida,
who had quick ears, and was a
mortal foe to anything like mere
sentimentality. " Are not birds
created for our pleasure? And
you take such care of yours! Why,
I'm sure he is quite as happy as if
he were flying about in the groves,
hunting here and there for food,
chased by other birds, and journey-
ing hundreds of miles to find a
warm climate in winter ; whereas
you give your pet plenty to eat I
sometimes think too much (Moida
was economical) and whenever it
is cold your room is turned into a
hot-house to please him."

" Ah ! but, Moida dear," answer-
ed Walburga, " he has no playmate,
no other little bird to love ; and
what is life without love?"

" Well, he loves you, doesn't
he?"

"Yes, and very much. But that
is not the kind of love I mean. He
has no mate to sing to. I am sure,
in the song he is giving us now, he
is sighing and pining for some other
pretty bird whom he might kiss
and caress and woo."

"Well, I do declare!" exclaim-
ed Moida, bursting into a laugh.
Then, suddenly becoming grave :
"But, no, no, I mustn't laugh. I
agree with you : love is everything,
and Ulrich is my nightingale. Why,
every letter he writes to me is a
sweet song of love."

For several minutes after Moida
uttered these words Walburga re-
aiiained silent. They had awakened

in her breast longings which had
better have slept for ever. But we
cannot escape from ourselves ; and
she was born with a nature full of
tenderness and sympathy. It made
her yearn for something which she
might call all her own, something
to serve and cherish and suffer for.
Home ! home ! this was the secret
craving of Walburga's soul. But,
alas ! she had barely the glimmer
of a hope that this happiness would
ever be hers ; and even good Eck-
h art's words, which she now re-
peated to herself, did not bring
her the usual comfort.

The poor girl, too, was an or-
phan ; her brother was away from
her, and a day would come when
Moida would fly off into Ulrich's
arms. "And, oh ! then I'll be lone-
ly indeed," she sighed.

While Walburga was thus musing
on her fate Moida took up her
zither,* and, seating herself by the
open window, sang in a rich con-
tralto voice one of the old Volks-
lied, beginning :

" Ach. wie ist's moglich dann,
Das ich dich lasscn kann !
Hab dich von Herzen lieb,
Das Glaube mir !"

which may be rendered :

"Ah! how can I from thee depart ?
Believe roe, my heart's love thou art !''

When the song was finished Wal-
burga, in whose eyes tears were
glistening, said : " Nobody can beat
my nightingale singing except you.
Oh ! who will sing for me when you
are gone ?"

<c Gone ! Why, I never mean to
leave you, dear Walburga; no, ne-
ver!" cried Moida.

"Ah! Ulrich will carry you
away; and then "

"Yes, yes, so he will, the dear
boy ! and then I'll take you in my

* An instrument, not unlike a guitar.

Conrad and Walburga.

169

arms, and carry you away too, and
thus we'll all three fly off together,"
interrupted the sunny-hearted girl.
Then Moida sang another song,
and another, and another, until
one by one all the stars came out
of their hiding-places in the sky;
and never did they shine down
upon two warmer friends than
these.

In the fairest valley of Tyrol, and
perched on a spur of the mountain,
a thousand feet above the swift-
flowing river which gives the Inn-
thai its name, stands Loewenstein
Castle. How admirably placed it
is ! From afar the enemy might
be espied approaching; and when
he came near it needed stout lungs
as well as a bold heart to climb the
steep ascent which led to its walls,
for 'tis like an eagle's eyrie to get
at. When the castle was built
many an eagle used to soar above
its battlements, and the dense pine
forest which covered the land was
the haunt of wolves and bears.

Tyrol is wild enough to-day.
What must it have been in the
ninth century? The Roman le-
gions had once marched through
the valley on their way to conquer
Germany. But Rome had fallen,
and only here and there an earth-
work, or a paved road, or a senti-
nel-tower was left to tell how far
her soldiers had penetrated into
the wilderness. Afterwards bar-
barians and wild beasts had it all
to themselves as before had it
all to themselves, until by and by,
in the course of time, afoot, or per-
chance mounted on an ass which
had carried him across the snowy
Brenner poor ass ! how it must
have longed for sunny Italy again
came a monk. St. Benedict bade
him go forth and preach the Gos-
pel ; and lo ! here he was, quite at

home amid these shaggy-looking
men, very Esaus for hairiness, and
in manners a shade removed from
cannibals. And this monk's track
had been followed ere long by
other monks, until finally what
Roman power could not do they
did.

Round about the monastery the
trees were felled and the land
made to bloom ; no farmers better
than those old monks. And they
cultivated the barbarians, too, as
well as the soil.

Then, when times were ripe for
him to appear, when there was
something to plunder, on the moun-
tain-side the robber-knight built
his fastness; and Loewenstein did
its share of plundering in those
good old times.

But there was a chapel attached
to the castle, and the baron's lady
was devout, if he was not. Gently,
little by little, she persuaded her
consort to take part in her devo-
tions, and in the end made a pretty
fair Christian of him. But the Von
Loewensteins loved dearly to fight;
the dust of the battle-field was
sweeter than incense to their nos-
trils ; and so to the Holy Land they
went, nor missed a single Crusade.
The knight's bride with her own
hands would buckle on his armor,
then go take her post on the top-
most turret, waving adieu as long
as her swimming eyes could see
the gleaming helmet that sometimes
never gleamed again for her.

Many a century has rolled by
since those brave days of battle-
axes and healthy men ; and now
Loewenstein is only a ruin. But
the monastery still stands, the gray-
ness of its old age hidden by the
greenness of its ivy, and St. Bene-
dict would not find things much
changed if he were to make his
brethren a visit.

Conrad and Walburga.

It is sunset, and the new owner
of Loewenstein has just returned
from Munich, whither he went to
enjoy himself awhile in the Pina-
kothek.

" What a pleasure 'twill be,"
Conrad Seinsheim is saying to him-
self, " to restore this ancient cas-
tle ! Happily, one tower is left, and
in it I can make shift to dwell until
the rest of the edifice is complet-
ed. " Then, speaking aloud : " And
I will embellish my home with
beautiful paintings and statuary ;
and the first statue shall be a wo-
man." Here he turned his deep-
set, heavy-browed eyes upon a
young man who was seated beside
him sketching the ruin. The latter
looked up and smiled.

" And a living woman it is to
be," added Conrad.

" Have you found your dream,
then, sir ?" inquired Ulrich, toss-
ing back the long, unkempt hair
which he persisted in wearing, al-
beit it troubled him not a little, for
'twas constantly falling in his eyes.

" I believe I have," replied Con-
rad. Whereupon he went on to
tell of the young lady whom he
had seen copying Carlo Dolce's
picture of Innocence. While he
was speaking a faint tinge of red
spread over Ulrich's cheek ; for
Moida had written that his sister
was making a copy of this very
painting. Suddenly he laid his
pencil aside and rose to his feet.
Conrad observed him in silence,
but without any air of contempt ;
if he did not pray himself, he re-
spected none the less those who
did, and the monastery bell was
ringing the Angelus. As Ulrich
murmured the prayer he could not
help thinking that likely at this
very moment Moida was saying it
also.

When the sound of the bell died

away Conrad passed with him into
the tower, where they began exam-
ining its faded frescos.

" These must have a strange ef-
fect on you," remarked the former.
** Doubtless yonder barely percep-
tible figure of a lady stretching
forth her hand and clasping an-
other hand her lover or husband,
perhaps was one of your ances-
tresses !"

''Well, it is indeed sad for me
to view such ruin and decay in the
place where myself and so many
of my name were born," answered
Ulrich. " I feel all the while as if
I were moving about among ghosts.
But then 'tis many, many years
since Loewenstein was anything
better than what it is to-day. The
wind, I have heard my dear mother
say, used to blow in through the
chinks in the wall and rock my
cradle." Here the poor fellow gave
a rueful smile. " You see," he con-
tinued, " old families die hard. It
often takes them more than one gen-
eration to get down to the bottom of
the hill. Why, my parents were lit-
tle better off than the owls when they
inhabited this ruin ; and 'twas high
time to quit it when they did. But
we are out at last on the broad world,
and I can truly say I thank God
that a man like yourself has bought
my ancestral home. Again let me
thank you, sir, thank you from the
bottom of my heart, for your kind-
ness in giving me employment."

These words, uttered in a frank,
manly tone, pleased Conrad, who,
when he first met the young artist,
had taken him for a silly fellow
that was clinging to the shadow of
a great name while too proud to
do any work. Ulrich certainly had
rather a haughty mien ; but, thanks
to the girl to whom he was be-
trothed, he had acquired a good
deal of common sense, and, more-

Conrad and Walburga.

171

over, he had a warm heart. So
that Conrad, who pitied his thread-
bare appearance, soon grew to like
him, and during the past week had
made the youth take up his quar-
ters with him in the tower.

" Well, I deem it a great piece of
good-fortune to have fallen in with
you, "said Conrad. " For, although
I don't believe in spirits coming
back to molest those who occupy
their former abodes, yet, really, to
have passed a night here alone
might have made my flesh creep.
How old is Loewenstein, do you
know ?"

Ulrich, who knew pretty well the
whole history of his house, now
proceeded to relate it, briefly of
course ; yet he told enough to
make the other long to hear more.
And when he had finished Conrad
said :

"Although I am an ardent be-
liever in the aristocracy of nature,
nevertheless I feel all the more
drawn to you for being a Von
Loewenstein." After a pause he
added: "I wonder who my Dream
will turn out to be? Will she ap-
preciate dwelling in a castle ? Oh !
yes, I am sure she will."

And Conrad went on to tell
again of Walbnrga's look of rapture
as she stood at her easel, and of her
tall, graceful figure :

V I am sure, too, her hair is all
her own ; in fact, every part of her
is as classic as her face."

While he thus gave utterance to
his admiration for Ulrich's sister
Ulrich's heart was in a flutter, and
he could not help thinking what
happiness 'twould be if Walburga
were one day to become mistress
of Loewenstein. Yet at the same
time he thought it not a little
strange that Conrad should express
such unbounded admiration for
one who did not expect, any more

than he did himself, that ever a
man would wish her for his bride.

" But tell me," pursued Conrad,
twitching his sleeve, "is there no
dear girl whom you have fallen in
love with ? Artists, of all men, you
know, are the most prone to the
tender passion."

"Oh! indeed there is," answer-
ed Ulrich" as sweet a girl as ever
breathed. Once a week she writes
to me and I to her."

" Well, who is she ? Where does
she live ?"

" In Munich, sir. Her name is
Moida Hofer; and, although of
peasant descent, I call her noble,
for many of our mountaineers have
owned their rough acres for gen-
erations, and, moreover, Moida's
grandfather was Hofer the Patriot."
" Really ! Oh ! then, don't let her
slip; marry her by all means, for
she belongs to my nobility," ex-
claimed Conrad with enthusiasm.
" And of course she is beautiful ?"
"Every girl, sir, is beautiful
when a man loves her ; and I de-
test Greek noses and Roman no-
ses since I have known Moida, for
she hasn't one."

Here the other burst into a loud
laugh, which frightened away a
couple of bats that had been cir-
cling about their heads ; for bats
and swallows, as well as owls and
hawks, found their way into this
ancient chamber, which had not
been pccupied till now since Ul-
rich and his sister left it as chil-
dren.

" And you should hear Moida
sing," continued Ulrich; "and
hear her talk, too. Oh ! she is so
wise. She knows how to preach
to me and tell me of my faults
without ever making me angry. I
was living in Cloudland before I
met her. She said : ' Ulrich, come
down out of the clouds and earn

Conrad and Walburga.

your bread'; and 'tis owing to
her that I persevered in my art-
studies and am able to paint a
little."

" You certainly have talent,"
said Conrad, "judging by the
sketches in your portfolio. But
let me ask why you do not mar-
ry ?"

At this question Ulrich heaved
a sigh.

" Is it want of money ?"

" Well, our honeymoon will
come some day or other," said the
youth, evading a response. " She
is patient more patient than I.
She cheers me up; knits stock-
ings for me; makes me shirts; in
fact, she does as much for me al-
most as if she were my wife. Dear,
dear, dear Moida!"

" May I inquire how Miss Hofer
earns a livelihood?"

" She keeps a small store, an old-
curiosity shop, where one may buy
for a mere trifle chairs and mir-
rors, and clocks and engravings,
together with many other articles
that at some time or another adorn-
ed noble houses. You may find
there a number of things that used
to belong to Loewenstein."

"Indeed! Then I'll buy out
her whole stock upon my word I
will and back to this spot shall
come every chair and mirror and
clock. O Ulrich, Ulrich ! why
didn't you tell me this before ?"

After thus conversing awhile
within the tower, and it being set-
tled that the young man was to be-
gin on the morrow his labor of
restoring the frescos, they pass-
ed out by what must once have
been a stately passage-way, but was
now so encumbered with fragments
of stone and mortar that Conrad
and Ulrich were obliged to stoop
very low, at one place almost to
creep, in order to emerge into the

open air. As we have already ob-
served, the tower was the only por-
tion of the castle not entirely in
ruin ; the rest of the building was
so shattered by time that it was
difficult even for imagination to
picture it as it had been in the days
of its glory.

" Here," said Ulrich, "used to be
the chapel. On this spot the first
Mass was offered up in Loewen-
stein."

"Well, I will rebuild this, too,
unbeliever though I am," said
Conrad. " And oh ! would that my
dead faith might be quickened
as easily as these crumbled stones
can be put into shape again. But,
happily, women are still prayerful,
and the young lady whom I hope
to win shall have her chapel to
pray in. But, alas! what desolation
has come to this hallowed spot
what desolation ! Everything gone
except one tomb. I must not tread
upon it, for doubtless one of your
race lies buried underneath."

" Only a few words on the monu-
ment are legible," said Ulrich,
stooping and brushing off the dust
with his hands :

' Hie jacet Walburga ;
Requiescat in pace !'

The rest I cannot make out ; but
I remember hearing my father say
that this Walburga was a Hunga-
rian princess, who married Hugo
von Loewenstein toward the close
of the fourteenth century."

" How sad is the fall of old fami-
lies !" observed Conrad after a
moment's silence, during which his
eyes remained fixed on the blurred
slab at his feet. " But I sometimes
believe there is a law which governs
the strange and solemn procession
of generations : as the wheel of
time goes round and round, the
king takes his turn at beggary, and

Conrad and Walburga.

the beggar shuffles off his rags and
mounts up to the throne."

" Therefore at some future day,
if your notion be correct, I, or one
of my descendants, will get this
castle back again," said Ulrich,
smiling.

" Nowadays," pursued Conrad,
as if in soliloquy, " people affect to
be democratic ; we win our spurs
by speculating in cotton, or grain,
or some other stuff, instead of by
brave deeds on the battle-field.
Well, well, I for one prefer the
helmet and the battle-axe to the
chinking of the money-changers."
Then, turning to Ulrich : " It sur-
prises you to hear me say this,
eh ?"

To tell the truth, it did surprise
him ; but Ulrich did not show it.

"Well, a fortnight ago I would not
have spoken thus," he continued.
" But the truth is, the veriest demo-
crat loves in his secret heart a
pedigree; and if he hasn't one, he'll
pay somebody to make him a
family-tree; and then he'll buy a
ruin, as I have done, and get to
feel as I feel, perhaps. Why, Ulrich,
1 do believe somebody has thrown
a spell over me ; ay, this fair lady
sleeping under the old stone here
has touched me with her spirit wand.
Why, I feel as if I were a Loewen-
stein I do ! Ido!" Here Conrad
brandished his cane and repeated
aloud the Loewenstein motto : In-
taminatis fidget honoribus.

" How it would please Walburga
to hear him talking thus!" said
Ulrich inwardly. " Proud as she
is, I think her heart might incline
towards him."

It should perhaps be observed
that hardship had wrought little
effect upon Walburga. It had
scarcely bent her spirit at all ; and
not once since she quitted the home
of her forefathers had she returned

173

to visit the dearly-loved spot. "It
would be too bitter a sight to see
vulgar people wandering amid its
ruins," she would tell her brother.
"I'd rather have Loewenstein
disappear entirely, be covered up
by the mountain, than that some
rich upstart should buy it, then
pull down the mite that is left of
its glorious walls, and erect a mo-
dern villa in their stead."

Nor had she for several years
entered Moida Hofer's store, where
so many curious objects were ex-
posed for sale ; and once, when her
friend had disposed of a Loewen-
stein clock, one of the primitive
kind, with pendulum swinging in
front ay, and disposed of it, too,
for a pretty good price Moida did
not dare mention the fact. Indeed,
the old-curiosity shop was now a
banished theme of conversation be-
tween them.

By and by, after telling Ulrich
for the twentieth time how finely
the castle was to be renovated,
Conrad said : " Now let us go in
and take some repose ; for to-
morrow, you know, we are to be up
early you to do a good day's work,
while I must be off by the first train
to Munich, where I am determined
to have another look at my Dream."

With this they went back into the
tower, and after trying, but without
success, to drive the bats out of
their dormitory, Conrad and Ulrich
lay down to rest. The former was
soon fast asleep; but the youth, who
had a more vivid imagination, stay-
ed awake a whole hour thinking of
the many who had occupied this
chamber in days gone by. The
moon shimmering in through the
iron-barred window over his head
flung a weird halo round about the
lady painted on the wall ; and he
could not but think what a very,
very ghostly chamber it was.

174

Conrad and Walburga.

A month had gone by since
Ulrich had laid eyes on Moida
Hofer only a month, yet it seemed
as long as six months. So next
morning, when Conrad was making
ready to descend the hill on his
way to Munich, the youth thrust
his hand into his pocket, and, draw-
ing forth some small pieces of silver,
counted them over carefully. With
anxious heart he counted them, and
to his great delight found that there
was just enough money to carry
him to his betrothed and back.
The other, who had a quick eye,
was not slow to read what was
passing in Ulrich'smind, and said :
44 Is there any message you wish
delivered to Miss Hofer? Or per-
haps you will accompany me ? Do;
and we may visit her curiosity-shop
together. To-morrow will be time
enough to begin work on the fres-
cos."

" Well, I own, sir," replied Ulrich,
" 'twould give me great happiness
to see my lady-love ; and I'll labor
all the harder for making her a
visit,"

Accordingly they both set out
for Munich, which was reached in
four hours eight it seemed to the
impatient travellers, who as soon
as they arrived went straight to
Fingergasse.

Never was street better named, for
it is little broader than a finger, and
consequently only at high noon
does the sun cheer it with its rays.
But this mo'rning Fingergasse
looked anything but dismal to the
young artist, who knew that a pair
of bright eyes were about to greet
him, and already were shooting
floods of light into his heart.

"Why, Ulrich! Ulrich!" These
were Moida's first words as she flew
towards him. Perhaps in presence
of a stranger she may have expect-
ed only a warm shake of the hand

in response or a pat on the cheek.
But in an instant the arms of her
lover were twined about her neck.
Then, when the greeting was over,
Conrad Seinsheim was introduced,
and we need not say that the girl
surveyed him carefully. Moida
found him not handsome like her
Ulrich ; rather the opposite. But
she admired his broad forehead and
the energy which flashed through
his eyes; even his air of sternness
did not displease her, for she re-
cognized in him a man with opin-
ions of his own, a man of power and
decision.

And now, reader, blame her not
for telling Conrad frankly and in her
most winning way that her store
was the best place in town to find
old curiosities. " Why, sir," said
Moida, " I have even some four-
teenth-century chairs from Loew-
enstein Castle, of which doubtless
you have heard. 'Tis the oldest
castle in Tyrol, and "

" Moida," interrupted Ulrich,
" did I not write to you that "

" Oh, hush ! hush !" said Moida,
blushing and putting her plump
hand over his mouth.

"Well, I am here," observed
Conrad, trying hard not to smile
" I am here purposely to buy every-
thing your store contains ; for I am
now owner of Loewenstein, and
mean to fit it up as far as possible
in true mediaeval style."

"Really!" exclaimed Moida.
"Really!"

Whereupon Conrad did smile out-
righ at her look of surprise and joy.
Then presently she turned towards
Ulrich, and her lips moved as if
she were trying to speak. But he
could only guess what she wanted
to say. Yes, Moida, if Conrad
purchases all that your little store
holds, then indeed you may name
your wedding-day. And if a radi-

Conrad and Walburga.

175

ant expression can make a homely
face beautiful, it would have been
difficult to find a more beautiful girl
than Moida at this moment.

After speaking volumes to Ulrich
through her blue eyes, she turned
again to Conrad and said in an ear-
nest tone: "O, sir! how kind you
are. I cannot find words to ex-
press my thanks."

The latter waved his hand, as if
to say, " Pray do not thank me,"
then set about examining the curi-
osities. These consisted of nine
chairs ranged side by side along the
wall, half a dozen breast-plates and
helmets, a stack of arquebuses and
pikes, three crossbows, some sil-
ver plates and goblets, a ewer, a
couple of clocks which had not
ticked in a century, an earthen-
ware stove quaintly embossed
with scenes from Holy Writ, and
apparently a countless number of
smaller objects, such as seals, rings,
miniatures, and coins.

Picking up one of the miniatures,
Conrad exclaimed: "Why, I declare,
this is very like a young lady whom
I saw lately in the Pinakothek,
only here is a full view of her face,
whereas I saw but the profile of my
Dream."

At this remark Moida stepped
up and whispered : " Tis the por-
trait of Walburga, the spouse of
Hugo von Loewenstein ; and 'tis the
only thing I am not willing to part
with." The other turned towards
her a moment with an air of disap-
pointment ; then, perceiving that
she was in earnest, he let the sub-
ject drop.

A few minutes later Conrad was
on his way to the picture-gallery,
while Ulrich remained to enjoy
the company of his betrothed.
The first thing Moida did was to
run out and fetch him a mug of
beer. This may seem too trivial a

fact to relate ; nevertheless, truth
may as well be told. She knew
that in Tyrol he had had only
water or wine to drink ; and what
can equal Munich beer? As Ul-
rich quietly sipped the delicious
beverage, her quick eye ran over
his buttons. She took them all in
at a glance, and in another moment
Moida's needle was busy mending
a rent in his sleeve. But while the
girl sewed, she ever and anon peep-
ed up at his face, and thought to
herself: "In the whole kingdom
of Bavaria there is nobody can
compare with my Ulrich." And,
moreover, full of common sense as
Moida was, there was nothing she
admired more than the two sword-
cuts on her dear boy's cheek, in
shape like a cross ; and well did she
remember the day when he receiv-
ed them, now five years ago. For,
like most German students, Ulrich
had belonged to a corps (his was
the Teutonia), and occasionally en-
gaged in a duel. It was on that
memorable day that he addressed
her the first tender word, after hav-
ing had his wounds sewed up ;
while Moida, as she listened with
fluttering heart and drooping eyes,
thought to herself: "I am the
third one to whom he has said this.
Oh ! I wonder which of us will win ?"

Then she pretended that she did
not care a straw for him ; where-
upon Ulrich presented her with a
beautiful nosegay four florins it
cost him and the rest we need not
narrate.

" By the way, how is Caro ?" in-
quired Ulrich, after holding the
glass to her lips and making Moida
take a sip of the beer.

"As frisky as if he were a pup-
py," answered the latter, highly
pleased at the question. Ulrich
knew it would please her.

"Well, wouldn't it be nice to

Conrad and Walburga.

have the old dog settled at Loew-
enstein, where he might get plen-
ty of fresh air and be outdoors as
much as he chose ?" added the
youth.

"Ay; but what chance is there
of that ? unless you were to take
him ; and he'd be rather trouble-
some."

" No pet of yours would ever
trouble me," rejoined Ulrich. " And
let me tell you, Moida, strange
things happen in the world."

With this he proceedefi to reveal
how much Conrad Seinsheim ad-
mired a certain young lady whom
he had seen in the Pinakothek.

" 'Tis the very one you heard
him say that miniature is so like ;
and I know he is gone there now
purposely to see her again. And
it must be Walburga, for isn't she
copying Carlo Dolce's picture of
Innocence ?"

Leaving Ulrich and his betroth-
ed to discuss the possibility of a
union between a Von Loewenstein
and a Seinsheim, let us follow the
footsteps of Conrad.

He found the one of whom he
was in quest seated at her easel,
perhaps a trifle nearer the wall
than before, and with the same ex-
pression on her face which had so
ravished his heart the first time he
lighted upon her. She seemed not
to notice his approach, and when at
length Conrad ventured to ask if the
copy she was making wer for sale,
Walburga replied, apparently with
indifference, and without taking her
eyes off the canvas : " Yes, sir, it is."
Yet how his question set her heart
a-throbbing! For the sale of the
picture would enable the girl to
pay several bills that were due, as
well as take a trip to Nuremberg,
which for years she had been long-
ing to visit; for Nuremberg was the
birthplace of Albert Diirer.

" How differently Miss Hofer
would have answered me!" thought
Conrad, observing Walburga with
close attention. " She would have
looked me full in the face and
completed a bargain forthwith;
ay, and persuaded me, too, to offer
a high price for the picture." Then
aloud, and addressing Walburga in
courtly German style : " Well, if
the gracious lady will allow me to
possess her beautiful copy, I shall
be delighted. For I have just
bought an old castle in the Tyrol,
which I mean to restore, as far as
money may, to its former state of
grandeur, and I promise you your
painting shall adorn the fairest
chamber in it."

"An old castle, indeed!" mur-
mured Walburga, still without glanc-
ing at him. She wondered wheth-
er it might be Loewenstein. Then
presently, unable to contain her
eager desire to know if it was or
not, she said : " May I ask, sir, in
what part of the Tyrol your castle
is?"

" In the Inn thai, not far from
Innspruck; and it once belonged to
the noble house of Von Loewen-
stein."

At these words a flush crimsoned
the girl's cheek for a moment, then
disappeared, leaving her paler than
before ; while her brush, always so
steady, now tremblingly touched
the canvas. At length, after vainly
endeavoring to master her feelings,
she let the brush drop and buried
her face in her hands.

Conrad's curiosity was here rais-
ed to a high pitch ; for although
Ulrich had not told him that he
had a sister an artist, yet he was
quick-witted, and since he had
seen the miniature in the old curi-
osity-shop and Moida, we remem-
ber, had informed him that it came
from Loewenstein Conrad had been

Conrad and Walburga.

177

hoping that the young lady whom
he called his Dream might prove
to be one of the Loewenstein fam-
ily, a near relative of Ulrich's his
sister, perhaps,

"And why not?" he asked him-
self. " A likeness may be handed
down through many generations ;
it may vanish for a space, like a
lost stream, then reappear in the
person of a far-off descendant. And
verily, this charming girl is the liv-
ing image of Walburga, the bride
of Hugo von Loewenstein. And,
oh ! if I am right, what a treasure
she will be. True, I am not high-
born, and she may not view me at
first with favor. But I'll go through
fire to win her !"

Presently Walburga uncovered
her face, and for the first time stole
a furtive glance at the one who
stood beside her. Then quick her
eyes were fastened on the canvas
again ; and while Conrad was won-
dering at her shyness a tear rolled
down her cheek. His curiosity to
know who she was now increased
tenfold, and he said, in a voice the
tenderness of which he did not care
to conceal :

" Gracious lady, pray be not of-
fended if I ask whether you have
ever been to Loewenstein ?"

" I was there once; I never wish
to lay eyes on it again," answered
Walburga, trying to conceal her
emotion.

" Would it offend you if I were to
inquire the reason why ?" pursued
Conrad, now scarcely doubting who
she was.

For more than a minute Wal-
burga did not trust herself to
speak. Finally she said :

" What spot, sir, can be so sad as
an abandoned home? Parting with
our birthplace to strangers does
not tear up the deep roots whereby
our heart clings to it. We feel to-

VOL. XXVII. 12

wards it as towards a dear friend
whom we have deserted. O sir!
for many, many years for centu-
ries " here Walburga drew herself
proudly up " my race held the
castle which now is yours ; and I
lov^ it so much that I cannot
speak of it with calmness. A friend
dies and we hide him in the earth ;
a dead home remains, mournfully
gazing on us whenever we pass by.
'Tis why I will not go near dear,
dear Loewenstein : nothing so ghost-
like as an abandoned home !"

By this time tears were glistening
in the dark, cavernous eyes of her
listener; and when Walburga finish-
ed speaking Conrad said :

" Gracious lady, you cannot ima-
gine how precious to me the old
ruin has become. I love it, too."

Here for the second time Wal-
burga looked at him, but, as be-
fore, only by a swift side-glance.
Then she said: U I must return you
thanks, sir, for your kindness to
my brother. He wrote to a young
lady, his betrothed, all about it,
and she told me ; and I sincerely
rejoice that Loewenstein has fallen,
into the hands of a gentleman like
yourself."

" Then you are Ulrich's sister ?"'
exclaimed Conrad.

" His only sister, and he my only
brother. You cannot tell how I
miss him."

"Well, he accompanied me to-
day, and is now with Miss Hofer."

" Indeed ! How delighted I am !"

" And I am much pleased with
his lady-love," added Conrad.

" Well you may be, sir. She is
the salt of the earth. Ulrich needs
a shrewd, practical woman for his
wife ; for the dear fellow is some-
what of a dreamer like myself.
We both of us live in the past.
But now do let me know how you
came to meet Moida Hofer."

178

Conrad and Walburga.

" It happened in this wise : Your
brother told me there were in her
curiosity-shop many relics from
Loewenstein, which I determined
$o possess. And really, I was
charmed with the few words she
addressed to me ; her ways are so
sprightly and winning. And I, for
my part, am curious to know how
you fell in with the granddaughter
of Hofer the Patriot."

"Well, I'll tell you all about it,"
answered Walburga, as she went
on finishing the golden hair of her
picture. " You must know, sir,
that Ulrich and I were left orphans
at an early age, and immediately
after the death of our parents the
castle fell into the hands of the
s-tate ; for there were many taxes
unpaid, as well as heavy debts ow-
ing here and there. So away went
Loewenstein. But, although quite
penniless, God sent us in our ut-
termost need a generous lady, who
had no children of her own, and
who adopted us and gave us a home
in Munich. This lady had a small
fortune, enough to live comfortably
on and to educate us. Ah ! what
should we have done without her ?
Well, 'twas during this happy peri-
od that Ulrich made Moida's ac-
quaintance. She was then an or-
phan, too, and clad in the pictur-
esque costume of Tyrol ; a real
mountain daisy she was, and bro-
ther fell in love with her. Short-
ly thereafter our adopted mother
died, bequeathing to us her fortune,
and we little thought we should
ever suffer want. But, alas ! the
bank where our money was placed
failed, and all, or nearly all, was
lost. Then poor Ulrich, who had
already become engaged to Moida,
feared that he could not be mar-
ried t least not so soon as he had
hoped. 'Twas a bitter disappoint-
ment to them both. But Moida

said : * Let us be patient and hope.
I will never give you up.' Broth-
er and I were now fortunately well
advanced in our art studies Ul-
rich, moreover, had passed through
the university and we resolved to
try and earn our bread by painting.

"But 'tis easier to paint a picture
than to sell one" here Walburga 's
cheek reddened " and so for Ul-
rich and I 'twas Lent all the year
round ; and we grew very thin, for
we did not even eat fish. Until
one day dear Moida discovered
our miserable plight : we had done
our best to conceal it. Then she
insisted on doing her utmost to
help us. She made me share her
lodging; she even clothed me. And
this was mostnoble in her, for Moida
knew that our high-born acquaint-
ances had told Ulrich he would
be marrying infinitely beneath him
if he married her. Yet not one of
those proud families extended to
us a helping hand. About this
time Moida had set up a little
store the one she keeps to-day.
But she would not let me help her
to dispose of anything ; she treated
me as if she knew I was not born for
such drudgery sometimes archly
saying I could not make a good
bargain, which perhaps was true.

" But when the furniture of dear
Loewenstein was sold at auction,
and when Moida bought it all, oh !
from that day I have not set foot
in her curiosity-shop ; for I know
every clock and cup and pike and
helmet, and 'twould break my
heart to see this man and that
coming in and cheapening those
precious heirlooms. But Moida is
not displeased with me for holding
aloof; she respects my feelings, al-
though not at all a sentimental
girl herself. Unhappily during the
past year business has been very
dull, and she sells but few things,

Conrad and Walburga.

179

while the rent of the store keeps
high ; and only that my friend has
great spirit she might almost fall
into despair. Yet even now, in
what I may call her darkest hour,
she tells Ulrich to be cheerful, that
their wedding-day will come soon-
er or later."

" Yes, yes ; very soon," murmur-
ed Conrad, who felt tempted to lay
bare at once his whole heart to
Walburga. But a moment's reflec-
tion deterred him : it might appear
too abrupt, for the young lady had
never seen or spoken to him before.
So, while admiring her more and
more, he resolved to wait a little.

But Walburga's voice sounded so
sweetly to his ears that Conrad urged
her to go on and tell him something
more about herself and Moida.

Whereupon Walburga smiled and
hesitated; for although she had
scarcely paused an instant with her
brush, yet his presence was felt to
be a distraction. If she interested
him, it was no less certain that he
interested her. She could not feel
towards Conrad as towards a stran-
ger ; she knew that he had befriend-
ed Ulrich ; that he was now the
owner of the place where she was
born ; and that the many precious
things which debt and the auction-
sale had scattered to the winds he
was bent on recovering and tak-
ing back to Loewenstein. What
wrought most potently upon Wal-
burga was the evident interest
which he showed in herself. In-
stead of buying her picture and
then retiring, Conrad had dallied
half an hour by her side, and pre-
vailed on her to talk about her af-
fairs with an openness at which she
inwardly blushed.

Nor was he at all like the other
sight-seers who were wont to visit
the gallery. The two shy glances she
had given him had convinced her

that Conrad was no ordinary man ;
that whatever his origin even if
he did not know who his great-
grandfather was, as Ulricli had
written to Moida yet his was not a
grovelling, low-born soul.

Accordingly, after remaining si-
lent well-nigli a minute, Walburga
yielded to his request and proceed-
ed to tell him more about herself.
" Moida and I and two others,
sir," she resumed, "have a home
together which makes four of us
in one small lodging."

"Four!" repeated Conrad, just
a little disturbed and wondering
who the other two might be.

" Yes, four. There is myself,
Moida, Caro, and a nightingale."

" Oh ! indeed Caro and a night-
ingale," ejaculated her admirer,
with a sense of relief he was hardly
able to conceal.

"And never was a more peace-
ful home. Up under the roof it
is ; but that gives us fresh air, and
into our dormer windows the sun-
shine comes sooner than into any
other windows on the street."

" And you have the sweetest of
all birds to sing for you," observed
Conrad.

" Yes, indeed. But I sometimes
think of giving my pet his freedom.
Moida laughs at me for it. Moida
is"

" Not in the least sentimental,"
interrupted the other, with a smile.

" Well, true, she is not. But my
bird is now a prisoner, and I am
sure he must feel lonesome where
he is."

" Oh ! believe me, he is far hap-
pier as your prisoner than if he
were enjoying the freedom of all
the woods in Bavaria," said Conrad,
with a faint tremor in his voice.

" Indeed !" exclaimed Walburga,
answering his emotion by a crim-
son spot on her cheek.

1 8o

Rosary Stanzas.

"Well, you may be right," he
added presently. " Your kind
heart may tell you that your night-
ingale sighs for some other little
bird to love."

At these words the sweet, pink
blush spread itself with the quick-
ness of light over Walburga's whole
cheek, and she answered :

" I declare, 'tis just what I told
Moida."

" And what did she say ?"

" Moida said and no harm in
repeating it she said Ulrich was
her nightingale."

" Her nightingale ! Well, really,
your friend is sentimental; and I
envy your brother. It must be the
greatest of earthly joys to be hap-
pily wedded, as they soon will be."

Here Walburga's countenance
grew suddenly pensive, and she
murmured to herself: "Ay, the
greatest of earthly joys."

Conrad noticed the change in
her expression and wondered at it.

Then he thought to himself: " Tis
time for me to withdraw; I may
be wearying her."

But ere he retired he said: "May
I come again, gracious lady, to-
morrow or the day after? I some-
times have melancholy moods, but
these lovely pictures bring the sun-
shine back to my heart; and the
loveliest picture of all is in this
part of the gallery."

"You may, sir, if it pleases you,"
was the answer he received. Then,
making an obeisance, Conrad went
away, leaving Walburga hardly in a
fit state to continue her work; and
she inwardly repeated the words
which he had uttered about her
nightingale : " Far happier as your
prisoner than enjoying the freedom
of all the woods in Bavaria."

u What did he mean ?" she asked
herself. " What did he mean ?"

A few minutes later the girl rose
and went away too, still murmuring
the question : " What did he mean ?"

TO PE CONTINUED.

ROSARY STANZAS.

SORROWFUL MYSTERIES.

LUKE xxii. 44.

No impious hand, no torture-instrument

The Son of Mary yet has touched. Alone

His prostrate form upon the ground is rent

With cruel agony of blood to atone

For thy too easy life. A heart of stone

Could but dissolve before the piteous sight.

All through the Holy Hour he made his moan,

Beneath the olives, on the sacred height ;

Wrongs of the ages saw in vision that dread night !

Rosary Stanzas.
n.

JOHN xix. i.

An act, a little word, of God made man

Bears in itself his own immensity ;

To him the universe is but a span,

A world's full ransom his one tear might be.

Not as we reckon outlay reckons he,

Until his boundless love has lavished all.

The knotted scourge precedes the fatal tree.

Couldst thou return him less, if he should call ?

Or would the martyr's palm thy coward soul appall ?

in.

JOHN xix. 5.

A crown of thorns for him, a crown of bays

For such as 1 ! A fool might surely deem

The servant greater than his Master. Praise

Might to the sinner merest irony seem,

The while the Sinless One is made a theme

Of ribaldry. Before his crown of thorn

Honor and earthly glory are a dream,

A phantom flimsier than of vapor born :

By that pierced brow the crown of all the worlds is worn.

IV.

MATT. xi. 30.

Simon to bear thy cross they would compel ;

Yet for the deed, though done against his will,

On him and on his sons rich blessing fell,

As old traditions say. How richer still

The graces that the heart's long thirst will fill

For him who runs that sacred load to meet,

And bear it upward to the holy hill !

To share His burden be my footstep fleet:

True love will make his yoke unfelt, his burden sweet.

JOHN i. 29.

Behold, the Lamb of God is crucified !

His head is bowed, to impart the kiss of peace ;

Stretched are his arms, to draw thee to his side ;

1 82

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cmise and Effects.

Opened his heart, thy heart's love to increase.

His all is spent to purchase thy release.

Canst thou, my soul, love great as this refuse ?

Henceforth in thee let sin's dominion cease,

And with the Mother of the martyrs choose,

Rather than him in death, a whole world's wealth to lose.

PROHIBITORY LEGISLATION : ITS CAUSE AND EFFECTS.

IT has been well said that " the
best government is that which
governs least "; and it might with
infinite propriety be added that
the legislative body stultifies it-
self when it passes laws that can-
not possibly be carried into effect.
One such law on our statute-
books, yet constantly and notori-
ously violated, does more to de-
stroy that political morality with
which our people are, to say the
least, not overburdened of which
certainly there is no surplus than
would ten wrong practices against
which no law exists. We learned,
during the late war, of how little
avail legislation is when it under-
takes to regulate and declare the
value of gold ; and it is designed
briefly to set forth in this article
that the proposed much-vaunted
prohibitory legislation touching al-
coholic liquors is false in theory,
must be unsuccessful in practice ;
that remedial (not repressive) mea-
sures are what is required; and
to suggest means by which the
end aimed at by such enactments
can be attained without invading
the domain of the church, the free-
will of humanity, or placing the
state in the odious light of execu-
tor of a grinding tyranny exercised

by a temporary majority over a re-
calcitrant minority.

And here, in the outset, let it be
understood that there is no differ-
ence between ourselves and the
most ardent favorers of the Maine
Law, or any similar enactment on
this matter, concerning the detest-
able nature of drunkenness, which
we both admit to be a damning
sin in the sight of God and a
crying scandal before man. That
it is a loathsome vice is a pro-
position requiring only to be stat-
ed, not argued. Even the wretch-
ed being who is enthralled by it
will admit this and lament his de-
plorable condition. The days are
past when Fox, Pitt, and Sher-
idan went openly drunk to the
House of Commons ; when the usa-
ges of the highest society were such
that we still retain therefrom the
saying, " Drunk as a lord "; when
the literature of the age informs us
everywhere that gentlemen were
not expected to be sober after din-
ner ; when Burns could write in
Presbyterian Scotland, "Ihaebeen
fou wi' godly priests " ; and when,
in our own country, the first thing
on entering and the last on leaving
a house was a visit to the side-
board. Drunkenness is now de-

Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects. 183

servedly considered by the entire
community not only a vice but an
inherently vulgar one. Fashiona-
ble society will not tolerate it, and
there is no pretence of usage any
longer set up that will even par-
tially condone it. In short, it is
the one unpardonable sin against
modern society, and we are well
pleased to see it ranked in this cate-
gory. But while detesting drunken-
ness, and deprecating, in the strong-
est manner, the habitual use of in-
toxicating liquors, we dislike very
much to perceive a tendency on the
part of the public to ignore the
fact that there are other sins be-
sides the abuse of liquor, and that
it is not by legal provision that
people are to be kept sober. As
Almighty God has been pleased to
leave us our free-will, the reason is
not evident why frail man should
seek to take it away ; and we ob-
ject utterly to that queer manipula-
tion by which the word "tempe-
rance " itself, the proper meaning of
which is " moderation in any use
or practice," should be restricted
to the moderate use of alcoholic
drinks, much more that it should
falsely be twisted and perverted in-
to implying a total abstinence from
them. Why should we be wise
above what is written ? Has Al-
mighty God failed his church ?
Are we prepared to admit that
Christianity is a miscarriage ?
This we tacitly do when we invoke
to her aid the arm of the civil law.
It is not to be doubted but there
are persons so unfortunately con-
stituted that they cannot use stim-
ulants of any kind without abusing
them. " Madam," said Dr. John-
son to a lady who asked him to
take a little wine " madam, I
cannot take a little, and therefore
I take none at all!" Such per-

sons must plainly abstain entirely ;
whether they shall do so of their
own accord, by taking a simple
pledge or by joining a "tempe-
rance society," is for themselves to
answer. In any case there is no
safety for them save in total absti-
nence ; but said abstinence, to
have any merit whatever, must be
voluntary, not one of legal enforce-
ment.

While attention had, from time
to time within the last century,
been called to the intemperate use
of alcoholic liquors, it is only with-
in comparatively recent times that
any organized efforts have been
made to grapple with this monstrous
evil. The first association for the
purpose was made in Massachusetts
in 1813. By its means facts and
statistics were gathered and pub-
lished for the purpose of calling
the attention of the public to the
magnitude of the evil, and sugges-
tions made for its abatement or
suppression. Similar associations
were soon formed in adjoining
States, and these again organized
branches, until associations of the
kind existed in nearly all the East-
ern and Middle States. About 1820
there was formed in Boston " The
American Society for the Promo-
tion of Temperance," which in
1829 had over one thousand aux-
iliary societies, no State in the
Union being without one or more.
The influences relied upon by this
institution were the dissemination
of tracts in which were portrayed
the evil effects of the use of alco-
hol, and the employment of travel-
ling lecturers to deliver addresses
in favor of temperance. The first
society professing the principle of
total abstinence from intoxicating
liquors was formed at Andover in
1826. These several societies, un-

1 84

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

der one form or other, soon spread
largely not only in our own coun-
try but in Canada, England, and
Scotland, until they existed by
hundreds in each ; and about this
time the word temperance began to
lose its normal signification, and to
be used as a synonym for total ab-
stinence from the use of liquors.
Teetotalism became the popular
cry. The country was taken by
storm ; lecturers loomed up all
over the States, administered the
"pledge " publicly to hundreds of
thousands ; various minor denomi-
nations refitted their terms of com-
munion in accordance with the
new war-cry. In Ireland the
cause of total abstinence was so
successfully advocated by Very
Rev. Father Mathew that he is
stated to have administered the
pledge to more than a million per-
sons within three years from 1838;
and since that time there has been,
in the popular mind, no such thing
as temperance, except in the sense
of total abstinence from all that
can intoxicate. All the former as-
sociations which proposed to them-
selves any such secondary and in-
efficient object as moderation in
the use of liquors, or which admin-
istered either a partial pledge or
one merely for a specified time,
were disbanded or fell out of sight.
Societies of Washingtonians, Sons
of Temperance, Good Templars,
and Rechabites sprang up, most
of them secret and with signs, pass-
words, grips, tokens, etc., the mem-
bers of which were pledged neith-
er to touch, taste, handle, buy, sell,
manufacture, nor use as a beverage
the accursed thing. In 1851 the
Legislature of Maine passed the
well-known " Maine Law," by
which it was made penal to manu-
facture, have in possession, or sell

intoxicating drinks. The law was
repealed in 1856, and it has since
been lawful to distil, keep, or sell
spirits under certain restrictions,
but drinking-houses are prohibited.
A similar law was enacted in Mas-
sachusetts in 1867. In many of
the States there is a law prohibiting
the sale of liquors on Sunday, and
in a majority the local-option law
(which leaves the question wheth-
er license to sell spirits shall be
granted or not to the decision, at
the polls, of the people of each city,
town, township, or county) is now
in full blast, with results that we
shall glance at hereafter. A politi-
cal party has been formed in many
States, under the name of " prohibi-
tionists," which, though as yet but
rarely sufficiently numerous or
powerful to elect a governor on
that single issue, yet numbers ad-
herents enough frequently to hold
the balance of power between the
two prominent parties, and thus
extort from candidates very im-
portant concessions in their own
interests. They are active, ener-
getic, conscientious in the main,
and they besiege the various legis-
latures with petition upon petition
against the liquor-traffic, which,
to their minds, is the sum of all
iniquities. The various religious
sects come to their aid, loudly de-
crying all traffic in, and use of, spir-
ituous drink. Matters have been
brought to such a pass that a man's
reputation is imperilled by taking a
glass of liquor; and there is yet want-
ing but the one further step of mak-
ing its use illegal and its procure-
ment impossible -a course strongly
and unhesitatingly urged by almost
all the various supporters of what
is nowadays called temperance^
and which seems quite likely to
succeed, should the upholders of

Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects. 185

these views increase in numbers
for a few more years as they
have done within the last two de-
cades.

It is a law of all fanatical move-
ments, and one of their most pecu-
liarly dangerous features, that they
readily enmesh large numbers of
people, and that their workings,
tendencies, and developments fall
of necessity, in the long run, into
the hands of the extremists, the
intransigenteS) among themselves.
Nor has this movement proved an
exception, as is seen in the attempt
made by legal enactment to co-
erce people into the practice of an
enforced abstinence from stimulants
an abstinence not shown to be phy-
siologically desirable, not command-
ed by the church, and most assur-
edly not inculcated in Scripture.
But in secret societies always, in
sectarian combinations generally,
and oftentimes in political parties,
the experience of all ages shows
that people first set up for them-
selves a master, and then obey him
like so many slaves. They do this,
too, under the delusion, for the
most part, that they are carrying
out their own convictions of right.
It is much easier to join one of
these secret organizations in a flush
of curiosity, enthusiasm, or other
temporary excitement than it after-
wards proves to leave them in
calm blood. Ties of acquaintance
and quasi friendship have been
formed which most men strongly
dislike to break. Good care is
usually exercised that "the rhe-
torician, from whom," as Aristotle
says, " it is an errdr to expect demon-
stration," shall be on hand to stim-
ulate, exhort, inspirit, and incite to
still further and more vigorous ex-
ertion ; the boundaries between
right and wrong fade away from the
mental view ; and few start in on

this false track who fail to accom-
pany their misled companions as
far as the archbigot or archfanatic
may choose to take them.

Within the Catholic Church a
large number of total-abstinence
societies have been formed, of
course with her sanction. Most of
these are at the same time beneficial
institutions, which in case of sick-
ness give the member, and in case
of death to his nearest kin. a certain
allotted sum. But probably most
priests on the mission will say that
the great mass of Catholics who
feel the necessity for them of such
abstinence take the pledge as in-
dividuals at the hands of the priest,
either for a certain term or for life,
without joining any special society.
An immense amount of good has
thus been accomplished, particular-
ly among the poorer and laboring
population, a very large proportion
of whom are Catholics, and, from
their circumstances and inevitable
surroundings, most in danger of
falling into temptation in the matter
of drink, as well as most certain to
suffer very severely from its effects.
But it has at no time been, nor is
it now, any part of the teaching of
the church that her children shall
not manufacture, buy, sell, and use
(should they be so disposed) vin-
ous, malt, or spirituous drink. Con-
demning the abuse of them, and
reprobating drunkenness as a mor-
tal sin, she yet allows to her children
the moderate use and enjoyment
of that wine which our Blessed
Lord himself made for the use of
the guests at the wedding at Cana,
as well as of the other forms of it,
which no physician or chemist ever
found to be injurious per se until
it chimed in with a cry emanating
from a large, an influential, possibly
a well-meaning, but in our view
certainly, if so, a false- thinking, or

1 86 Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects.

it may be a deceived, portion of the
community.

And here it may be well to note
the unpardonable arrogance of as-
sumption with which the intem-
perately temperate of all sorts take
it for granted that all intelligence
and morality belong peculiarly to
those who inculcate or practise
this one principle of abstinence
from liquors. VVe see it displayed
most offensively, indeed, among the
variously bedizened and becollared
gentry of the divers oath-bound
secret societies, and among such
sectaries as practically make total
abstinence a term of communion ;
but truth compels us to go further,
and to admit the tendency, even
among Catholics, on the part of
those who have ardently attached
themselves to the societies got up
with this view, to treat all outsiders
as though living on a lower plane of
piety and morality than themselves.
" Stand thou off, for I am holier
than thou" is too frequently their
language in effect, if not in words;
and, indeed, that is an almost in-
evitable effect of what the Scotch
call " unco guidness." However,
the teaching and tenets of the
church remain what they have
always been, and the Catholic
manufacturer or vender of wines
and spirits, the total abstainer and
the moderate drinker, go to confes-
sion, receive absolution and holy
communion, together ; nor do intel-
ligent or well-instructed Catholics
imagine for a moment that the for-
mal pledge of abstinence from in-
toxicants, or membership in a total-
abstinence society, are anything
more than admijiicula to the indi-
vidual whom his own weakness, the
circumstances under which he earns
a livelihood, or other reasons place
in peculiar danger with reference to
this vice.

But there must be some strong
reason why an all-pervading neces-
sity has been felt, in this centu-
ry, for doing something in regard
to drunkenness, the need of which
(if ever previously perceived) has
certainly never been acted upon
by the most enlightened nations,
whether of antiquity or of modern
times. Lot was made drunk ; Noe
was drunk ; Nabal and the Ephra-
imites were " drunken withal" ; and
all the evils and phenomena of in-
toxication are fully described in
various passages of the Old Testa-
ment, always with reprobation, but
there is not to be found in the en-
tire book the slightest disapproval
of the use of the fruit of the vine.
On the contrary, oblations of wine
to the Deity are enjoined upon the
children of Israel; and the most
horrible judgments denounced by
the prophets of God upon the Jews
consist in their being deprived of
wine. In New Testament times
our Saviour was called by the
Pharisees (the prototypes of our
ultra- abstainers) a wine-bibber;
yet the same Jesus does not deem
it at all necessary to proclaim him-
self on the teetotal side, or to leave
us any precept against the use of
wine. On the contrary, he insti-
tutes in wine the sacrament of his
love, thus rendering the manufac-
ture of wine necessary till the end
of time. He himself changes water
into wine. His apostles nowhere
discourage its use, while they fre-
quently speak of and upbraid pro-
fessing Christians with its abuse,
and one of them actually advises
another to drop 'water and use a
little wine for sanitary reasons.
It would be sheer waste of time
to undertake to refute those very
ignorant or very dishonest persons
who try to make it appear that wine,
when mentioned in Scripture with

Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects. 187

commendation, is merely the tin-
fermented juice of the grape, and
that the shechar, tirosh, and yayin
were only intoxicating when excess
in their use was reprobated. Either
these people know better, and are
wittingly making use of a dishon-
est argument, or their ignorance is
too dense to be penetrated by any
proof, however cogent. The reader
who may wish to see this branch of
the subject succinctly yet exhaus-
tively treated should refer to an
article in the Westminster Review
for January, 1875, entitled "The
Bible and Strong Drink."

The Greeks and Romans cultivat-
ed the vine very largely, made and
used wine habitually ; but their
whole literature, while teeming with
reference to the use, in no single
instance commends the abuse, of
wine. That the Spartans were ac-
customed to make their slaves in-
toxicated, in order by their example
to deter young men from becoming
addicted to the vice, is as well at-
tested as any fact in history; while
even in the worst periods of Roman
story drunkenness is invariably re-
ferred to as disgraceful in itself,
never to be predicated of people
entitled to respect, and relegated,
even at the Saturnalia, to the rabble
and to slaves.

In the Stromata of St. Clement
of Alexandria, who lived in the lat-
ter part of the second century, we
find allusion made to a few who
at that day attempted to disturb the
harmony of the church by imitat-
ing the example which they pro-
fessed to consider set them in the
narration by the' Prophet Jeremias
of the story of the sons of Jonadab-
ben-Rechab, and we find those per-
sons classed by him with those of
whom the apostle speaks, as u com-
manding to abstain from that which
God hath ordained to be received

with thanksgiving." Two centuries
later St. Chrysostom and St. Au-
gustine both pointedly condemn, as
acting " plainly and palpably con-
trary to Scripture and to the doc-
trine of the Church," some who,
fancying they had attained spiritual
information not generally accessi-
ble, tried to introduce among Chris-
tians the vow of the Nazarites.
From that time till the former half
of the present century we read, in-
deed, of drunkenness as existing;
for that matter, we know of its ex-
istence in the earliest ages, and in
all times and countries since, just
as we do of incontinence, of theft,
and of suicide by poison. It was
reserved for the nineteenth centu-
ry to attempt to do away with the
possibility of the vice of drunken-
ness by rendering penal the produc-
tion of the means; which is as
though the law should step in to
render men chaste by emasculation,
theft impracticable by the abolition
of property; and not in the least
more feasible than would be the
carrying out of an edict against
the production of animal, mineral,
or vegetable poisons.

Now, we should not in the least
object to any well-devised and
practical legislation that would do
away with drunkenness entirely, if
that were possible, which it unfor-
tunately is not ; nor will it ever be
the case so long as the human race
exists upon earth. The question,
then, arises, What would be practi-
cal legislation in the matter ? This,
in turn, involves an inquiry into
the latent causes of the great com-
motion raised within this genera-
tion on the subject. It will be
fresh in the memory of reading
people in the United States that
some two years ago one of our
ablest metropolitan journals em-
ployed an agent to purchase sam-

1 83 Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects.

pies of every possibly adulterable
commodity from the most reputa-
ble venders in that city, drugs of
the same description from the
most respectable apothecaries in
short, specimens of everything on
sale that was capable of deteriora-
tion by admixture of foreign sub-
stances ; and that, on handing them
over to a competent chemist for
analysis, there was not a single in-
stance of an article so purchased
and tested that was not found
adulterated to the last extent. All,
without exception, whether articles
of food, drink, medicine, or pro-
ducts of the arts and manufactures,
were debased and corrupted al-
ways, of course, with an inferior
and cheaper, frequently with an
absolutely injurious, and in some
instances with a poisonous, admix-
ture. The exposure occupied the
columns of the paper referred to
for some two weeks, and was then
discontinued; not, however, with-
out leaving food for reflection in
the minds of the thoughtful. Now,
when we consider the still greater
temptation, the patent feasibility,
and the larger gains resulting from
adulteration of the various liquors,
owing to the many hands through
which they must and do pass be-
fore reaching their consumers, and
the almost total impossibility, as
things are, of detection, we shall
have strong reason a priori to
believe that such adulteration
takes place. But we have before
us at this moment a book of
some two hundred pages, en-
titled the Bar-keeper s Manual^ in
which the facts are laid down, the
method explained, the ingredients
unblushingly named, the manipula-
tions described, and a clear reason
thus afforded why the use of li-
quors nowadays is so ruinous to
health, so productive of hitherto

comparatively unknown forms of
disease, and has become in this
century especially such a crying
abomination. In this book (which
forcibly recalls to our mind an ad-
vertisement for " a man in a liquor
store " that we once saw, and which
wound up by stating that no one
need apply who did not under-
stand " doctoring " liquors) recipes
are given for making from common
whiskey any kind of gin, brandy,
rum, arrack, kirschwasser, absinthe,
etc., as well as any other desired
brand of whiskey ; together with
full directions for mixing, diluting,
coloring, adding strength, bead,
and fruitiness, as well as for flavor-
ing them each up to the required
mark. When we find among the
ingredients recommended (and evi-
dently used, as the result of expe-
rience in this diabolical labora-
tory) nux vomica, cocculus in-
dicus, strychnia, henbane, poppy-
seed, creosote, and logwood, to im-
part strength to the false liquor, we
need not inquire after the thousand
other less pernicious articles used
to supply color, odor, or bead to
the noxious compounds. Now,
from conversations held with per-
sons who have been engaged in
the liquor business in its various
forms, as well as from reliable in-
formation long since spread before
the public, but to quote which in
extenso would occupy too much
space, we may generalize these
facts, which we take to be not only
undisputed but indisputable; viz.,
that wines never, and brandies, gins,
etc., rarely, reach our shores in their
pure state; that the same assertion
is true of every imported liquor ;
that the subsequent adulteration is
something fearful to contemplate;
and that the advocates of prohibi-
tory laws are talking within bounds
when they call such preparations

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects. 1 89

poisons. We may further learn that
rarely indeed do our home-manu-
factured liquors pass in a pure
state into the hands of the first
purchaser; and that, after they
have passed through two or three
subsequent hands, whatever they
may have become, they are any-
thing in the world but pure liquors.
By the time, then, that they reach
the small groceries, drinking-shops,
doggeries, and the lowest classes of
saloons, all liquors will, on an
average, have passed through at
least seven or eight hands, each man
quite as eager as the last to make
all the gain he possibly can upon
the article ; and adulteration (he
has the Manual before him) pre-
senting the safest and easiest plan,
it follows that the laborer or artisan,
those whose poverty forces them to
frequent the lowest and meanest
places, will be supplied with the
most villanous article possible to
be conceived under the name of
liquor. Mr. Greenwood, in his
work, The Seven Plagues of London,
says :

"Where there is no pure liquor and
there is little such in London, even for
the wealthy perhaps nothing used by
man as a stimulant is liable to greater
and more injurious adulterations than
gin; and I assert that it is not to-day
to be procured pure (I speak not of mere-
ly injurious but) of absolutely poisonous
drugs at a single shop in London to
which a poor man would go or where he
would be served."

Mr. Nathaniel Curtis, the foun-
der and first Worthy Chief of the
Order of Good Templars, has
(though his deductions from the
facts are entirely different from
ours) made it abundantly evident
that the adulteration of all liquors,
fermented, vinous, and ardent, is
carried on in a most reckless man-
ner and without regard to conse-

quences in our own country. His
words are :

"From the tramp's glass of beer,
through the sot's glass of rum, jorum of
whiskey, or pull of gin, up to the mer-
chant's madeira or sherry and the mil-
lionaire's goblet of champagne, we have
shown them all to be, not what the
drinker supposes and that were bad
enough in all conscience but univer-
sally drugged, most frequently poisoned,
and not in one case of ten thousand con-
taining more than a small percentage of
the article the purchaser paid for."

We might multiply authorities,
chemical, medical, and purely sta-
tistic, on this subject to an indefi-
nite extent, but it would occupy
too much space; besides which,
reading men are already sufficient-
ly convinced of the facts. Within
the last few years such a mass
of damning evidence has been put
before the public on this subject
that the man must be wilfully
blind who does not udmit adulte-
ration of the most injurious sort
to be the rule in all the various
branches and phases of the liquor-
traffic. One quotation, however,
we must make from the pages of
the Dublin Review, July, 1870, arti-
cle " Protestant London," in which
the writer suggests something very
like our own view, though he
seems to have an idea that the
wholesale adulteration was, in Eng-
land, confined to fermented liquors,
which is indeed a grave mistake,
whether as regards England, Scot-
land, Ireland, Denmark, or in fact
any of the countries peculiarly af-
flicted by this demon of drink.
The writer says :

" Yet the effects of beer in England
are confessedly far worse than those of
wine in France. We believe the real ex-
planation of thistobe its adulteration. It
is by drinking, at first in moderation,
adulterated beer that the habit of intoxi-
cation becomes a slavery, by which men
are afterwards led on to the abuse of gin.

Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects.

There are at this moment thousands
of habitual drunkards among us who
would never have been drunkards at all,
had they not been betrayed into the
snare by drinking in moderation adul-
terated beer that is, if the beer sold in
pitblic-houses -were not universally adulter-
ated. This evil, at least, law well admin-
istered might meet and uproot. Gov-
ernment should not allow men both to
cheat "3C!\di poison their neighbors with im-
punity."

It is, then, not at all surprising
that mania a potu, delirium tre-
mens, and other disorders arising
from the abuse of good or the use
of drugged liquor should have be-
come so common in this country
as to furnish a good or, at any
rate, a plausible reason why many
conscientious persons have attri-
buted to the use of liquor effects
due, either solely or in great mea-
sure, to the stupefying and poison-
ous decoctions vended under that
name. But while this would have
been, at all times as it is now, an
excellent and an all-sufficient reason
for trying to induce people to re-
frain, whether by pledge or other-
wise, from such infernal compounds,
and for having analysts appointed
by law to examine and test the li-
quors sold in every tavern, we in-
sist that it is no argument at all for
doing away by law with the use of
liquor in toto. We believe sincere-
ly that no single measure (that can
be carried out) would do more to
lessen the national curse of drunk-
enness than the appointment of
competent chemists to see to the
purity of the liquors vended. And,
considering the advanced state of
chemical science among us, is it
absurd to suppose, that if the gov-
ernment were determined that so it
should be, the selling of adulterat-
ed liquor might not easily be made
so dangerous a trade as to be very
soon given over ? It is lamentable

that people are so eager for gain
that they will and do adulterate
everything capable of the process.
Physicians tell us that it is nearly
impossible to get at. the ordinary
drug-stores any of the higher-pric-
ed medicines in their pure state ;
that opium, quinine, etc., are near-
ly always impure, mixed with for-
eign ingredients ; and that, for this
reason, their prescriptions often
fail of the intended effect. This,
certainly, is no good reason for en-
acting a law to abolish entirely the
use of adulterable drugs ; nor be-
cause tea, coffee, sugar, tobacco,
mace, mustard, and pepper are
rarely found pure should we there-
fore abandon their use altogether.

Here, of course, it will be con-
tended that the cases are not par-
allel ; that whereas the abuse of
liquor, or the use of the drugged
article going by that name, ren-
ders man like the brute, degrades
and obliterates the image of God
in us, yet such is not the case with
the adulterated commodities of
food or with the drugs referred to.
True, the analogy does not hold
equally good throughout in each
case, but the principle is exactly
the same in all. We will go fur-
ther, admitting that liquor is in
very few cases an absolute neces-
sity ; but what a large number of
mankind regard it as of prime
importance to their well-being, to
their comfort, or, finally, to their
enjoyment ! How few of the great
mass of humanity, on the other
hand, are of that unfortunate con-
stitution of mind, of body, or of
both that they cannot restrain
themselves within the bounds of
moderation in the use of liquor
vinous or fermented ! Suppose
even that the passage of a prohibi-
tory law by the majority were con-
sonant with church and Scriptural

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects. 191

teachings, would it be fair or rea-
sonable that for the lamentable
weakness of the very few the com-
fort and enjoyment of the vast
mass of humanity should be lightly
set aside as an unconsidered trifle ?
That Anglican bishop who said
he " would rather see England free
than England sober " expressed a
noble sentiment, and we think,
with him, that enforced sobriety
(as would be that produced by
such a law) would be dearly pur-
chased at the expense of virtual sla-
very. Some one pithily condemns
that false system of morality that
begins by pledges of total abstinence,
but the falsity of such a scheme is
trifling compared with that which
would invite us to come and admire
a nation sober, enforcedly sober,
de par la loi ! As well ask us to
applaud the sobriety of the con-
victs in the penitentiary. We are
not placed in the world to be free
from temptation, but to resist it.
All theologians assure us that this
is a state of probation, nor is it the
business of the civil code either
to abolish property lest many may
steal, or to suppress the manufac-
ture of liquor lest some shame
themselves and sin against God by
getting drunk. Again, if you be-
gin this business, where is it to
end ? Human beings are very full
of kinks and crotchets. Each half-
century is sure to have its peculiar
vagary. What may not be that of
the next one ? King James con-
sidered tobacco as a direct emana-
tion from the devil ; and John
Wesley was no whit behind him
either in the belief or its expres-
sion. It is certainly quite as un-
necessary, quite as much an article
de pur luxe, as beer, wine, or spir-
its. Who is bail to me that, the
principle once established of sup-
pressing human nature by act of

Congress, future Good Templars,
prospective Rechabites, Sons of
Temperance yet to come, nay, the
whole Methodistic fraternity, may
not revivify the views of Wesley
and thunder anathemas against
Yaras, Fine-cut, and Cavendish ?
Or there may arise an expounder
of Scripture who shall deduce
thence a system of vegetarianism
(quite as unlikely doctrines and
practices have bee.n deduced from
Holy Writ) to his own satisfaction
and that of crowds greater than
wait on the ministrations of our
latest evangelists. Of course then,
marshalled to victory by the " So-
ciety for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals," they will soon have a
law enacted forbidding to us all
beefsteak or mutton-chop ! There
is, in short, no end to the antics
and absurdities that may, nay,
that must, arise under the aegis of
such a precedent as this law would
furnish. We, for our part, fully
believe in rendering to Caesar what
belongs to him ; but it is the pro-
vince of the church, representing
God upon earth of religion, in
other words so to dispose man as
to enable him to withstand temp-
tation to sin and crime ; and the
business of the civil power to pun-
ish him for offences committed, not
to remove all temptation to wrong-
doing. In short, the law is not
held to an impossibility, which this
would plainly be, unless the world
were made a tabula rasa. The as-
sumption, therefore, by the civil
law, of the divinely-conferred duty
and prerogative of the* church
would, in any case, be a usurpa-
tion, were it even practicable. We
shall see that in the case before us r
at least, it would be purely impossi-
ble to carry out the legal man date by
all the power of the government,
were it multiplied a hundred-fold.

192 Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

The heavy tariff on foreign, and
the large internal revenue tax on do-
mestic, liquors, necessitated by our
civil war, have also been a great
inducement to the adulteration of
spirits, as well as to the advance of
that already too wide-spread prac-
tice of cheating the government in
matter of revenue, now so common
as hardly to be regarded in the
light of a moral wrong. Howso-
ever it may havecome about, the fact
is that the tone of political morali-
ty with us is about as low as it has
ever been in any country that the
sun shines on. From the Stocking
& Leet trial, through the trou-
bles of Tammany's magnates and
the charges of complicity with
smugglers pending against some
of our most prominent mercantile
firms, down to the " crooked whis-
key " cases of to-day, as well as the
constantly-bandied and the some-
times thoroughly proven charges
of bribery against our most highly-
placed public men, we see every-
where either a desperate resolu-
tion to evade all law, or a serene
belief that deception and the with-
holding of tax and tariff legally
due cease to be cheating and
swindling when the government
is the party of the second part.
It is now clearly made out that,
since the laying on of high duties
and revenue tax, it has cost our
government an average of three dol-
lars to collect every two dollars
received from that source in the
public treasury; while as to the
amount of which the government
is annually defrauded, no calcula-
tion other than an approximate one
can, of course, be made, but those
whose position gives them the best
chance to form an accurate judg-
ment place the yearly sum at the
minimum of $80,000,000. Before
our late war we had a federal

treasury ever full. Indeed, but a
very short time before that dismal
experience the general government
distributed a large surplus among
the States ; our treasury notes were
always above par, and our simple
government bonds at high premi-
um. With the advent of war came
the necessity for raising a large
and an immediate revenue. Taxa-
tion, direct and indirect, was re-
sorted to, the like of which has
rarely (if ever) been known in
civilized countries. Paper money,
redeemable at the pleasure of the
government, was issued. Gold
and silver entirely disappeared.
An army of internal revenue offi-
cers had to be created, and a sup-
plementary host of detectives to
ferret out infractions of the new-
made laws. The tax on common
whiskey was placed at two dollars
and fifty cents per gallon, and corre-
sponding sums on foreign liquors ;
Cognac, for example, being rated
at seven dollars per gallon. Our
people were not accustomed to,
and did not like, taxation ; and
the government neither knew how
to suggest, nor its officials how to
carry out honestly and skilfully,
any well-devised plans for the col-
lection of revenue on such a gigan-
tic scale. Here there was a strong
inducement at once both to the il-
licit manufacture and to the in-
creased adulteration of liquors,
the latter of which (though exist-
ing too largely before) took, from
that time, large strides in advance,
and both have uninterruptedly
continued their progress till the
present day, threatening (unless
most stringent measures be taken
for their repression) to ruin our
country, morally, and a large num-
ber of her citizens temporally and
eternally. It is true that the tax
on home-manufactured spirits was

Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects. 193

largely cut down in 1870, and that
on foreign wines and liquors heavi-
ly curtailed ; but those at all ac-
quainted with the subject know
how little this step, taken after
eight years of the reverse practice,
was likely to interfere with clan-
destine manufacture, and how im-
mensely it tended to give a su-
peradded impetus to the practice
of adulteration. Our internal re-
venue officers are now legion, yet
they do not collect one-half of the
revenue that should be collected ;
and of that one-half not more than
two-fifths inures to the benefit of
the treasury. Our detectives swarm
everywhere, yet illicit distillation
and poisonous adulteration of li-
quors are on a very rapid increase.
Now, a very large number of peo-
ple, learned and lay, rich and poor,
of practical experience in the use
of liquor, and deriving their in-
formation from the experience of
others, or from reading, are strong-
ly of the opinion that the best
and most practicable mode of de-
creasing actual drunkenness, and
of mitigating or diminishing the
acknowledged evils of drink, would
be the furnishing of pure liquors
instead of the noxious compounds
now on sale. Certainly, to put the
matter in the mildest terms, there
prevails a very extensive belief,
founded, we think, upon good rea-
son, that if pure liquors alone
were sold drunkenness would not
prevail as it now does. It is not
contended that intoxication would
thereby be done away with, any
more than that the most skilful
devices can ever entirely prevent
theft, forgery, murder, or other
crime ; but we insist that the ten-
dency to drunkenness, now so in-
separable (as experience shows)
from the use of the drugged article,
would not exist in a tithe of the
VOL. xxvii. 13

instances nor to a hundredth part
of the extent that we daily see.
Certain it is that in the last cen-
tury, and until adulteration began
to prevail extensively in the pre-
sent, the terrific effects of liquor-
drinking now known to us, under
so many different names and forms
of disease, did not present them-
selves with any frequency ; and it
is equally certain that just in pro-
portion to the universality of adul-
teration has been the commonness
and virulence of mania and deliri-
um resulting from drink. We have
said that stringent measures should
be taken to guard the interests of
the comparatively helpless consu-
mers, so that they may have some
reasonable ground for believing
that in taking a glass of ale or beer
they have not imbibed a dose of
cocculus indicus, that a drink of
whiskey does not of necessity im-
ply an undefined amount of mix
voniica, or that the symptoms re-
sultant from a mixture of brandy
and water at dinner are not due to
strychnia or creosote. We found
it much easier during the war to
raise prices on account of the en- -
hanced value of gold than it has
since proved to diminish them in
accordance with the approxima-
tion of greenbacks to coin. So,
too, in this matter of suppressing
adulteration of drink (which is the
remedy we propose, and which
will be just so far valuable as it
is thorough and uncompromising,
while comparatively useless unless
rigidly and strenuously carried out),
we have called into play a practice,
we have evoked a demon, which
is not to be abolished or banish-
ed by feeble instrumentality. We
shall illustrate what may be done
here in our own country by what
has been successfully accomplished
in Sweden (a country in which

194

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

drunkenness and its attendant evils
bad attained a magnitude beyond,
perhaps, any other of Europe); nor
can we do it better than by the
following account taken from Dr.
Carnegie's late book, entitled The
License Laws of Sweden :

" In the town of Gothenburg, however,
these measures (prohibitory laws), partly
from local reasons, were not found suffi-
ciently restrictive ; and a committee, ap-
pointed in 1865, readily traced a concur-
rent progress between the increasing
pauperism and the increasing drink.
The laws were evaded, the police set at
naught, and nothing remained but to
inaugurate a radically new system. This
consisted of various measures, all subor-
dinate to one great principle viz., that
no individual, either as proprietor or
manager, under a public-house license,
should derive any gain from the sale of
liquor. To carry out this principle in
its integrity the whole liquor-traffic of
the town was gradually transferred to a
company, limited, consisting of the most
highly respected gentlemen of the town,
who undertook, by their charter, to carry
on the business in the interests of tem-
perance and morality, and neither to de-
rive any profit from it themselves nor to
allow any person acting tinder them to
do so. The company now rent all the
houses and licenses from the town, pay-
ing a moderate interest on the capital
invested, and making over the entire
profits of the trade to the town treasury.
The places for drink the number of
which was immediately curtailed are of
two classes, public-houses and retail
shops, both bound to purchase their
wine and spirits (analyzed and authori-
tatively pronounced pure) from the com-
pany, to sell them without any profit,
to supply good food and hot meals on
the premises, and not to sell Swedish
brandy except at meals. The public-
houses are managed by carefully-chosen
men, who derive their profits from the
sale of malt liquors (also analyzed be-
fore being put on sale), coffee, tea, soda
and seltzer water, cigars, etc., and from
the food and lodgings. The retail shops
are managed entirely by women, who
have a fixed salary but no share in the
profits. This system began to work in
October. 1865.' Its effects have been at
.once perceptible. In 1864 the number

of fines paid in Gothenburg for drunken-
ness was 2,164 ; in 1870, with a largely
increased population, 1,416. Cases of
delirium tretnens in 1864 were 118 ; in
1868 but 54. Nor are the financial ef-
fects less encouraging. In 1872 the com-
pany realized in net profits no less than
^15,846, which, being paid over to the
town, far more than covers the entire
poor-rate. Another pleasant fact is that
this large amount of trade is virtually
carried on without any paid up capital,
the whole outlay of the company having
only amounted to ^454."

It is interesting to learn from the
same authority whence the above
extract is taken that whilst the
consumption of liquor in Sweden
is still enormous, it has been re-
duced (mainly owing to the care
exercised in testing its purity, and
partially, also, to well-regulated re-
striction) from ten gallons per head
throughout the kingdom in 1860.
to about two gallons in 1870, which
is about the same proportion as in
Scotland at present ; and that the
universal testimony of the Swedish
philanthropists, far from favoring
absolute prohibition, looks rather
to purity of liquor, conjoined with
moderate restriction, and finds the
results eminently satisfactory. But
while we point to their experience,
as well as to common sense, rij,ht
reason, the practice both of the an-
cient and modern world till the
beginning of this agitation of a fac-
titious temperance ; while we in-
voke the teachings of Scripture for
those who profess to be guided in
matters of morals and doctrine by
that, and by that alone, and appeal
to the constant practice and to the
authority of the church, which
should, with Catholics, be para-
mount to all other considerations,
yet we are painfully aware that to
produce conviction in the minds
of extremists is a task that no logic
can accomplish. It is, like the cure

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

195

of the vice itself which gives occa-
sion for this article, only to be ac-
complished by the grace of God.

pares himself on Saturday night for
a Sunday's drinking bout. '" No
license less than three hundred dol-

The English-speaking world the lars," suggest the cannie property-
most enterprising and energetic holders f and, presto ! higher adul-
portion of the human race occu- teration ; more poison in the drink;
pying, r ~~ ^'~ * *

for the most part, regions
which suggest toiling and striving
physically and mentally so as, in
the opinion of many of them, to
necessitate an occasional resort to
alcoholic stimulants, have used
these liquors largely, we will say
too largely, if you please. Other
shrewd and unscrupulous Anglo-
Saxons have stepped in and poi-
soned, for gain, the cup which they
thought one of refreshment. Death
and disease, drunkenness and dip-
somania, have been so long and so
frequently the result that the at-
tention of the public is imperatively
called to it. " Take the pledge,"
says one ; " that will settle the mat-
ter " forgetting that without the
help of God no pledge is of any
account, and that with his grace no
pledge is needed. "Join the or-
der," bawls another ; " here you find
the sovereign panacea for drink "
oblivious of the fact that these se-
cret institutions are never perma-
ent, rarely at peace within them-
selves, constantly shifting in views
and practice, and that in joining
them the neophyte simply takes as
many masters as there are mem-
bers, exchanging the slavery to
drink for one still more galling
and quite as sinful. " No license
to sell less than a quart," says
yet another. The quart is soon
disposed of, and many another
quart and gallon go the same road.
" Sell no liquor, open no drinking-
house on Sunday," screams a full-
throated chorus of religionists.
This, too, is tried, and the poor
man, obliged to choose between en-
tire dulness and intoxication, pre-

a higher rate per glass, it may be,
but not a tippling-shop less in
country or city. "No license at
all," is the next cry. It is tried;
adulteration becomes still more
barefaced, but the same amount
of drinking is done, it can hardly
be said clandestinely, for it is done
in the face of day, and everybody
knows or may know of it. Mac-
rae's America tells us that when
an investigation was instituted into
the workings of the prohibitory or
no-license system in Boston, there
were found to be in that city over
two thousand places where liquor
was vended by the glass, and that
the average annual amount spent
per head (men, women, and chil-
dren included) for liquor in the
entire State was a little over ten
dollars. " We're all for the Maine
Law here" said a man to Mr. Mac-
rae, " but we're agin its enforce-
ment'' It may here be stated
once for all, without possibility of
successful contradiction, that not
one of these laws, whether for Sun-
day-closing, higher license, no li-
cense, partial license, or entire pro-
hibition, ever was carried out, or
ever had any other effect than pos-
sibly to add to the cost, and cer-
tainly to enlarge illicit distillation
and set an enhanced premium on
the adulteration of liquors.

Quicquid delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi !

Maine was obliged, after a few
years' trial, to abrogate her prohi-
bitory law ; and the most ardent
favorers of local option, which has
now had a full and fair trial in
many States, confess it a failure..

196 Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects.

Our own experience of it is that
drunkenness is nowhere so rife as
in the midst of those very regions
where no license is granted and
entirely prohibitory laws are sup-
posed to prevail ; and there is sur-
plusage of testimony to the facts.

Strange, certainly, it seems to us,
that among the various modes, some
plausible and some supremely silly,
that have been proposed and acted
upon with a view of checking the
ravages of intemperance, so few
should have suggested, and none
should have acted upon the idea
of trying, what might be the possi-
ble effect of pure liquor. Common
sense should have at once suggest-
ed it, and a portion of the redun-
dant and exuberant philanthropy
of the age might have been well, at
least harmlessly, employed in mak-
ing an experiment which could in
no case have worked disastrously,
as all those plans have done which
familiarize the people with syste-
matized violation of law, to gratify
the morbid craving for those poi-
sons the use of which, growing
with every indulgence, soon leaves
the victim incapable of resisting the
craving that never abandons him
but with life. Most people, how-
ever, once fairly inoculated with
the views of the temperance socie-
ties (we refer to the secret institu-
tions under that name), see every-
thing but from one point of view;
the vision becomes jaundiced, pre-
judice carries the day, argument is
of no avail, moderate measures are
futile, liquor in any shape, alcohol
in any quantity, are the accursed
thing, and those who deal in them,
nay, those who see no objection to
their use, are Amalekites. What
to them are the vested interests of
the eight hundred thousand persons
engaged in the manufacture and
sale of liquor in the United States

alone ? What the employment of
hundreds of thousands engaged in
its transportation ? W 7 hat care they
about the wives and families of
either? It is of no sort of conse-
quence to them that over sixty mil-
lion dollars accrue to the federal
treasury, even under the present
extremely defective system of col-
lection, from the tax on domestic
liquors ; half as much more from
the tariff on foreign wines and spi-
rits; and that the amounts paid for
municipal, county, State, and fede-
ral purposes, by license on liquor-
selling and drinking-houses, are
simply incalculable. As well plant
and try to cultivate the sands from
high-water mark to ebb-tide as at-
tempt to reason with such people !
They are the communists of our
country, the impracticable*, the men
of one idea, and that idea a wrong
one. We would much like to be
able to reach them, to be able to
make them hear the words of genu-
ine truth and soberness ; but they
are "joined to their idols," as Eph-
raim of old ; the doctrines of the
" lodge," the rulings of the W. Pa-
triarch, W. Chief Templar (or what-
ever else may be the name of the
presiding Grand Mogul), are of more
avail to them than all the philoso-
phy and all the logic of ancient
and modern times. What are the
Fathers of the church to the Rev.
Boanerges Blunderbuss, at Brim-
stone Corner, who explains to the
satisfaction of his hearers that wine,
" which cheers the heart of God and
of man," is but the imfermented
juice of the grape, and that our Sa-
viour, at his last supper, squeezed
out some three or four clusters of
grapes into the goblet whence he
and his disciples drank? Talk to
one of these people about the de-
sirableness of some regard for the
habits and customs of the multi-

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects. 197

life, have fallen a prey to the ac-
cursed poisons sold as drink, their
intellect shattered and their phy-
sical constitution prostrate, do not,
we confess, deserve a very ardent
sympathy from a community for
which they have done little but
harm. Still, that community was
to blame that received money for
licensing the houses that sold them
narcotics instead of beer, henbane
instead of wine, and liquid damna-
tion for strong drink. It is, at
least, a duty which we owe in fu-
ture to all who can control them-
selves that, when they ask for
bread, they shall not be furnished
with a stone.

We are very anxious not to be
misunderstood. This article is not
intended to be either a recommen-
dation of, or an excuse for, tippling
habits, still less as an argument
in favor of the drinking usages of
the last century or of any other
period distinguished for copious
drinking. The personal habits and
practice of the writer are opposed
entirely to the use of wine, beer, or
spirits. His profession does not
render them necessary nor his
taste crave them, and he would
that in this one respect the world
"were altogether such as" he is;
but he cannot ignore the fact that
all men are not so constituted phy-
sically, so situated in a worldly
point of view, or mentally disposed
in the same way. What all can
clearly see is that a cry is being
raised, an attempt being made, to
add in a clandestine and illegiti-
mate way something that shall in
effect be tantamount to a precept,
and that this something so foisted
upon us is opposed to the practice
of the church, consequently to the
Scriptures. We see that this cry
has become fashionable, a fear of
being reckoned with the "vulgar

tudes in this wide world who use
wine and spirits without abusing
them ; he regards you with a wither-
ing contempt for your ignorance,
and informs you that they are all
drunkards and must be reformed ;
that if five glasses of wine make a
man drunk, one-half of a glass must
make him one-tenth part drunk;
that liquor is never necessary, even
in disease as a remedy ; that the
Good Samaritan was really poison-
ing the poor fellow to whom he
gave the wine; and lie leaves on
your mind the general impression
that Solomon had yet a great
deal to learn from Sons of Tem-
perance and prohibitory-law men
when he over-hastily recommended
in his Proverbs to "give drink to the
sorrowful." Just as impracticable,
though in a different way and for
a different reason, is the man who
has no sympathy for habits and
needs which he never knew; who
never had a generous impulse in
his life ; whose every act is based
on cold reason and personal inter-
est ; who seldom or never took, and
who never longed for, a glass of
wine since his wedding-day ; who
has no sympathy for those differ-
ently situated in life or of different
physiological diathesis. He has
neither genuine sympathy for the
unfortunate drunkard nor fellow-
feeling for those who use liquor.
Mistaking oftentimes his own plen-
tiful surroundings for honesty, the
want of temptation for temperance,
and his own success in life for vir-
tue, we need expect from him no
other cry than " do away with the
whole thing."

Those poor degraded wretches
at the other extreme of society
who, from congenital inclination,
bad surroundings, evil training,
folly, disease, or the gnawing re-
morse engendered by failure in

198

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

herd " (for drunkenness is a vice oi
the vulgar) or a fear of giving of-
fence causing many to be silent
who should "cry aloud and not
spare," lest haply the harm may be
done and it be too late for the
remedy. Now, the whole clamor,
save in so far as it inveighs against
drunkenness, " the disgrace of man
and the mother of misery," pro-
ceeds on the false hypotheses, i,
that the Holy Scripture discoun-
tenances the moderate use of li-
quor; 2, that the church opposes
it; 3, that the ancient philoso-
phers condemned it ; 4, that it is
injurious in health ; 5, that it is
valueless as a remedy in sickness ;
and, 6, that prohibitory laws should
be passed forthwith forbidding un-
der penalty the manufacture, pur-
chase, sale, or importation of wine,
beer, or spirits. Not a single one
of these assertions is true, or has
about it the semblance of verisimi-
litude to any but the average brain
of the secret-society affilit, or the
fungus that stands in the place of a
heart for the bigoted sectary. Were
they every one true, we should still
be opposed to the manner in which
it is attempted to carry them into
effect ; fully believing, as we do,
that the whole matter of personal
reform lies within the domain of
the church, upon which region the
civil power has no right to trench.
Of course the state has a perfect
and undisputed right to tax wines,
liquors, etc., like all other articles
of luxury, to any extent she may
deem advisable, either for revenue
or repression of habits of expense
among her citizens. But, insepa-
rably bound up with this right, and
as a corollary from it, it is the duty
of the state to see that the article
or articles for allowing the sale of
which she receives revenue shall
not injure, much less ruin, her citi-

zens; and it is in the performance
of this duty that we affirm gov-
ernment to have been totally re-
miss and delinquent. Had it been
otherwise, and had the state been
half as anxious to perform her duty
as she has been always eager to
claim her right, there never would
have been the faintest plausibility
in the cry raised ; no agitation
could have resulted ; with her per-
formance of the duty the clamor
must, of necessity, cease, and with
it those secret societies, so power-
less for good, so potential for evil,
that have been evoked by it.

There is, however, no limit in
our age to the power of clap-trap,
of a cry well started and persis-
tently kept up. Back such a cry
by the unremitting efforts of a few
secret organizations, which dema-
gogues well know how to use as a
means of climbing into power, and
superadd the influence of some of
the sects, it deepens to a howl, and
a careless or lethargic community
is easily induced to believe that
there must be some reason for the
clamor; that what so many people
say must be true ; that where so
much smoke exists there must
have been a fire at some time; and,
finally, that the object on which so
many persons seem to have set
their minds, to carry which so
many are combined, must be a good
one. From this point to support-
ing it with vote and influence the
step is an easy one. Hence it is
that, absurd as is the proposal of
those who favor Congressional pro-
hibitory laws touching liquor, we
feel no certainty that its unreason-
ableness will prove a barrier to its
being at some time put into effect.
We have indicated previously that
there exists, even among Catholics,
who should know better, a lurking
notion that in joining the T. B. A.

Prohibitory Legislation: Its Cause and Effects. 199

I
I

or any of its congeners, they take a
step forward in holiness, approach
nearer to the imitation of the Sa-
viour, and outstrip in piety those
who remain outside the institution
using (and able to enjoy without
abusing) " the liberty wherewith
Christ has nia'de them free." Now,
this is false, and consequently is
not Catholic doctrine or feeling.
It is according to the doctrine of
the church, with which the practice
of Catholics must agree, that should
the experience of any individual
prove to him that total abstinence
from drink is in his special case
easier than moderation in its use,
and that he ought, consequently,
not to use liquor at all ; and if, in
addition, he is clearly of opinion
that this, his proper course, is much
facilitated by joining a Catholic
temperance association, he has a
clear right, nay, it is his duty, to
attach himself to it. Further,
should a Catholic have a friend,
whom he can largely influence, who
is becoming over-fond of drink,
and whom he judges in conscience
he can reclaim by taking with him
the pledge of total abstinence, or
by accompanying him into any of
the Catholic associations got up
and recommended for such pur-
poses, the Catholic so doing acts
nobly and performs a meritorious
work, greater and more laudable
just in proportion as he himself was
further removed from temptation
or danger of fall in the matter of
drink. But it is not a bounden
duty enjoined on every Catholic
Christian to abstain entirely from
liquor, much less to join a tempe-
rance society; and, except where it
is done to save another, as in the case
just presented, the Catholic so join-
ing it is no more laudable, certainly,
that he who stands aloof, using
his God-given liberty in the matter.

While the church, like her divine
Lord and Founder, has never forci-
bly interfered with man's free-will,
yet her entire history proves that her
salutary influence has been exerted,
and that, too, with the highest suc-
cess, against every shape in which
the sin of luxury has appeared. The
Catholic countries of the world are
not now, and they never have been,
the drunken countries. Drunk-
ards are not found to-day among
those who frequent the tribunal of
penance; and, with that consistency
of action and oneness of doctrine
which is found in no other existent
institution, the church maintains
that against the sin of drunkenness,
as 'against all other forms of sin,
there is no thoroughly effectual
remedy but thefrequentation of her
sacraments. Pledges and associa-
tions, while sanctioned by her, are
regarded as mere adminicula, tend-
ing to bring the sinner to the use of
confession, the performance of en-
joined penance, and the worthy re-
ception of the Blessed Sacrament.
Abstinence, whether for a time or
for life, she looks upon as a work of
perfection, of remedy, or of penance
for the individual. The pledge,
as administered by her, is neither
oath nor vow, but either a resolu-
tion taken by one's self in the pre-
sence of another, or at the utmost
a solemn promise made to man.
While more than fifteen hundred
years ago the church anathematized
the heresy of the Manicheans, who
taught that spirituous liquors are
not creatures of God, and that, as
they are intrinsically evil, he who
uses them is thereby guilty of sin,
yet both before and after the rise
of that detestable sect all the writ-
ings of her fathers and doctors,
all the decrees of her synods and
councils, all the decisions of her
Supreme Pontiffs, and all the labor

200

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

of her priests have been persistently
directed towards teaching her mem-
bers to "subdue the flesh with its
affections and lusts." How well
she succeeded let her conquest
to Christianity of the conquering
northern barbarian hordes testify.
Of these, whose temperament ren-
dered them peculiarly inclined to
debauch, whose habits by no means
belied their inclinations, and whose
besetting sin was drunkenness even
after their conversion to the faith,
she made sober nations. Acts of
Parliament, municipal and other
local measures, show us the huge
strides toward unbounded intempe-
rance in drink taken by the English
people from the time when, in giv-
ing up the true church, they aban-
doned the sacrament of penance;
while the same acts, and what we
have had of so-called repressive law-
tinkering on the same subject in
our own country, show us the utter
futility of any and every attempt by
the civil law to render men moral
by statute to do God's work with-
out the help of the Omnipotent.
Were it even possible for the state
to succeed in carrying out the most
stringent prohibitory or repressive
laws that it ever entered the brain
of the wildest or most narrow-mind-
ed fanatic to conceive, what would
be the result ? Simply that people
would, like inmates of the work-
house or penitentiary, endure pri-
vation without practising abstinence.
The church of God takes no such
ground ; and the state can no more
succeed in carrying out such mea-
sures than did Domitian with his
sumptuary decree. Legislators for-
get what the church always bears
carefully in mind and has always
inculcated viz., that drunkenness
is the sin not of the drink but of the
drunkard. The assertion that al-
cohol in any form is an emanation

of the evil spirit, or the denial of
the lawfulness of the use of liquor,
is in itself just as much a heresy to-
day as it was in the days of the
Egkratites. But, that we may not
overrun our limits in pursuing this
branch of the subject, we refer such
readers as may be anxious to see it
fully and ably treated to the valua-
ble little work entitled The Dis-
cipline of Drink, by Rev. T. E.
Bridgett, C.SS-R.

It is not, however, from Catholic
sources that the proposal emanates
to cut off by legal enactment the
supply of beer, wine, and spirits,
which many people indeed, the
vast majority of the civilized in-
habitants of the earth deem ne-
cessary for their health, conducive
to their comfort, or desirable for
their enjoyment. Such schemes
come from the Radicaux enrages ;
from those who addle their intel-
lects by striving to decipher the
mystic number of the Apocalyptic
beast; from the men of the George
Fox stripe, to whom a steeple-house
is the unclean thing ; always from
men on whom the name of the
Church of Rome operates as does
the flaunting of a red rag by the
picador on the bull in the amphi-
theatre of Seville; and, finally, from
those who believe neither in this
nor in anything else that man
should hold sacred, but who see
and seek in the secret societies,
and in the agitation of this and
similar questions, a stepping-stone
to power and a means of gaining
influence.

Were one to judge by the pam-
phlets and tracts written on the
side of the prohibitionists, he
would readily suppose that it is ad-
mitted on all hands by physicians
and chemists that alcohol is of no
use as a remedial or curative agent ;
that it is not food, is not life-sus-

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects. 201

lect, too, that the same public, when
it once discovers their prevarica-
tion, is very ready to apply the
proverb, Falsus in itno, etc.

The great Swedish chancellor,
Oxenstierna, said to his son : " You
do not yet know, my son, with how
little wisdom the world is govern-
ed." We are in this respect neither
better nor worse off than other coun-
tries, with perhaps this exception :
that our best citizens, those of
largest experience and soundest
judgment, are too self-respecting,
too proud, to descend into the dir-
ty arena of politics, a vast majori-
ty of such never having attended a
primary meeting in their lives, and
many, very many, rarely casting a
vote. True, when corruption has
run its course, when ring-rule be-
comes unendurable, this class will
sometimes, as lately in New York,
arouse itself. Now, the men of one
idea, the canters (honest and dis-
honest), and the knaves are not so.
They never miss an opportunity
of propagating their views, and it
would seem almost as though there
were an intimate and necessary
connection between the falsity or il-
liberality of the view and the perti-
nacity of its upholders in spreading
it. Besides, they are not indifferent
to, but they hate, broad and liberal
views on any subject ; they must
gauge all humanity by their own
instrument, which, while it suits the
pint-pot, is but ill adapted to the
hogshead. " Les idees generates sont
toujours hates par les idees particlles"
says a French writer to whom
(while we by no means agree with
him in everything) ability must be
conceded. Should people ever
have the power to doit a contin-
gency by no means unlikely in this
century, in which the secret socie-
ties seem to hold "high carnival"
(May a subsequent Lenten time

taining; that no possible good can
come out of Nazareth ; that the
unclean thing is altogether accurs-
ed, and should be relegated to the
bottomless pit whence it sprang.
And, that we may not overburden
this article, we shall simply give the
conclusion arrived at by a writer
in the Edinburgh Review for July,
1875, entitled " The Physiological
Influence of Alcohol," in which the
writer (himself a physician, whose
yearning to find against us is evi-
dent throughout), after an able
comparison and summing up of the
cases, experiments, and arguments
of Doctors Richardson, Thudichum,
Dupre, Anstie, and other celebrat-
ed authorities, thus perorates :

" The inference is plain. The nutri-
tious capability of alcohol, when used
in appropriate circumstances and in
reasonable quantity, is yet a matter^ of
controversy, and a question which has
yet to be further investigated and weigh-
ed by competent scientific authorities
before any absolute judgment regarding
it can be pronounced that shall be
worthy of general acceptance."

Those who feel any interest in
this part of the subject would do
well to read the entire article re-
ferred to, and we feel convinced
that nine out of ten who do so will
come to the conclusion, from the
data given, that the able writer's
patent bias is what caused the very
non-committal wording of his final
dictum ; while the same number
will decide the large preponderance
of proof to be in favor of the nutri-
tive qualities of alcohol. We have
failed to see in any of the "tem-
perance " documents the remotest
hint that there was anything at all
to be said in favor of alcohol as an
article of nutriment. Is this hon-
est? These people must calculate
largely on the gullibility of the
public ; but they should recol-

202

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

purge the world of such foul hu-
mors !) they will infallibly enact a
penal prohibitory law. This will
be accomplished by means of the
already-organized associations, the
oath-bound classes, the pledged
abstainers, some of the sects, large-
ly aided by the lethargy and care-
lessness of people who hold clear-
er and more correct views. It will
be worse than useless to pass such
laws, unless provision be made for
stringently carrying into effect
their details. Suppose that the
prohibitory law proposed has been
enacted and is vigorously enforced,
and let us cursorily examine what
is this Golden Age, this antedat-
ed millennium promised us so con-
fidently by our over- temperate
friends.

A blockade of coast will be nec-
essary, to which the blockade of
the Confederate territory during
the late war will be as nothing,
either for extent of coast to be
guarded or for the numbers, ingen-
uity, and means at the command of
the blockade-runners. The Cana-
dian and Mexican borders will re-
quire cordons of sentries day and
night, to furnish which one hun-
dred armies such as we possess
would be ridiculously inadequate.
A government detective force of
at least one-fourth our adult male
population will have to be employ-
ed, organized, and paid ; and not
less than one-half of the remainder
will soon be in prison for infraction
or evasion of the law. Meanwhile,
the revenues will have diminished
by fully one-third, while the gov-
ernmental expenses will have been
tenfold increased. The hundreds
of thousands who now make a
livelihood for themselves and fami-
lies by the manufacture, transport,
and sale of beer, wines, or spirits
must find other employment or

join the already too numerous army
of tramps : and in this case what
becomes of the unfortunate fami-
lies? If the laboring man finds it
difficult to procure work now, what
will it be then ? Taxation must,
of necessity, be decupled ; and
meantime a large proportion of the
population will have come to the
conclusion that they are suffering
under the most odious of all tyran-
nies, and will be ripe for revolution.
The pretext will not be wanting
in the details of carrying out the
provisions of the law. This state
of things might last, at the utmost,
a year, during which insurrections
would be of constant occurrence
in every part of the country ; out-
breaks in the cities would take
place day after day; and, finally,
the minority, in revolution against
what they considered an unjust and
tyrannical edict, would carry the
day either peacefully at the polls
(by aggregating to themselves such
of the majority as had become
convinced of the absurdity of the
law) or, sword in hand and at the
mouth of the cannon, would revin-
dicate to themselves the rights so
wantonly trampled upon. The re-
sults of such a victory may be bet-
ter imagined than described. His-
tory, fortunately, has but few exam-
ples of such revolutions against
the extravagance of over-zealous re-
form, but those few are terrifically
replete with warning.

We wish, then, to insist that no
law at all is better by far than a
law which, in its nature, cannot be
carried into effect. T h at t h i s i s s u ch
a law we think manifest on the
above showing ; and did we wish
further proof, it is readily found in
the fact that all those communities,
great or small, towns, counties, or
states, that have tested this, or
even much milder doses of similar-

Prohibitory Legislation : Its Cause and Effects.

20-

ly-intended laws, have been obliged
either to abandon them after a
longer or shorter trial, or to ac-
knowledge their impotence to exe-
cute them, and to own that under
sucli regime the evils deprecated
become more virulent and drunk-
enness more rampant. Contempt,
too, for the law, in one instance,
has the inevitable tendency to sap
the foundations of respect for all
law. not merely in the mind of the
drunkard but in that of the moder-
ate drinker, as well as of those who
abet them both in their violation
of legal enactment. Meanwhile,
the sensible man, the practical but
unpledged total abstainer, cannot
be expected to feel strongly inter-
ested in the success of a law which
his judgment tells him to be mere-
ly an arbitrary enforcement, by a
majority, of their views of morality
on a minority entitled to their own
ideas and practices in this matter
alike by natural reason, Scriptural
teaching, and church commands.
"A nation is near destruction
when regard for law has disap-
peared."

Fully aware, as we are, that the
arguments and deductions, the
statements and quotations, contain-
ed in this paper are far from being
in accord with the oral and printed
teachings most in vogue and most
palatable to the reading public,
and much as we might desire to be
on the popular side, still we are not
prepared, for the attainment of this
end, to sacrifice our convictions of
right, to ignore the experience of
the past, to turn a deaf ear to the
teachings of the church, or to su-
peradd to her commands practices
in morals that she knows not. We
cannot undertake to find in Scrip-
ture injunctions that do not exist ;
still less are we willing to lie supine
when erroneous views are stealthily

creeping in (even amongst our-
selves), are sedulously promulgated
over the length and breadth of the
non-Catholic world, and when the
attempt is making to enforce even
desirable practices in morals and
personal discipline by false argu-
ments and means that will not
stand the test of right reason. Let
us review the ground and gather
together the results.

The use of intoxicating liquor or
strong drink has been known in all
countries and from the earliest
times ; drunkenness must have been
and was equally well known. In
no system, even of heathenism, has
intoxication been recommended ;
and in none, save that of Moham-
med, has abstinence from liquor
been enjoined. The Old and New
Testaments, while teeming with al-
lusions to the use of wine and strong
drink, nowhere lay down any pre-
cept forbidding their use, but fre-
quently by the clearest implication,
and in a few instances by express
injunction, command the use of
both ; and the manufacture of wine
must, by the institution of our Bless-
ed Saviour, be kept up so long as
the world shall exist. There is
no proof for the assertion, that al-
cohol is not food, and less for the
averment that it has no efficacy as
a remedial agent. The taste for
liquor is a natural one and inher-
ent to all men, but probably strong-
er and more necessary of gratifica-
tion among hard-working men, and
in damp or cold climates, than in
the case of sedentary persons or in
mild and hot countries. It is not
the province of civil government
to remove temptation to the infrac-
tion of the moral law ; its province
is to keep order and to punish i?i frac-
tions of law. To pass a series of
totally prohibitory laws would be
to attempt the legal suppression of

2O4

FrencJi Proverbial Sayings.

human nature ; which being impos-
sible, such legislation must be ab-
surd. There are great evils in the
present management of the liquor-
traffic, chiefly arising from the
wholesale adulterations with poi-
sonous drugs everywhere largely
practised, but most ruinously in the
northern countries of Europe, in
Canada, and in the United States.
Were the traffic so taken in charge
by governments or carefully-ap-
pointed companies that pure li-
quors only should be furnished for
consumption, all profits from the
sale accruing to government, the
great mass of the evils (now justly
complained of) in connection with
the liquor trade would disappear,
while at the same time an immense
revenue would accrue to the fed-
eral or State treasury, as the case
might be. If these prohibitory laws
were passed, and carried out in
their spirit, dreadful evils would be
the result ; and, finally, such laws

never can be carried out at all, and,
by consequence, it is not compe-
tent for government to enact them.
The whole matter of intemperance
comes purely within the domain of
morals ; religion alone can deal
with it radically; and while the
civil law should and must punish
drunkenness, with the crimes re-
sulting therefrom, it is to Chris-
tianity alone that we must look for
the effectual reformation of the
drunkard and prevention of his
sin.

These are the arguments that
present themselves to us against
the enactment of what are called
" prohibitory laws " ; and we be-
lieve the suggestions above given,
regarding the evils of the present
liquor trade and the mode of rid-
ding the world of those evils, to be
in full consonance both with the
facts and with common sense.

" SI quid novisti rectius istis.
Candidas imperti ; si non, his utere mecum."

FRENCH PROVERBIAL SAYINGS.*

THERE is, in the' French lan-
guage, one peculiarity amongst
others which only becomes percep-
tible to foreigners after a somewhat
lengthened residence in France
namely, the frequent use of prover-
bial expressions of which the origi-
nal meaning, as far as the speaker
is concerned, is utterly lost.

For instance, a person grandly
dressed out is said to be sur son
trente et un ; an old piece of furni-
ture or of attire is vieux comme
Herode ; again, // ne se foule pas la
ratte means "he takes things easi-

* Petites Ignorances de la Conversation. P: r
Charles Rozan. Paris : Hetzler. 1877.

ly " ; prendre les jambes au cou is to
go as fast as possible; and a person
who speaks French badly is said to
parler Fran$ais comme une vacht
Espagnole.

When the English-speaking races
use expressions of this kind, there
is in them almost always some re-
cognized allusion, quotation, or, it
may be, a quaint adaptation of the
words of some well-known author,
ancient or modern, or they point to
some fact or tradition or popular
notion. In French familiar con-
versation, however, there are num-
berless proverbial and popular say-
ings still in common use the sense

French Proverbial Sayings.

205

of which has been lost for centu-
ries. Comparatively few amongst
those who use them know that they
are expressions borrowed, it may
be, from certain customs or from
history or from literature; but usu-
ally the trace is lost, the connection
broken, and the reason of their ex-
istence forgotten.

These proverbial expressions
have, for the most part, been re-
cently collected, and as far as pos-
sible accounted for, and their source
and history, where not discovered,
at least suggested, in an ingenious
volume by M. Charles Rozan, in
which he gives also certain popular
words usually qualified as vulgar,
but " whose fundamental meaning
it is all the more acceptable to learn,
from the fact of their not being yet
admitted into the official dictiona-
ries; since," he adds, "it is intru-
ders more especially whom we would
question as to who they are, whence
they come, and what they have
done."

In the present notice we have
chiefly selected examples having a
local, historical, or in some way
characteristic interest, and, with
one or two exceptions, we have left
aside those taken from the drama,
besides the numerous sayings, not
by any means peculiar to France
alone, which relate to classical an-
tiquity, and which any one possess-
ing a very moderate knowledge of
ancient history and literature would
at once understand.

Je vi en moque comme de fan qua-
rante is a saying which dates from
the beginning of the eleventh cen-
tury. There was at that period an
extensive belief that the end of the
world was at hand, and that the
thousand years and more supposed
to have been assigned by our Lord
as the duration of his church on
earth, and of society in general,

were to expire in the year 40 of
that century. Sinners were con-
verted in crowds; many talked of
turning hermit ; but, once this re-
doubtable epoch was over, men
changed their tone, and frcfc that
time to this the expression used in
speaking of a thing which need in-
spire no alarm is : "I care no more
for it than for the year forty!"

La bcaute du Diable we should
naturally suppose meant an appall-
ing ugliness. It means nothing of
the kind, but, on the contrary, that
exceeding prettiness frequently no-
ticeable in young girls between the
ages of fourteen and nineteen, or
thereabouts, which then passes
away. This, the freshness of
youthful beauty, seems to derive
its name from the old proverb,
The devil was handsome when he
was young namely, while he was
yet an unfallen angel.

Ladies somewhat advanced in
the debatable ground of life's pil-
grimage, when youth has made way
for the nameless years of " a certain
age," are said iocoiffer Sainte Cathe-
rine.

It was formerly the custom in
France, as it still is in Spain and
some parts of Italy, on particular
festivals, to array in festal garments
and headgear the statues of the
saints. St. Catherine being the
patroness of virgins, the care of her
adornment was always entrusted to
young girls. This charge, however
agreeable and honorable at sixteen,
might, nevertheless, not be desirable
in perpetuity, and thus it came to
be said of any middle-aged maiden :
"She stays to coiffer St. Catherine."

To speak French very badly, or
with a bad accent, is called parler
Francais comme une vache Espagnole.
The people inhabiting the Basque
provinces obtain their name from
the indigenous word vaso motm-

205

French Proverbial Sayings.

tain which, when taken adjec-
tivt'ly, is augmented by the final co,
and thus becomes vasoco, and, by
contraction, vasco mountaineer.
The French, knowing little enough
of Spanish, said at first vacco, and
then vacce. Thus, parler comme un
vacce Espagnol meant at first to
allude to the inhabitants of the
Basque provinces of Spain, whose
language still bears all the charac-
teristics of a primitive tongue, and
who have great difficulty in express-
ing themselves in French; but
vacce, at a time when the Latin had
left its traces everywhere, was said
for vache, the peasants in many of
the French provinces retaining it
still. Thence arose the confusion
which produced the senseless com-
parison, "to speak French like
a Spanish cow."

Attendez-moi sons Forme (wait for
me under the elm) implies that
"the rendezvous you ask is dis-
agreeable to me, and I will not keep
it." The type of an unpleasant
rendezvous is that which compels
an appearance before the judge,
and it is to this that the expression
here quoted originally referred.
Formerly the judges administered
justice under a tree planted in the
open space before the church or
the entrance of a seignorial man-
sion ; hence the phrase of juges de
dessous forme, and also that of dan-
ser sous forme. Attendez-moi sous
forme means, Find me there if you
can (ironically), and to name a
rendezvous which one has no in-
tention of keeping.*

Faire Charlemagne is to retire
from the game after winning it,

* We may here mention that the finest elm in
France is probably that in the court of the Deaf and
Dumb Institution in the Rue St. Jacques in Paris.
It is 50 metres in height and 5 in circumference, the
last remaining of the 6,000 feet of trees planted
under Henri IV. We mention this merely for the
sake of our European readers, not for those accus-
tomed to the sylvan giants of the Western world.

without giving the adversary a
chance of revenge. This expres-
sion evidently alludes to the death
of the great Charles, who, when he
had become the monarch of the
West, quitted this life without hav-
ing lost any of his conquests.

To make unlawful profits by de-
ceiving as to the price of any
articles a person has been charged
to buy is called " shoeing the mule "
{Ferrer la mule]. The expression
dates from the time when the coun-
sellors of the Parliament repaired to
the Palais de Justice mounted on
mules, and the lackeys who remain-
ed outside during the ,sittings of the
Assembly spent their time in gam-
bling, extorting from their masters
the money they wanted for their
amusement by pretending that they
had had to pay for shoeing the
mules. Others carry the origin of
the saying back to the time of Ves-
pasian ; the muleteer of that em-
peror, when on a journey, having
been bribed to do so, suddenly
stopped the mules under pretext
of having them shod, so as to give
time to a person whom they had
met on the way to speak to the em-
peror of his affairs.

Faire danser fanse du panier is
said of a cook who fraudulently ob-
tains from her mistress more money
for her purchases at market than
they have really cost. The idea is
that of shaking the basket so as to
make its contents take up as much
room as possible, and thus look
worth their alleged price.

Connaitre les etres de la maison is
to know the doors, staircases, pas-
sages, rooms, outlets, etc. in a
word, the internal arrangements of
the house. Etres, which for a long
time was written attrcs, has for its
origin the Latin atria, in the sense
of dwelling.

Je fai co mm poirier is said of a

French Proverbial Sayings.

207

parvenu whose sudden rise from a
mean condition has not earned him
much consideration. There w.as in
a village near Brussels an image of
St. John, black and worm-eaten
with age, and held in great venera-
tion by the people. M. le Cure,
thinking it time to replace it by a
new one, sacrificed his best pear-
tree for that purpose. One of his
parishioners, who had shown great
veneration for the ancient statue,
took no notice whatever of the new
one. " Have you lost your devo-
tion to St. John?" the cure one
day asked him. " No, M. ]e Cure ;
but the new St. John is not the real
one / knew him when he was a
bear-tree"

The expression of Cordon Bleu
is a singular example of the degra-
dation of an aristocratic word, and
we discover its ancestry with the
same feeling that we once received
the answer of a poor mason's ap-
prentice, who, on being asked his
name, gave as his Christian and sur-
name those of two of the oldest
and noblest families in the county
of Devon.

To the Order of the Holy Ghost,
instituted in 1578 by Henri III.,
not every one could aspire. It
consisted of only one hundred
members, at the head of whom, as
grand master, was the king.* The
Dauphin, the sons and grandsons of
the monarch, knights by right, were,
as well as the princes of the blood,
received at the time of their First
Communion. Foreign princes were
not admitted before the age of
twenty- five ; dukes and other nobles
of high rank not until thirty-five;
and in all cases none was allowed
to enter who could not trace back

* Henri III. instituted this order in memory of
the three great events of his life which had hap-
pened on the Feast of Pentecost namely, his birth,
his election to the crown of Poland, and his acces-
sion to the throne of France.

at least three generations of nobility
on the father's side. The cord to
which the symbol of the order was
attached was blue, and the knights
themselves were commonly desig-
nated Cordons Bleus.

The distinction being reserved
to only a small number of persons
of the highest rank, it gradually
became customary to give the name
of cordon bleu to persons of superior
merit. The Order of the Holy
Ghost was abolished at the Revolu-
tion. All the dignities as well as
all the ideas which had grouped
themselves around this noble order
have disappeared with it. Its name
is no longer used in the figurative
language of France to recall great
merit or a distinguished name; the
last memory of the order lingers in
the kitchen, and the only cordon
bleu of the nineteenth century is a
good cook !

Those who have hard work and
scant pay are wont to observe that
they might just as well travailler
pour le roi de Prusse. The king-
dom of Prussia not having been a
century and a half in existence, this
expression cannot have an earlier
origin. M. Rozan asks, therefore,
which is it of the five Fredericks
who thus puts in doubt the royal
generosity ? Some persons say that
it is Frederick William I., constantly
anxious to show himself economical
of the property of his subjects, un-
like his father, who was, according
to the expression of Frederick the
Great, " great in little things and
little in great." Either from what
the one did not spend at all, or
from what the other spent amiss,
a conclusion might be drawn in the
sense of the proverb. We incline,
however, rather to charge upon the
Great Frederick himself all the re-
sponsibility of the French reproach.

Frederick II. was fond of employ-

208

French Proverbial Sayings.

ing French workmen, but not quite
so fond of paying them ; and as no
people know better than the French
that noblesse oblige, it is no matter
of surprise that he should have fur-
nished them with a proverb. We
also find an example of his sparing
management in the conflict which
arose between him and Voltaire
(who was very economical also)
about lumps of sugar and candle-
ends. In the agreement he had
made with the poet Frederick had
promised him, besides the key of
chamberlain and the Cross of
Merit, the ordinary appointments

of a minister of state *>.,
apartment at the chateau, board,
firing, two candles a day, and so
many pounds of tea, sugar, coffee,
and chocolate every month. These
articles, though duly provided, were
of such bad quality that Voltaire
complained to the king. Frederick
professed to be infinitely pained,
and promised to give fresh orders.
Were the orders given? In any
case the provisions were as bad as
ever, and Voltaire again remonstrat-
ed. The king got out of the affair
with equal economy and cunning.
" It is frightful," he exclaimed, " to
think how badly I am obeyed ! I
cannot hang those rascals for a
lump of sugar or an ounce of tea;
they know it, and laugh at my
orders. But what most pains me
is to see M. de Voltaire disturbed
in his sublime ideas by small mise-
ries like these. Ah ! let us not
waste upon mere trifles the mo-
ments that we can devote to friend-
ship and the muses. Come, my
dear friend, you can do without
these little provisions. They oc-
casion you cares unworthy of you ;
we will speak of them no more. I
will command that for the future
they shall be stopped."

On another occasion Frederick

was having a new front put to a
Lutheran place of worship in Ber-
lin. The ministers complained to
the king that they had not light
enough to carry on the service.
The building, however, being too
far advanced for his majesty to
wish to incur the cost of alteration,
he sent back their address, after
writing upon it : " Blessed are they
who see not, and yet believe."

As a last proof of the just im-
plication of the proverb, an English
traveller, who does full justice to
the eminent qualities of the mo-
narch, says : *' Never was there a
fat soldier in any country ; but the
King of Prussia has not even a fat
sergeant. A profound knowledge
of financial economy is a point on
which this sovereign excels. It is
also a reason why his troops should
never be otherwise than lean."

This observer might have added
that Frederick made it a rule never
to allow his soldiers any pay on the
3ist day of the month. There were
thus seven days in the year on
which the whole Prussian army
travaillait pour le roi de Prusse.

Manger de la vache enragec is to
suffer great privations, to procure
with difficulty the merest necessa-
ries of life, and so to be reduced,
as it were, to " eat the flesh of a
mad co\v." The expression has
also come to mean the trials of
every kind which, in the course of
life, ought to strengthen the body
to endure hardness and the mind
to a habit of fortitude.

On entering upon a house or
appartement in Paris it is customary
to make a present of a few francs
to the concierge, which present is
called le dernier adieu. The new-
comer, if a foreigner, wonders why
the first dealings he has with the
concierge of his new abode should
be so singularly misnamed as " the

French Proverbial Sayings.

209

last farewell." The words are a cor-
ruption of the ) enter & Dieu
God's penny the piece of money
given to the person with whom a
bargain was concluded, with the
intention of taking God to witness
that the engagement had been
made, and of offering him a pledge
that it should be faithfully kept.
The sums thus given were bestowed
by the receiver in alms to the poor,
and were not appropriated, like the
arr/ies, a part payment of what was
due to the person with whom an
agreement had been made.

The lugubrious associations con-
nected with the name of the melan-
choly building at the back of Notre
Dame de Paris encourage the idea
that the word morgue must relate to
corpses, or in any case to death.
M. Rozan disabuses us of the mis-
take.

There was formerly at the en-
trance of prisons a room where
new arrivals were detained for a
few days after committal, in order
that the keepers might learn to
know their faces and appearance
sufficiently well to preclude any
chance of their escape. Later on
the corpses found in the Seine or
elsewhere were exposed in this
VOL, xxvii. 14

same room, the public being ad-
mitted to see them through a small
aperture made in the door.

Until 1804 the corpses were ex-
posed in the lower jail dependent
on the prison of the Grand Chate-
let, when they were transferred to
the quay of the MarcM Neuf in a
small building which received the
name of morgue, an old French
wordfor/tf^ or visage, and used also
to express a fixed or scrutinizing
look. It is doubtless in the latter
sense that we find the true mean-
ing of the term.

Now that we have given a greatly
abridged version of portions of M.
Rozan's work, we refer the reader
for the remaining curious fragments
of information scattered through-
out its pages to the book itself.
At the same time we venture a sug-
gestion that in future editions it
might be well if the author were,
as far as practicable, to classify its
contents under certain heads such,
for instance, as are dramatic, his-
toric, local, or classic, etc., in their
origin or allusion so as to allow
some continuity of ideas in its pe-
rusal, and to gather its at present
scattered stones into a collection
of mosaics.

2IO

The Home -Rule Candidate.

THE HOME-RULE CANDIDATE.

A STORY OF "NEW IRELAND.^

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE CHAPEL AT MONAMULLIN," " THE ROMANCE OF A PORTMANTEAU,"

ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER IV.
THE ELECTION.

I WAS received at Clonacooney
with an enthusiasm that sent the
hot blood surging through my
veins in prideful throbs. At the
entrance to the village I was pre-
sented with an address by a splen-
did specimen of the Irish race in
the person of Myles Moriarty, a
man who had been "out" in forty-
eight, who, on the part of the ten-
ant-farmers of Clonacooney, tender-
ed me welcome and assurances of
both moral and physical support.

" The dark hour is passin' from
the ould country, sir, and yours
be the hand to wipe the tear from
the cheek of Erin," were his con-
cluding words.

I must have spoken to the point,
for I was cheered to the echo, and
my right hand almost wrung from
the arm by repeated shakings.

In Father O'Dowd's garden a
small platform had been raised,
composed of the kitchen table, the
safety of which Biddy Finnegan
watched over with tender regard.

Around the little grass-plat some
hundred of the " boys " were gath-
ered, who bared their heads in re-
spectful reverence when the good
priest ascended the dais.

It is chiefly in Ireland that one
sees the visible link that binds
priests and people. The Irish
peasant never forgets that he is in
the presence of the Lord's anoint-
ed, and the respect for the clergy-

man upon the hillside or wayside
is the same as though he were clad
in his vestments and upon the altar.
Father O'Dowd introduced me
in a speech that burned into the
minds of his auditory. It was full
of fiery eloquence, full of patriotism
full of Catholicity. In dealing with
the question of Home Rule he said :
" Over a country agitated by dissen-
sion and weakened by mistrust we
have raised the banner of Home
Rule. We raised it hesitatingly, un-
furling it tremblingly to the breeze ;
but the hearts of the people have
been moved by the two small words,
and the soul of the nation has
felt their power and their spell.
These words have passed from
man to man along the valley and
along the hillside. Everywhere
our despairing sons have turned* to
that banner with confidence and
hope. Thus far we have borne it.
Upon these young and stalwart
shoulders," placing his arm affec-
tionately around me, " we shall now
place it, to be borne unto victory.
It is meet that the representative
of a stainless race, of a race that up-
held their creed when its avowal
led to the scaffold and gibbet,
should go forth from among us
young in years, high in hope, ar-
dent in the cause of creed and
country. We shall hand our banner
into his youthful hands, and with
him this trust shall be considered

The Home- Rule Candidate.

sacred. He will defend it, if nec-
essary, with his life. The cause of
the church will be his ; the cause of
the country will be his. "

When it came to my turn to
speak a mist seemed to gather be-
fore my eyes and my head began
to swim.

" Courage !" whispered Father
O ' D o w d . " No s h<zc novim us esse ni-

hiir

I plunged in medias res, flounder-
ing on, stumbling, staggering, re-
peating myself, till I felt all aflame,
and as if my head were red-hot.
Suddenly the idea smote me that I
had Wynwood Melton to beat, and
I became cool as ice. Yes, the
transition was simply instantaneous,
and with it came a flow of words
such as have never welled from me
since, save, perhaps, upon the day of
the election.

I spoke for nearly an hour, and
I subsequently recollected that I
had discussed the entire political
situation of Ireland, as I had done
some years before in a debate at
the Catholic University. Memory
came gallantly to the rescue, and
when I concluded Father O'Dowd
cried enthusiastically :

" A born orator nascitur, nonfit.
Now, boys," addressing the tumul-
tuous assemblage, " haven't we got
the right man, and won't we put
him in the right place ?"

When I returned to Kilkenley I
found that Mr. Melton had taken
his departure.

" He is alive to the importance
of an active canvass," said Mr.
Hawthorne, " and has repaired to
the tents of his people. I am very
sorry that the warning should come
from me a warning that may be of
singular disservice to you."

"I//that I shall win."

" My dearyoung friend, I felt that
I would win, and discredited the

returns that threw me overboard
when I contested Fromsey. Do not
let your feelings mislead you. Work
as if expecting defeat, and as if en-
deavoring to reduce the majority
against you. I'm an old campaigner
and know the ropes."

My mother was all eagerness to-
know how I had progressed. When
I told her that I had made two
speeches, one of them of an hour's
duration, her delight was bound-
less.

"You were lost, dear child," she
cried. " Your talents are of a high
order, and you have at last found
a field for them."

Harry Welstone had attended a
meeting at Ballynashaughragawn,.
and had held forth in my behalf,,
like a regular brick that he was.
All my jealousy disappeared upon
the mention of Melton, and Harry
was again my confidant in every-
thing.

" I don't think she cares much;
for that fellow, Fred."

" I tell you that they understand
each other." And I writhed in the
agony of the thought.

" I think her governor is nibbling
for Melton as a son-in-law, but
there is no ring of the true metal
about the girl's feelings nothing
that / can detect ; and I'm not ut-
terly unobservant."

I never felt that the gash in my
heart was so deep until Miss Haw-
thorne referred to their leaving.

" Our time is up. We have over-
stayed our limit."

" Surely you will not desert us
until after the election," said my
mother. " You must celebrate his
success, if success it is to be."

" Oh ! Miss Hawthorne is not in-
terested in my success, mother," I
interposed.

She turned her violet eyes full \
upon me.

212

The Home-Rule Candidate.

"Much more so than you give
me credit for."

" My non-success, you mean."

" I do ttrfmean it."

" It is quite right that you
should," I said bitterly. "/ have
no claim upon your interest."

"A very strong one, I assure
you."

" Melton's the man," assuming a
savage gayety. " How jolly he will
feel if he wins ! how delighted to
bear the news to his lady-love !"

" Does it not strike you, Mr. Or-
monde, that your last observation
is upon the borderland of what
shall I call it ?"

" Truth," I suggested.

She did not deign to reply to me,
but, turning to my mother, express-
ed a fear that she should leave Kil-
.kenley upon the following day.

" I will not hear of it," said my
mother stoutly.

There was one chance left, and
tthat lay in inducing Mr. Hawthorne
to stump the county with me.
'This scheme I confided to Harry,
'who highly approved of it. After
dinner, when the ladies had return-
ed to the drawing-room, Harry
opened fire.

" Mr. Hawthorne, the people
:about here are exceedingly anxious
to hear you speak. They have
heard a good deal of your eloquence
in Parliament, and have read some
of your speeches."

" I am not reported, sir. Those
-scoundrels in the press gallery ig-
nore me because I defy them.
Would you believe it, gentlemen,
my speech upon the removal of
<a custom-house officer upon a
charge of disloyalty to the throne
and constitution, and which occu-
pied two hours and a half in its
delivery I went into the ques-
tion of customs generally, into
those of foreign countries, into the

national debt, into our relations
with Japan, into the contracts for
constructing ironclads in fact, I
grasped a series of subjects of the
highest importance to the country;
and would you believe it, Mr.
Speaker -I mean gentlemen the
Times, although I saw that the re-
porter yes, gentlemen, I watched
him with an eagle eye was pre-
sent and apparently engaged in re-
porting me the Times, I say, had
the audacity to publish that the
honorable member for Doodleshire
uttered some irrelevant observa-
tions which were inaudible in the
reporters' gallery ; and yet this un-
principled scoundrel pockets his
pay, and reports the flimsy orations
of other honorable members not one
tithe of so much national impor
tance as mine." And trembling
with anger, Mr. Hawthorne gulped
down three glasses of claret in rap-
id succession.

"The Irish people," continued
Harry, " are the most rhetorical and
oratorical in the world, and prefer a
good speech to any known amuse-
ment except awake. News of your
presence here has gone far and
wide, and I may tell you fairly that
it is incumbent upon you to let
them hear you."

" I ahem ! would be very pleas-
ed to do so, did a suitable oppor-
tunity present itself," said theM.P.
with a pleased smile.

" The opportunity luckily does
present itself. On Thursday next
pur host here must attend a meet-
ing of his constituents at Boherna-
callan, and, if you were to accom-
pany him and address the people,
I assure you it will be regarded as
a very considerable favor by the
hundreds who will be assembled."

" On Thursday next .1 shall be
on my way to London."

" Not a bit of it," I chimed in.

The Home-Rule Candidate.

213

" There is nothing to be done in
London now, Mr. Hawthorne," said
Harry.

" My arrangements are all made,
and nothing, sir, nothing could in-
duce me to break them. I am a
man of iron, adamant in such mat-
ters."

I looked blankly at Harry, but

" Oh dear me ahem !" exclaimed
the M.P. "I find that I need not
be in London quite so soon, and if
it obliges you, my dear Ormonde,
I shall be glad to strike a blow in
your aid. Did you say the Times
correspondent will be there ? Not
that it makes the slightest difference
to me ; yet, belonging as I do to

Master Harry was still hopeful, as the great liberal party, and belong-
indicated by a dexterous half-wink ing as this election does to the great
while the M.P. was tossing off an- liberal party, I deem it a sacred

other glass of claret.

" I may tell you as a matter of
fact, Mr. Hawthorne, that you are
expected at this meeting."

"It is very flattering, Mr. Wei-
stone, but the meeting must stand
disappointed in so far as I am
concerned. No, gentlemen ; in the
House or outside of it, once I lay
down a plan of operations, I never

duty to aid the great liberal party
in so far as it lies in my power.
Mr. Ormonde, rely upon me, sir."

When later on I spoke with Har-
ry on the question of deceiving my
guest, especially as no reporters
would be within fifty miles of us,
" Don't bother your head about
it, Fred. Leave it all to me. I'll
get Tom Rafferty and the two

diverge from it by the distance of O'Briens to come with big pencils

a single hair."

Again I looked blankly at Harry,
and again I met with a half-wink.

"That's very unfortunate, Mr.
Hawthorne, but I suppose it cannot
be helped."

" It cannot indeed, sir."

" And reporters coming down
from Dublin, too," said Harry, ad-
dressing me.

What is that you say, Mr. Wel-

and lots of paper, and tell them to
write for their lives the whole time
old Hawthorne is speaking. Eve-
rything is fair in love, war, and an
election."

The excitement in the county
was intense as soon as the fact of
my being in the field became known
across its length and breadth. The
De Ruthvens were furious, the head

stone?" demanded the member of of the family, Mr. Beresford de

Doodleshire with considerable ear-
nestness.

" Oh ! it's not worth repeating."
"I think I heard you mention
something about reporters ?"

" Oh ! yes ; *he Dublin newspa-
pers are sending down special re-

Ruthven, honoring me with a per-
sonal visit, in order to ascertain
whether I was in my senses or out
of them.

" Am I to understand, Mr. Or-
monde, that you are a candidate
for the representation of this coun-

porters, and the ^London Times' cor- ty ?" he asked, after the usual cere-

respondent is a reporter on the
Daily Express. "

"Ahem!" And Mr. Hawthorne
gravely produced a memorandum-

monial questions had been pushed
aside.

" You are, Mr. De Ruthven."
That you have consented to be

book, which he proceeded to scan nominated by a rabble to be-

with apparent interest.

Harry gave me the full wink now.

I have been nominated by no
rabble, Mr. De Ruthven."

214

The Home-Rule Candidate.

" You are the nominee of the
priests."

" I am, sir ; but have a care ho\v
you speak of a Catholic clergyman
in this house. You are not now at
Ruthventown." I was hot with
anger.

" Do you want to break up the
harmony that has existed for cen-
turies in the county, Mr. Or-
monde ?"

" I want to see a liberal repre-
sent the county, and I am willing
to give way to a better man."

" Liberal ! What liberality do you
require? Do not the liberals have
their share in everything ?"

I had him now.

*' How many liberals are there on
the grand panel, Mr. De Ruthven?"

"Oh! I grant you that there has
been mismanagement," he hastily
replied, " but we'll see to that."

" What liberality is it that leaves
the roads approaching every Ca-
tholic church in a condition that
would shame a backwoods clearing,
while those near the meanest Pro-
testant place of worship are cared
for like the avenues in your own
domain ?"

"That shall be looked to."

" Where is the liberality at the
union boards, in the magistracy, in
the county offices ? Is there a sin-
gle Catholic in any office whatever?"

"O Mr. Ormonde ! I see you are
primed and loaded, and must go
off like a fifth-of-November crack-
er. Now, all I can say to you is
this: that if you persist in this au-
dacious attempt in breaking up the
harmony of this great county, on
your own head be the penalty ; and
let me add, sir, that when next you
attend the assizes, do not be sur-
prised if you are openly insulted."

"And do not be surprised, Mr.
De Ruthven, if the man who dares
insult me is openly horse- whipped."

Mr. De Ruthven, very much dis-
gusted at my papistical audacity,
took his leave, warning me, even
when in his carriage, that I was
certain of defeat, and equally cer-
tain of being put in Coventry.

My attempt to wrest the seat
from the conservative party was re-
garded with the same interest as Mr.
A. M. Sullivan's daring effort to
snatch Louth from the Right Hon-
orable Chichester Fortescue an
effort that was crowned with such
signal success. The cabinet minis-
ter and ex-Irish secretary, who was
regarded as Mr. Gladstone's official
representative in Ireland, was deem-
ed invulnerable in Louth, having sat
for it for twenty-seven years. The
government laughed to scorn the
idea of disturbing him, but Mr. Sul-
livan polled two to one, and was
carried in by such a weighty ma-
jority as virtually to close the
county for ever and a day, as the
children's story-books say.

In my county the conservatives
laughed my attempt to scorn,
pooh-poohing my pretensions and
ridiculing my supporters. My op-
ponent made Ruthventown his
headquarters, and from Ruthven-
town came forth his address.
From Ruthventown also was issued
a manifesto, or imperial ukase ra-
ther, commanding the tenants to
vote for the De Ruthven candidate,
while from every conservative land-
lord appeared a notice couched in
similar dictatorial terms. To these
counter-proclamations were scatter-
ed broadcast by my various commit-
tees throughout the country, calling
upon Catholics to support a Catho-
lic, upon Irishmen to support Home
Rule.

Father O'Dowd was indefatigable,
leaving Sir Boyle Roche's bird sim-
ply nowhere, as he would appear to
be in half a dozen different places at

The Home-Rule Candidate.

215

one and the same time. He lived
upon his little outside-car, and the
dead hours of the night saw him
dashing through lonely glens, wind-
ing up steep mountain-sides, speed-
ing through sleeping villages, all
for the purpose of bringing the old
faith to the front, and of rescuing
representation from the clutches
of the Orange clique, who had held
it so long, to the prejudice of Ca-
tholicity and the shame of Catho-
lics.

"We'll shake off the yoke now
or never !" was his constant cry.
" Down with the De Ruthven as-
cendency ! We'll take their heels
qff our necks. We have suffered
and endured too long and too
patiently. We have allowed a little
clique to govern a nation at their
own sweet will. It is time for the
people to assert themselves, to
come to the front, to share in their
own government. The hour is at
hand, and the men."

The county was ablaze. Meet-
ings were held in every village, and
my name was handed from town-
land to townland as a talisman.
The most despicable coercive mea-
sures were adopted by the conser-
vative landlords toward their ten-
ants with reference to their votes,
threats of eviction, of rent-raising,
of persecution being openly resort-
ed to.

" Make no promises, boys. Keep
yourselves unpledged," was the
constant cry of Father O'Dovvd.
" Recollect that you have con-
sciences and a country."

At one meeting, whilst I was en-
gaged in speaking even now I feel
astonished at my eloquence of that
time I was interrupted by some of
the De Ruthven faction, who en-
deavored to hiss and hoot me down.

" Boys," yelleda voice in thecrowd,
"there's iligant bathing in Missis

Moriarty's pond below ; they say it's
Boyne wather." And ere I could
interpose or take any step towards
cooling the feverish excitement of
my supporters, the luckless Ruth-
venites were ruthlessly swept to-
wards the dam in question, where
in all human probability they would
have been half-drowned had not Fa-
ther O'Dowd rushed to the rescue.

" Are you mad, boys ? Don't
touch a hair of their heads."

" We want for to larn them man-
ners, yer riverince; shure there's
no great harm in that."

" If one of these vagabonds is ill-
treated by you, they'll unseat Mr.
Ormonde on petition. You will not
suffer, but Mr. Ormonde will. For
Heaven's sake, boys, don't lay a
finger on them."

The announcement caused a gen-
eral gloom.

" Never mind, boys," shouted one
of the crowd. " Shure if we can't
bate thim afore the election, we
can knock sawdust out av thim
whin it's all over, an' that's a com-
fort anyhow."

From every side promises of sup-
port came pouring in. The priests
and people were working as one
man, silently, swiftly, surely. The
" hard word " had gone forth, and
every parish was preparing its con-
tingent. The hints and cajoleries
of the other side were received in
dignified silence a silence which
the ascendency party construed
into assent. It was deemed ut-
terly impossible that the tenantry
could vote against the nominee of
their landlords; and although these
"slave-owners" received very signi-
ficant warnings from their bailiffs,
they could not and would not give
heed to them.

My address was drawn up in a
solemn committee composed of
Father O'Dowd, Mr. Hawthorne,

2l6

TJie Home-Rule Candidate.

Mabel, my mother, and myself. I
need not reproduce it here. It was
Catholic and national, and when it
went forth to the county it was
received with universal enthusiasm.
The opposite party stigmatized it as
an " audacious document," a "fire-
brand." "Yes," said the parish
priest of Derrymaleena, " it is a fire-
brand, and one that lights the fu-
neral pyre of the Orange party."

I found Miss Hawthorne rewrit-
ing a copy of my address.

" I will save you the trouble, Miss
Hawthorne," I said bitterly, and
Heaven knows my heart was at a
dead ache, " and I will send a
copy to Mr. Melton."

She flushed, the hot blood
mounting over her little ears.
" You do me a cruel injustice,
Mr. Ormonde," she replied. "Read
that !" contemptuously flinging me
an open letter across the table.

"I do not wish to pry into Mr.
Melton's secrets."

"That letter istftf/from Mr. Mel-
ton. I never received one from him
in my life, nor do I care to receive
one ; but since you will not read this
letter, you shall hear its contents."

She read as follows in a pained
voice :

MY DEAR MRS. ORMONDE :

As the coming man is so busy, and is
probably at the other side of the county,
I write to you to ask you to send me a
copy of his address as soon as ever you
can. We are all alive here, and Victory
is within our grasp. Always yours,
PETER HEFFERNAN.

" Now, Mr. Ormonde, may I ask
you if it was generous of you to "

" Forgive me, Miss Hawthorne,"
I exclaimed. " I I do not know
what I am doing, what I am saying.
I am distracted wretched." I was
silent. I dared go no further. The
vision of Wynwood Melton cried

check to the bounding thoughts that
came surging from my heart.

"The evening of the 20th will
find you in better form."

I shook my head. The future
was utterly dreary one blank, sun-
less waste.

"You will'win this election, Mr.
Ormonde."

I sighed deeply.

"A barren victory."

" A barren victory !" she exclaim-
ed with considerable animation.
" Do you consider it a barren vic-
tory to beat the Carlton Club, the
great conservative stronghold of
England, whose every ukase is law
to beat the De Ruthven faction,
who have held your beautiful coun-
ty in subjection since the Pale ?"

"A Dead-Sea apple. In winning
this election I win your hatred."

" My hatred ?" opening her love-
ly violet eyes in delicious wonder.

"Yes, Miss Hawthorne ; if I am
elected I shall have beaten the man
you love."

She flushed again a shower of
rose-petals.

" There is not a more miserable
being on the face of this earth than
I am this moment, Miss Hawthorne.
Were I not pledged in honor to
this election, I would stand aside
and let Mr. Melton win this stake,
as he has won the higher stake
your heart."

She was about to interrupt me,
her lips tremulous, her hands in
strong action.

"Hear me for one moment," I
cried, carried away in a rush of
tumultuous feeling, every sense in a
mad whirl. " 1 love you, Mabel
love you with a love that is more
than love. I tried to hate you. In
that vain attempt I resolved to
bring sorrow to your heart, to glut
my own desire for vengeance. It
was jealous despair that led me

The Home-Rule Candidate.

217

into this conflict. It is possible I
may not see you until the fight is
over, perhaps never again ; but,
Mabel Hawthorne, my first, my
last love, it may be sweet to you to
know why this victory will be a
barren one, why the hand that
grasps the laurel will seize but dead
ashes." And without trusting myself
even to glance at her, I rushed from
the room, from the house, and was
many miles on the road to Derry-
maclury ere thoroughly aware of
the fact.

I did not return to Kilkenley. I
dreaded the fearful fascination of
Mabel's presence, and, now that I
had declared my hopeless love, I
did not care to meet her. It would
be mean and shabby to hang about
her, knowing she was never to be
mine. It would be despicable, un-
der the peculiar circumstances of the
case, were I again to refer to Mel-
ton or the election. There was
nothing for it but to remain at a
distance. I recall the agonies of
those few days with a shiver. The
powerful excitement of the approach-
ing contest was over-weighted by
the dull gnawing at my heart. I
was as one walking in a painful
dream. In vain I plunged into the
whirl of speech-making, canvassing,
and all the absorbing surroundings
of the election truly in vain, for
the one idea ever grimly tortured
me, and the one hopeless thought
ever perched raven-like in my
gloom-laden mind.

"Take heart of grace, man,"
Father O'Dowd would say. " We'll
beat them three to one."

Could he minister to the disease
that was eating away my very
heart ?

Harry Welstone came over.

" Why, there has been a sort of
panic at Kilkenley on account of

your abrupt departure, Fred. The
last person who saw you in the
flesh was Miss Hawthorne, and she
is very reticent in the matter. I
tried to pump her, and got quietly
sat upon for my pains. She has
disappeared, too."

" What do you mean ?"

" She has been playing the invisi-
ble princess. Yinir opponent call-
ed twice, and she refused to see
him."

" Is it Melton ?" I cried, a wild
joy surging around my heart.

" Yes ; the great M.P. in em-
bryo."

" Wouldn't see him ?"

" Said she had a headache."

"You jest, Harry."

" Not a bit of it. Old Blunder-
buss was as mad as a hatter, but
missy stuck fast to her colors."

" I wish to heaven you hadn't
told me this, Harry."

"Why?"

" I do not know."

And I did not know, but so it
was. There lay a disturbing ele-
ment in this news that completely
set me astray. Hope, that springs
eternal in the human breast ; hope,
that seemed shut out from mine for
ever, was timidly knocking at the
portals demanding admittance ; but
I resolutely barred the portals, rais-
ing the drawbridge, and dropping
the portcullis. And yet

No. I would not admit the im-
possible.

The nomination took place in
the court-house at Ballyraken,
the county town, which was lite-
rally packed with the country peo-
ple, who had come in from the
great harvest districts to hear the
" speechifyin'." The De Ruthven
faction mustered very strongly, all
the Protestant gentry arriving in
their equipages, making " a brave
and goodly show." Mr. Wynwood

218

The Home-Rule Candidate.

Melton who appeared in a fault-
lessly-fitting black frock-coat, with
the last rose of summer in his but-
ton-hole, a hat that literally shone
like jet, and pale lavender gloves
was proposed by Sir Robert Slugby
de Ruthven, D.L., and seconded by
Mr. Beresford de Ruthven, D.L.

Sir Robert, an aged, aristocratic-
looking man, with a lordly voice
and royal mien, after dilating,
amidst fearful interruption, upon
the misfortune that had fallen on
the county in the ill-considered en-
terprise of this rash young man
meaning me in his hopeless en-
deavor to disturb the harmony
which had so long existed in the
county, proceeded to say :

" I have a gentleman to propose
to your consideration a gentleman
of birth, a gentleman of education,
a gentleman of position, a gentle-
man of means, a gentleman "

Here a voice, which I imme-
diately recognized as that of Peter
O'Brien, cried out in the crowd :

" Arrah, blur an' ages, we're
tired av gintlemin ; can't ye stand
yersel/r

This sally, which was greeted with
a roar of laughter, completely up-
set the little speech which Sir Ro-
bert had prepared, and in a few
mumbled words he proposed Mr.
Wynwood Melton as a fit and pro-
per person to represent the county
in the Imperial Parliament.

Mr. Beresford de Ruthven was
an able and popular speaker. He
knew how, when, and where to
touch the heart of the Irish pea-
sant. His tact was admirable, while
he possessed the rare qualification
of being enabled to keep his au-
dience in his hands as a juggler
his golden balls.

We feared his speech. It was a
rock ahead, and every word that
fell from his lips was to be caught

up and treasured, in order that our
best men should reply to him. We
knew it was nearly impossible to
catch him tripping, and that he
was one of those agile performers
who spring smilingly to their feet
even after an ugly fall.

" I wish this was over," whisper-
ed Father O'Dowd. " Timeo Da-
naos et dona ferenlcs. He'll butter
the boys like parsnips, and promise
them the moon."

Mr. De Ruthven commenced his
speech in a breathless silence.
Oratory is always respected in Ire-
land, even in an opponent, although
that opponent be a Protestant and an
Orangeman. The speaker labored
under the disadvantage of possess-
ing but one hand, the other having
been accidentally shot off by the
bursting of a fowling-piece while
Mr. De Ruthven was grouse-shoot-
ing in Scotland.

His speech was, unhappily for
us, most felicitous. He seemed to
suit himself to the occasion, and
to make the occasion suit him. A
faint murmur followed one or two
of his well-directed points, which
gradually swelled into open ap-
plause, until, to our dismay, we
found he was carrying the audience
with him.

Our party gazed significantly one
at the other. We all perceived that
the danger we had already antici-
pated was upon us in real earnest.
At this moment I perceived Peter
O'Brien elbowing himself to the
front. A dead silence had fallen,
one of those unaccountable still-
nesses that occasionally come upon
all assemblages, however large. Mr.
De Ruthven was about to recom-
mence, when Peter, putting his
hands to his mouth, and in a voice
that could be heard in the adjacent
barony, shouted at the top of his
lungs :

The Home-Rule Candidate.

219

" Where s the hand that sthruck
the priest?"

To describe the effect of this
query would be impossible. It was
simply electrical. In one second
the current, which had been flowing
smoothly, became dammed, and in-
stantly turned into another chan-
nel. In vain did Mr. De Ruthven
endeavor to gain a hearing ; in
vain to disclaim the odious charge
that had been indirectly preferred
against him. It was useless. Eve-
ry effort was met by a thousand
cries of " Where's the hand that
sthruck the priest ?" And in these
few words the sun of his eloquence
had set for ever. The high-sheriff
almost burst a blood-vessel in his
endeavor to obtain silence, until,
finding the task a hopeless one, he
advised Mr. De Ruthven to for-
mally second the nomination and
retire, which was accordingly done,
and in dumb show.

When Melton presented himself
he was received with laughter and
jeers. The people had just warm-
ed into that facetious good-humor
that is so dangerous to a candidate
for their suffrages. Opposition
makes a martyr. Laughter causes
a man to appear ridiculous.

" What'll ye take for the posy ?"

" Off wud yer gloves."

" Will ye give us a pup out o'
that hat ?"

" Is that coat ped for ?"

" The raison it's so new is that he
wants to be able for to turn it, boys."

" Spake up."

" Give us a little Irish."

" Sing the ' Wearin' av the
Green.' '

" We'll return ye to England."

" Go home to yer mother."

" Cud ye say boo to a goose ?"

" Och ! we'll vote for ye all to-
gether like Brown's cows, an' he
had only wan."

" Yer a fine man to send out o'
the counthry."

" Arrah, what brought ye here at
all ?"

"Ax for the price o' the thrain
for to take ye home, an' mebbe
ould Beresford wud give it to ye."

Such were the greetings that in-
terrupted Mr. Wynwood Melton
during the delivery of a very brief
speech, not one word of which even
reached the reporters' table. He
seemed, however, perfectly unruf-
fled, and continued bowing for a
considerable time in response to the
derisive cheering that followed up-
on his silence.

Father O'Dowd was received
with a whirlwind of cheers, yells,
and other manifestations of enthu-
siastic delight.

In proposing me he was very
brief, alluding to the degrading po-
sition held by Catholics in a coun-
ty where the large majority of the
people were Catholics, and where
everything that could be denied a
Catholic was denied him. He was
good enough to refer to the intre
pidity with which my poor father
had upheld the ancient faith, to
his true-hearted patriotism, and
wound up by declaring that this
was the hour for the county to as-
sert itself, both for conscience and
country.

I read my speech in the Week-
ly Courier on the following Satur
day, and I suppose I must have ut-
tered it, but I have not the re-
motest conception of what I said.
It read wonderfully well; and as
Father O'Dowd told me I surpass-
ed myself, I felt more or less elated
at my success.

"If j/khad been there to hear.it!"
was my sad, sickening thought.

Lenta dies aderat. The event-
ful day arrived big with my fate
and that of the county. I felt that

220

The Home-Rule Candidate.

I was but the mere instrument,
and, if victory were to crown the
effort, it would be due to the prin-,
ciple and not the man. We knew
that in some districts we would be
badly beaten, while in others the
issue was somewhat doubtful ; but
as to the ultimate outcome we
entertained not a shadow of a
doubt. The people were panting
for a chance, and they had got it
now.

When I showed the voting-
papers to Peter, telling him that a
cross marked in pencil should go
opposite the name of the candidate
for whom the voter wished to vote,
he anxiously demanded :

" An' must the min that votes
for the Englishman put in a crass,
too ?"

" Every man of them."

44 Och, thin, glory be to God !
shure it's a judgmint on thim
Protestants for to have to* make
the sign av the blessed an' holy
crass at all, at all curse of Crummle
on thim !"

Fearing a disturbance, as party
spirit ran so high and as my sup-
porters were so excited, a strong
detachment of the Sixtieth Rifles
was marched into Ballyraken on
the eve of the polling. The Pro-
testant landlords had secured free
quarters in the town for such of
their tenantry as chose to inhabit
them, while they themselves occu-
pied the Club House and De
Ruthven Arms in a most imposing
and demonstrative manner.

I was walking down the main
street, all alone, thinking not of the
forthcoming ballot, but of Mabel,
when I perceived my opponent
lounging on the steps of the Club
House. I should be compelled to
pass the Club House or cross the
street, and as I was a member of
the club, although I never frequent-

ed it, I now resolved upon boldly en-
tering the enemy's camp.

I was passing Melton with a nod
when he stepped forward and in a
singularly insolent tone demanded
a word with me. He was very
white.

" I was at Kilkenley yesterday."

" Indeed !" I said. His tone was
too uncertain to admit of my mak-
ing any comment upon his visit.

" I suppose Miss Hawthorne is
acting under your orders ?" he
hissed.

" I am at a loss to understand
your meaning, sir," I hotly replied.

" Not at home save to those
whom you may be pleased to ad-
mit to your palatial residence," he
sneered.

" My residence is a very humble
one, Mr. Melton, and when you
honored it with your person I
hope you found it a hospitable one.
Miss Hawthorne is mistress of her
own movements, but let me tell
you, sir, that she is my mother's
guest, and the guest of an Ormonde
is sacred."

44 Very dramatic, but scarcely to
the point."

44 I'll come to any point you
please."

"When this election business is
over I may have something to say
to you," his tone fairly exasperat-
ing.

I could stand it no longer.

44 You white-livered cub, what-
ever you have to say, say it now !"
I shouted, the blood rushing like
molten lava through my veins.

44 1 don't row in public."

44 Do you wish me to tell you
what I think of you, in public, Mr.
Melton ?"

He smiled.

"Pah! you are not worth this
stick, or I'd break it across your
shoulders." And I marched into the

The Home-Rule Candidate.

22!

club, my heart bumping against
my ribs from sheer excitement.

What could he mean ? Miss
Hawthorne refuse to see him at
my request ? It was too absurd.
Some lover's quarrel. Was this
cad her lover? Had her heart
gone forth to such a man as this?

It was torture to think it.

Contrary to all expectations, the
conduct of the people was orderly
and peaceable. The dread of a
petition had been seared into their
very souls by Father O'Dowd and
by the admirable organization that
had charge of my interests. They
came up to the booths silent, al-
most sullen. The landlords and
bailiffs were all at their posts, ut-
tering a last warning word as the
tenants filed into the booths, ad-
dressing them cheerily as they
emerged therefrom, in the hope of
gleaning the much-coveted infor-
mation as to the direction of the
vote ; but the responsibility of that
day's work appeared upon every face,
and they entered the voting-places
as though stepping into a church.
Telegrams came pouring in all day
from the outlying districts.

" Ballymaclish is all right a ma-
jority of sixty; Derrymaclooney
accounts for every man," cried Fa-
ther O'Dowd. " Bravo, my dear
old parish ! I knew I could trust
my good, brave, pious children."

Later on: "The De Ruthvens
have carried Tubbercurry."

" That's because Father Nolan
is on the broad of his back."

"Ay, and because the Beresfords
have stopped at nothing," observed
one of my committee. " If we want
a petition we can pick it up in Tub-
bercurry. A telegram this morn-
ing says that there were money and
whiskey going all the week."

"How about Dharnadhulagh ?"

"No returns yet."

" Or Derrycunnihy ?"

" Derrycunnihy is doubtful."

" Not a bit of it."

"I say it is."

"I say it isn't. Sure, Father
James O'Neil has it in hands."

" Oh ! that will do. Put us down
at forty at the very least."

This sort of thing went on all
day ; but as the day wore on and the
returns came in, we found at four
o'clock that I had a majority, and
at five that I had beaten Melton
like a hack.

A wild flash of joy quivered
through me. Frederic Fitzgerald
Ormonde, M.P. ! Visions of St.
Stephen's, of fierce debafes over
the crushing wrongs of expectant
Erin, of glorious oratory, of splen-
did, supreme efforts, of magnificent
rewards, honors Cui bono?

She would hate me for having
beaten her lover in the race. But
was he her lover ? Had not her
tell-tale blushes told me all ? And
yet I had given her no chance of
reply. Perhaps

As this idea smote me a name-
less ecstasy vibrated through every
fibre of my being, and I longed to
get to Kilkenley, I knew not why.

It was excruciating to be com-
pelled to wait and receive the con-
gratulations of my friends and sup-
porters. It was simply fearful to
have to sit out a dinner which had
been prepared in my honor, and to
listen to the leaden speeches all
harping upon the one theme.

Somehow or other the n ight passed
onwards, and at about eleven o'clock
I found myself free. I rode over to
Kilkenley; it was a mad race, and
how I contrived to avoid riding
down some of my constituents is
still a matter of mystery to me. It
relieved my feverish spirits to give
the reins to my horse, and we flew
homewards, past villages, past

222

The Home- Rule Candidate.

homesteads, past inebriated revellers
on low-backed cars, past bonfires
which were lighted for miles along
the route, past hedges, ditches
everything ; nor did I draw rein un-
til I drew up at the lodge, shouting
the word "Gate!"

" Lord be merciful to us ! but it's
the masther," cried Mrs. O'Rourke,
the lodge-keeper, as she trembling-
ly threw open the gate. " May I
make so bould as to ax ye if ye bet
the Englishman, sir ?"

"Beat him to smithereens."

" Glory be to God ! I knew Fa-
ther O'Dowd would settle it."

There were lights all through the
house. The great event had kept
the household out of their beds.
My mother fell upon my neck in a
paroxysm of joy when I told her
the news.

" Where is Mabel I mean Miss
Hawthorne, mother?" I stammered.

" She was here a moment ago.
Is Mr. Hawthorne at Ballyra-
ken ?"

" Yes ; I left him making a third
speech."

" You must . be worn out, my
child. I'll make you some mulled
port."

Something told me that I should
find Mabel in the adjoining room ;
and my instincts had not deceived
me. She stood in the centre of
the apartment, one hand resting
upon a small table. When I found
myself standing opposite to her I
felt utterly, totally dumbfounded. I
could only stare at her.

" I heard the news," she said,
casting down her violet eyes. Ah !
that was all she had to say.

"Will you forgive me ?" I cried.

" Mr. Ormonde," her hands work-
ing nervously, her glorious eyes
still bent upon the table, her ex-
quisitely-shaped head half averted,
" I I that is you have been

under a most extraordinary mis-
conception with reference to Mr.
Melton. That gentleman is only a
friend. As a matter of fact, I I
was so so distressed at your ideas
about him in connection with my-
self " here she blushed red as a
rose "that I refused to see him
when he came to visit here yester-
day."

"Then you are not in love with
him ?"

She raised her violet eyes, and
her glance met mine as she uttered
the, to me, ecstatic word, "No."

" And not engaged to him ?"

" No."

I do not know what I said or
what I did ; but this I do know :
that when my mother entered the
room with a tumbler of mulled
port, she dropped the tumbler,
uttering an exclamation of delight,
and fell to kissing Mabel, exclaim-
ing: " This is the one thing wanted
to make me perfectly happy. My
poor boy was breaking his heart
about you."

I was declared duly elected to
serve the county in the United
Parliament of Great Britain and
Ireland.

Mr. Hawthorne duly presented
me to Mr. Speaker upon the occa-
sion of my taking the oaths and my
seat. My first nap in the House
was during a speech from the
member for Doodleshire, which
was not treating the ethereal thun-
der of his mind with becoming re-
spect, especially as he had just
been good enough to give me his
daughter in marriage. We were
married at the pro-cathedral at
Kensington, by Father O'Dowd.

Melton I never met.

Harry Welstone and I are closer
friends than ever, as he is in the
House, representing the borough

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

of Boliernabury, and we are always
" agin the government."

We reside at Kilkenley, and
Peter O'Brien is teaching my eldest
boy to handle the ribbons.

"Musha, thin, whin I rowled out
forninst ye in the dirt beyant at
the railway station, it's little I ever
thought I'd see ye misthress av the
ould anshint property, ma'am," is
his constant remark to the lady of

223

the manor, while he is perpetually
urging upon me the crying neces-
sity for "takin' a heat out av Driz-
zlyeye."

" Bloody wars, Masther Fred, but
you an' ould Butt is too aisy wud
him. Give him plinty av impu-
dmce, an' as share's me name's
Pether O'Brien ye'll have Home
Rule while ye'd be axin' the lind
av a sack."

THE END.

A SECTARIAN DIPLOMATIC SERVICE.

OUR federal government, as a
government, is absolutely forbidden
by the Constitution to have any-
thing whatever to do with religion ;
but the State Department has been
for years and is now conducted as
if it were an agency for a religious
sectarian propaganda. The gen-
tlemen whom it has sent to repre-
sent us at foreign courts have
acted, in numberless instances and
with few exceptions, as if they were
the emissaries of Protestant or in-
fidel missionary societies rather than
as the ambassadors, ministers, and
charges d'affaires of a government
which professes no religion, but
which nevertheless has among its
citizens eight millions of Roman
Catholics, more or less, whose rights
and opinions it is bound at least to
respect. Many of these gentlemen
have seemed to believe that one of
their principal duties, especially if
accredited to a Catholic country,
was to form intimate associations
with conspirators and agitators; to
espouse their cause ; and to fill
their despatches to Mr. Seward,
Mr. Fish, and Mr. Evarts with ab-

surd but pernicious misrepresenta-
tions concerning the relations of
the church towards education, civil
freedom, and material progress. It
may be admitted that many of
these agents have erred rather
through ignorance than malice;
not a few of them have received
but a limited education ; it is only
lately that a knowledge of the
French language has been deemed
requisite for even an ambassador.
Scores of our ministers and charges
d'affaires have been sent abroad,
remained for a few years, and re-
turned, without acquiring more
than a mere smattering of the lan-
guage of the country to which they
were accredited. Too frequently
these misrepresentatives of ours
fall into the hands of the agents of
the secret sects which are plotting
all over the world for the destruc-
tion of the church and the over-
throw of Christian society, and re-
ceive from these sources the erro-
neous and pernicious views of af-
fairs which they transmit to Wash-
ington. One of our diplomatists,
returning from a long residence in

224

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

the capital of a Catholic country,
had for a fellow-traveller on the
steamship an American Catholic,

" I envy you your residence in
," said this gentleman; "the
intellectual society there is agree-
able. Were you not well acquainted

with Father and Mgr. ?"

naming two individuals of wide-
spread celebrity,

"Oh! no," replied the astute
statesman, " not at all ; I never
met them. They are Papists, you
know, and I never cared to waste
my time with men who pray to
idols, and pretend to believe that a
piece of bread is God. Besides,"
he added, with ingenuous simplici-
ty, " my interpreter, a very shrewd
fellow, told me all the priests in
were bitter foes of our free re-
publican institutions, and I thought
it my duty to keep aloof from
them."

A perusal of the Red Books for
the last two years inclines one to
believe that many of our ministers
to foreign countries derive their
opinions and their information
chiefly from their "interpreters."
The Hon. Mr. Scadder, rewarded
for his eminent services to his par-
ty by being torn from his sorrow-
ing constituents at Watertoast, and
sent to represent us at the proud
court of a papistical sovereign,
may be at the mercy of any wag
who chooses to humbug him with
fantastical lies, or of any emissary
from a Masonic sect who is in-
structed to fill his mind with mis-
representations ; but Mr. Fish and
Mr. Evarts are men of culture, and
are supposed, at least, to be able to
distinguish a hawk from a hand-
saw. It is of them that we chiefly
complain. If the exigencies of
party have made it impossible for
them to select the best men for our
diplomatic service, and if they

have been obliged to put up with
Mr. Scadder and his kind, it has at
least been always in their power to
cause our foreign agents to under-
stand that it is no part of their
duty to write despatches calum-
niating the Catholic Church, or to
employ themselves in promoting
the missionary enterprises of Pro*
testant sects in Catholic countries.
Had Mr. Fish and Mr, Evarts pos-
sessed a true idea of their own of-
ficial duties, they never could have
permitted one of their agents to
write a second time such despatches
as some of those contained in the
Red Books before us. They would
have administered to their Scad-
ders, and Marshes, and Beales, and
Partridges, and Bassetts a rebuke
that would have opened the eyes
of these public servants and taught
them a useful lesson. Mr. Fish,
we know, is a prominent and zeal-
ous member of the Protestant Epis-
copal Church ; Mr. Evarts, we be-
lieve, is an adherent of the same
sect. In their private capacity
they have at least a legal right to
do what they can to advance the
interests of their own communion,
and to expose and check the dia-
bolical designs of the Man of Sin.
But as Secretary of State at Wash-
ington Mr. Fish had not, and Mr.
Evarts has not, any right to in-
struct, encourage, or even permit
our agents abroad to calumniate
the Catholic Church, to encourage
conspiracies against her, or to
spend their time, which belongs to
the country, and the money with
which the country supplies them, in
promoting Anti-Catholic propagan-
dism. Such a course is as bad a
policy as it is un-American. We
trust that the present Secretary of
State will give this matter his im-
mediate and careful attention ; and
the Senate and the House of Re-

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

preservatives would do well to look
into it. Let him, as becomes his
duty, inform the diplomatic agents
of this republic that they are sent
and paid to attend to the materi-
al and political interests of our
country, and are expected to keep
to themselves their religious opin-
ions, whatever those opinions may
be, in their correspondence with the
Department of State. A proper
sense of dignity on the part of the
American who holds the office of
the Secretary of State, and a decent
respect for others, would not suffer
that a diplomatic agent under his
control should use his political posi-
tion to insult the religious convic-
tions of so large, important, and pa-
triotic a portion of his fellow-citizens.
Catholic citizens ask no favors as
Catholics, and the time has gone
by for them to accept silently from
the hired agents of our common
country insults to their religious
faith. No one deprecates more
than we do to see the tendency of
the Catholic vote in this country
given almost exclusively to one of
its political parties. The only
way in which to prevent this is by
the opposite party putting an end
to the display of bigotry and fana-
ticism against the Catholic Church.
The Department of the Interior,
in its Indian Bureau, has repeated-
ly been guilty of gross violations of
good faith and fair dealing towards
the Catholic Church ; but this has
been due, probably, to the direct
pressure put upon it by the various
sects, whose cupidity was excited
by the hope of reaping where Ca-
tholic priests had sown. But the
foreign agents of the State Depart-
ment often appear to have gone
out of their way, in mere wanton-
ness, to insult, irritate, and injure
Catholic interests and feeling. Im-
agine the collector of the port of
VOL. xxvn. 15

New York writing official despatch-
es to the Secretary of the Treasury,
informing him that, in the absence
of anything better to do, he had
been giving his mind to an investi-
gation of Catholicism in this me-
tropolis, and that he had arrived
at the conclusion that much of the
pauperism of the city was due to the
facts that the entire Catholic popula-
tion were in the habit of refusing to
work on eight days of the year
days known in the superstitious jar-
gon of the Papists as "days of
obligation " and that vast sums
of money were exacted by the
priests from their ignorant and
degraded dupes, and sent over to
Rome to support in idle luxury the
pampered pope! It is probable
that Secretary Sherman would ad-
minister to the collector a severe
reprimand, and that this particu-
lar letter would not form part of
the annual treasury report. But
this is precisely the sort of news,
with which our minister to Hayti
Mr. Ebenezer Bassett regales Mr..
Evarts, so much to the apparent
satisfaction of the latter that Mr..
Bassett again and again returns to
the subject and dwells upon it with,
unction. Or fancy Postmaster
James sending a despatch to Mr.
Key to cheer him with the happy
intelligence that an unfrocked and
disgraced Catholic priest had start-
ed a brand-new sect of his own in
New York, and predicting that in
a short time a majority of the Pa-
pists would desert their pastors
and joyfully embrace the new gos-
pel. But this is in substance the
intelligence that such a man as Mr.
Bancroft most delighted to send from,
Berlin. The collector of the port
and the postmaster would be as,
much out of the line of their duty
in the cases we have mentioned as,
Mr. Bassett and Mr. Bancroft have

226

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

been. The duty of our foreign re-
presentatives is to promote the
commercial, financial, and political
interests of this republic at the
courts to which they are accredit-
ed, a.nd not to make themselves
channels for the conveyance of
idle, false, and scandalous gossip,
much less to interfere in the do-
mestic affairs of the countries
to which they are sent, or allow
themselves to be used as the tools
of secret societies or of Metho-
dist or any other missionary
boards.

We have at present thirteen en-
voys extraordinary and ministers
plenipotentiary in Austria, Brazil,
Chili, China, France, Germany,
Great Britain, Italy, Japan, Mexi-
co, Peru, Russia, and Spain ; eight
ministers resident in the Argentine
Republic, Belgium, Central Ameri-
can States, Hawaiian Islands,
Netherlands, Sweden and Norway,
Turkey, and Venezuela ; and two
.ministers resident and consuls-
general, in Hayti and Liberia.
There are also five charges d'af-
faires in Denmark, Greece, Portu-
gal, Switzerland, and Uruguay and
Paraguay. We have no represen-
tative in Bolivia, Ecuador, or the
United States of Colombia. The
great majority of the inhabitants of
.nineteen of the above-named thir-
-ty-one countries are Roman Catho-
lics ; yet not one of our foreign re-
presentatives is a Catholic. We
.ask not is this fair, but is it good
.policy ? The population of these
nineteen Roman Catholic nations
ds in round numbers, and according
to the latest enumerations, about
170,000,000 souls; but we now are,
and so far as we know almost al-
ways have been, represented at their
capitals by Protestants. Of this,
in itself, we do not complain. Wis-
dom nay, even common sense

would indeed seem to dictate that
the best results would be attained,
other things being equal, by send-
ing Catholics as envoys to Catho-
lic countries. An American Ca-
tholic in a Catholic country finds
himself in sympathy with, and not
in antagonism to, the religious hab-
its and modes of thought of the
people ; and his path towards the
accomplishment of any good and
worthy object is greatly smoothed
by this fact. We believe that in-
telligent, clever, patriotic, Catho-
lic envoys at Vienna, Rio Janei-
ro, Santiago, Paris, Rome, Mexi-
co, Lima, Madrid, Buenos Ayres,
Brussels, Guatemala, Caracas, Port
an Prince, Lisbon, Montevideo,
Asuncion, Quito, Bogota, and La
Paz would have been more suc-
cessful in accomplishing the best
and highest duties of diplomatic
representatives of this republic than
Messrs. Beale, Partridge, Logan,
Washburne, Marsh, Foster, Gibbs,
Gushing, Osborne, Merrill, Wil-
liamson, Russell, Bassett, Moran,
and Caldwell have been. We are
certain that they would not have
committed the sins against good
taste and propriety which must be
laid at the door of nearly all these
gentlemen; they surely would not
have committed the still graver of-
fences of which we shall have to
give some instances. We wish to
except from this remark, however,
Mr. Moran, long our faithful and
exemplary secretary of legation at
London, and for the last two or
three years our chief representa-
tive at Lisbon. Although not a
Catholic, Mr. Moran is a gentle-
man of excellent culture, of cor-
rect opinions concerning his offi-
cial duties, and a very skilful di-
plomatist. One may look in vain
through his despatches for anything
that should not be there. We wish

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

227

we could say half as much for some and helpless as far as human agen-

of his confreres.

Let us take, as an instance, our
misrepresentative at Rome, Mr.
George P. Marsh, of Vermont.
Mr. Marsh leaves us in no doubt
whether or not he is in full sympa-
thy with the worst political ele-

cy is concerned? The elections
for members of the Chamber of
Deputies in November, 1876, were
regarded by Mr. Marsh as evidence
that the electors were greatly dis-
satisfied with the government as
it had been administered. Doubt-

ments in Italy, and inspired by a less they were. Mr. Marsh speaks

lively hatred of the church. He of " the heavy burdens of taxation

deems it one of his most pressing imposed by it upon the people "; of

duties to assail and calumniate the ;< -" " fi -'- 1 j: ^- ----

Pope ; he seems never so happy as
when he can give a false and mali-

its "financial difficulties that pre-
vent the execution of important
works of public improvement "; of

cious interpretation to the acts of its failure even to attempt ** the

the Papal See ; he appears never abolition of the macinto tax, or of

so miserable as when he finds him- any of the financial abuses which

self disappointed in his fond anti- weigh so heavily on the poor."

cipation of seeing the Italian gov- But his remedy for this is simply

eminent invade the Vatican, drive "a more vigorous resistance to the

out the Pope, and finish up what is
left of the church in Italy. In
what Mr. Marsh is pleased to call
his mind, the church in Italy is a
ravening wolf, wounded, sick, and
in a trap, but still with life enough
in her to make her dangerous, and
to render it necessary that she
should be knocked on the head as
soon as possible. Whenever Mr.
Marsh observes indications of a
willingness on the part of the gov-
ernment to let the wolf live a little
longer, or even to make terms with
her, he scolds and laments at a
fearful rate. He writes as if he
were a member of the Extreme Left,
and evidently draws his inspira-
tion from the most advanced radi-
cal sources. " I see no reason to
expect," says he, " any more vigor-
ous resistance to the encroachments
of the church from this administra-
tion " the administration that was
in power in November, 1876.
What is it that Mr. Marsh would
wish ? What can be " the en-
croachments of the church" in

encroachments of the church " a
little more plundering, a little more
confiscation ; the seizure of the
Vatican, for instance, and the sale
of its treasures at public auction,
would no doubt put a few million
lire in the public treasury. That
would suit the amiable Mr. Marsh
exactly. But the Italians hesitate,
and Mr. Marsh is disgusted with
them. At times he informs Mr.
Evarts of terrible secrets confi-
dential information which could
only have been communicated to
him under the pledge of solemn
secrecy by one of those practical
jokers who lounge about the cafe's
in Rome and exercise their inge-
nuity in beguiling simple foreign-
ers with incredible canards. In a
despatch dated April 23, 1877, Mr.
Marsh gives an account of a sedi-
tious outbreak that had occurred
in Central and Southern Italy, in-
stigated by people who were well
dressed and who had plenty of
money, but whose purpose, as ex-
plained by themselves, was "not

Italy the " encroachments " of only the overthrow of the existing
men disarmed, despoiled, captive, government, but the destruction of

228

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

all established civil, social, and
religious institutions, and the
triumph of universal anarchy."
These, in fact, were members of
Mr. Marsh's own party ; but his
secret informant in Rome made
him believe that they were in the
pay of the Pope, and probably Jesu-
its in disguise ! " Long live Pius
IX. ! was shouted by the Interna-
tionalists at Benevento in the same
breath with their cries of sedition,"
writes Mr. Marsh ; and he goes on
to warn Mr. Evarts that " the num-
ber of persons prepared to lend a
ready ear to the promptings of
International emissaries " videlicet
the Jesuits in disguise aforesaid
il already large, is increasing; and
that Italy may be the theatre of
convulsions, to resist which will de-
mand the most strenuous efforts of
wise rulers and the most self-sac-
rificing patriotism on the part of
the governing classes," but always
in the direction of resisting "the
further encroachments of the
church." Mr. Marsh indulged in
glowing hopes when the so-called
Clerical Abuses Bill passed the
Chamber of Deputies. He describ-
ed the measure as "a bill for re-
pressing the license of the clergy
in public attacks upon the ecclesi-
astical policy of the government,"
and looked for the happiest results
to follow its enforcement. Mr.
Marsh is an American citizen ; he
is the representative of a govern-
ment which plumes itself upon the
almost unchecked freedom of its
citizens ; he is paid by a people
whose political shibboleth is " free
speech." If Mr. Marsh were run-
ning for Congress in Vermont in-
stead of exercising his powerful
intellect as minister at Rome, what
would he say concerning an attempt
by Congress to enact that the pen-
alty of fine and imprisonment

should be inflicted upon every
clergyman or minister who should
" attack the policy," for instance,
of the government seizing all the
Methodist and Baptist meeting-
houses throughout the country,
and converting them into barracks?
The Italian bill was Averse than
this, for it inflicted these penal-
ties upon every priest who, even in
the discharge of his duties as a di-
rector, might " disturb the peace of
families " by advising a mother to
teach her children that it was a
sin to steal. But the Italian sen-
ate was less brave than Mr. Marsh,
and his heart was almost broken
by its final rejection of the bill.
"This rejection," he moans, in his
despatch of April 23, "will encour-
age the clergy to measures of more
active hostility against the state."
He feels so cut up about it that he
returns to the subject in his de-
spatch of May 10, and is so far car-
ried away by his feelings as to
write that

" The violence of the clergy and of their
lay supporters in Italy and France is al-
most beyond description, and any one
living among them has abundant oppor-
tunities of being convinced that they are
prepared to resort to arms in support of
the pretensions of the Papacy and of the
principles of the Syllabus of 1864 !"

A viler calumny, a more wicked
falsehood against the French and
Italian clergy has seldom been
written. We are amazed, not that
Mr. Marsh should have written it,
but that Mr. Evarts should have
allowed such balderdash to be
printed. But Mr. Marsh grows
worse as he goes on. In his de-
spatch of May 26 he almost ex-
cels himself. He takes it as a per-
sonal grievance that the Pope has
compared Prince Bismarck to Atti-
la; he is impatient for the abroga-
tion of the Law of Guarantees; he is

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

certain that sooner or later "a vio-
lent conflict between the govern-
ment and the church is inevitable,"
and he wishes it to come rather
sooner than later. Apparently lie
is anxious to assist at the final sac-
rifice, and he is tormented with the
fear that the crafty Papists may
cheat him out of that gratification.
" The Roman Curia," he writes,
" is at all times shrouded in such
mystery that the purposes of those
who administer it (sic) are very
rarely foreshadowed, and no posi-
tive predictions can ever be hazard-
ed concerning it beyond the gene-
ral presumption that its future will
be like its past." In all soberness
and earnestness we ask Mr. Evarts
whether Mr. Marsh is kept in Rome
for the purpose of writing nonsense
about the "mystery" of the "Ro-
man Curia"? What has he to do
with the affairs of the Holy See ?
He is not accredited to the Vati-
can ; he has no more to do with
the Pope than our minister at Lon-
don has to do with the Archbishop
of Canterbury. True, the Pope is
a far more important personage
than is Mr. Tait ; but Mr. Marsh,
as we understand it, was not sent
to Rome to occupy himself about
the Pope. Instead of attending to
his own business he goes out of
his way to insult the Holy Father,
and through him the entire Catholic
population of the United States.
If everything were as it should
be, we should have as our repre-
sentative at Rome, the capital of
Christendom and the seat of the
head of the universal church, a
Catholic statesman. We do not
insist upon this ; but we do insist
that our representative at Rome
should be at least a fair-minded,
candid, well-educated, and discreet
gentleman, and not an ignorant,
rude, prejudiced, and foolish dupe

like Mr. Marsh. That we may not
be accused of doing him injustice,
let us give here the exact text of
the essential portions of his despatch
of May 26 last, to which we have
already referred :

" The excesses of the clericals," he
writes, " are producing their natural and
legitimate effect in a feeling of dissatis-
faction *

tion by the Pope, in which, for acts of
lhe German government, Count Bis-
marckis lik ened to Attila, is much com-

all responsibility for tolerating the use
of such language in public discourses by
the Pope, and its circulation through
the press, under the plea that, by the
seventh article of the law referred to,
she has enacted that the Pope ' is free'
to perform all the functions of his spiri-
tual ministry, and to affix to the doors
of the basilicas and churches of Rome
all acts of that ministry.' Such ques-
tions are bringing more clearly into
view the incongruities and inconvenien-
ces of the anomalous position in which
the general sovereignty of the state and
the still higher virtual sovereignty of the
Papacy, admitted by the terms of the
Law of Guarantees, are placed toward
each other. The Syllabus of 1864, having
been promulgated before the enactment
of that law, was notice to all the world
of the extent of the inalienable rights
claimed by the Papacy, and it is not a
violent stretch of Vatican logic to main-
tain that, in spite of its protests, the law
in question is legally a recognition of
those claims. In fact, there are many
occasions of collision between the two

right of asylum implied in the extrater-
ritoriality of the Vatican, which can nev-
er be avoided or reconciled without such
an abandonment of the claims of one of
the parties as will be yielded only to su-
perior force ; and hence a violent conflict
between them is at any time probable,
and at no distant day certainly inevitable.
Such occasions were expected by many
to arise from the pilgrimages to Rome
on the fiftieth episcopal anniversar}-- of
the present Pope. But the number of
pilgrims thus far has not reached the

230

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

tithe of that predicted, probably not
amounting in all to ten thousand, while
the garrison and municipal police have
been quietly strengthened to a force
abundantly able to repress any distur-
bance. The death of Pius IX. and the
election of his successor, events almost
hourly expected, are looked to as pro-
bably fraught with important changes in
the attitude of the Papacy toward Italy,
and in the general policy of the church.
For this expectation I see no ground,
though the Roman Curia is at all times
shrouded in such mystery that the pur-
poses of those who administer it are
very rarely foreshadowed, and no posi-
tive predictions can ever be hazarded
concerning it beyond the general pre-
sumption that its future will be like its
past."

Mr. Edward F. Beale, of Pennsyl-
vania, was our representative at
Vienna, having been sent there to
succeed that ardent anti-Catholic,
Mr. John Jay, and being now in
his turn superseded by Mr. Kas-
son, of Iowa. Mr. Beale's career
at the Austrian capital was brief
but not brilliant. In August, 1876,
he undertook to instruct Mr. Fish
concerning the drift of public opin-
ion, not only in Austria but in
France and England, upon the
Eastern question. He had ascer-
tained that the prevailing sentiment
in these countries was *' religious
fervor"; the people were so much
in love with Christianity and so
full of hatred of Moslemism that
they desired nothing more than to
see Russia enter Constantinople,
and to drive the Turks out of Eu-
rope " bag and baggage." " It is a
question of faith which will govern
Europe," writes the astute Mr.
Beale, " and a crusade is quite as
possible now as when Peter the
Hermit preached." The European
congress which is about to assem-
ble as we are writing will not dis-
turb itself about any "question of
faith"; its members will concern
themselves only with questions

of boundaries, fleets, and money.
But not content with forecasting the
future, Mr. Beale reverts to the
past, and kindly undertakes to fur-
nish the State Department with
easy lessons in European history.
Thus, in a despatch dated Septem-
ber 27, 1876, and apropos des bottes,
he bids Mr. Fish to remember that

" It is interesting to recall that in Bos-
nia originated the first Protestant move-
ment of Western Europe, and that even
before the heresies (as the Catholic Church
calls them) of John Huss in Bohemia she
had sent out her missionaries to preach
the Gospel as she read it, and to dissem-
inate her religious views over the rest of
the world. When the persecutions of the
Church of Rome were at their worst she of-
fered a generous asylum to her co-reli-
gionists, many of whom found here what
had been denied them at home the right
to worship God after their own forms and
belief."

In point of fact, the heretics of
Bosnia, at the time referred to by
our erudite minister at Vienna,
were advocating principles utterly
subversive of order and tending
directly to anarchy. They taught
that a subject was released from
all allegiance to a ruler if that ruler
were in a state of mortal sin, and
each subject was to judge for him-
self as to the spiritual condition of
his ruler. The Church of Rome
had no hesitation in setting the
seal of her condemnation upon
this vagary of Protestantism, and
even Mr. Beale would probably ad-
mit that she was right in so doing.
But he evidently was ignorant of
the facts, and was anxious only to
air his newly-acquired learning and
to have a fling at the church. Is
there among the secret instructions
of our State Department to its
agents a rule to this effect : " When
you have nothing else to write
about, pitch into the Pope " ?

It is a far cry from Vienna to

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

Port au Prince ; but our misrep-
resentative in Hayti next demands
our attention. He, of all his breth-

231

" the introduction and growth of
Protestantism in Hayti and its in-
fluence upon the government."

I -I i -- M * V ** U*\* 1J I ,

ren, is perhaps the most vulgar, He admits that in 1804 "Roman-

insolent, and ignorant; but he is

United States pay him $7,500 a
year, and have done so since 1869.
How much the Protestant Episco-
pal Church pays him, if anything,
we do not know ; but he seems to
have given much of his time and
influence to the advancement of the

ism," which was " then, as now the
faith P rofessed b y a great majority
of the Haytian people," " was de-
clared to be the religion of the
state and placed under the state's
special protection and support,"
and that "it still continues to
enjoy that protection and support."
But he complains that " the Roman

interests of that body, and to the priesthood have made many strong-

abuse of the Roman Catholic cler-
gy of the island. Several of Mr.
Bassett's despatches contain eulo-
giums upon a " Rev. Dr. Holly,"
who, he says, was " at Grace
Church, New York, in 1874, or-
dained bishop of Hayti," and
whom Mr. Bassett appears to have
taken under his special protection
and care. Now, there is no " bi-
shop of Hayti"; there is an arch-
bishop of Port au Prince, the Most
Rev. Alexius Guilloux ; and he has
four suffragans, the bishops of Cap-
Haitien, Les Caves, Gonayves, and
Port Paix. " The Rev. Dr. Holly "
has no more right to call himself
bishop of Hayti than he has to call
himself the Pope of Rome; but
Mr. Bassett deems it very hard in-
deed that the archbishop, the bi-
shops, and the clergy of Hayti have
taken the liberty of warning their
people that " the Rev. Dr. Holly "
is not bishop, and that his teach-
ings that marriage is not a sacra-
ment, and that the first duty of a
Christian is to revolt against the
church, are not to be accepted. In
May Mr. Bassett writes to Mr.
Evarts that " the Roman Catholic
archbishop and his clergy have as-
sumed a pretension to supremacy
over the civil code, notably in the
matter of marriage" ; and in July
he writes again a long letter upon

ly-directed and persistent but truly
un com mend able efforts to. cause to
be suppressed, or effectively placed
under ban, every other form of
worship and belief than their own/'
Mr. Bassett is not the only Protes-
tant who cannot or will not under-
stand the difference between the
duty of Catholic prelates in a coun-
try where heresy does not exist and
where it is sought to be introduced
from outside, and their duty in
countries like our own, where theo-
retically all religions are placed on
the same 'footing, and the govern-
ment is absolutely forbidden by its
organic law to interfere in any way
for the propagation of religious
truth or the suppression of reli-
gious error. The first ruler of
Hayti who endeavored to introduce
Protestantism into the island was,
according to Mr. Bassett, "Henri
Christophe, the autocratic king of
the north of Hayti," who in 1815,
although " himself a Roman Catho-
lic," engaged a clergyman of the
Church of England to propagate
heresy in his dominions. But King
Henri, five years afterwards, " died
by his own hand," and Protestant-
ism made no further progress "un-
til, in 1861, the Protestant Episco-
pal Church of the United States was
pleased to establish a mission with
the Rev. J. T. Holly as its pastor."

232

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

He hit upon the idea " of raising up a
national clergy in Hayti a policy which
seems never to have been thought of by
any other religious denomination in this
country, and which opened a new road
and gave a new impetus to Protestantism
here. The mission continued to grow.
It was encouraged and visited in 1863
by Bishop Lee, of Delaware ; in 1866 by
Bishop Burgess, of Maine ; and in 1872
by Bishop Coxe, of Western New York ;
and finally the Rev. Dr. Holly was, at
Grace Church, New York City, in 1874,
ordained bishop of Hayti. So that since
1874 there has been established in Hayti
an independent Protestant Church, with
the distinguishing feature that all its
clergy are citizens of the country, seve-
ral of them educated in the United
States under the vigilance of Bishop
Holly."

There are ninety-three Catholic
priests in Hayti, and of these near-
ly all are educated and cultured
French gentlemen, who are un-
doubtedly far better able to dis-
charge the duties of the priestly of-
fice than the native apostates who
have been " educated in the United
States under the vigilance of Bishop
Holly." But Mr. Bassett has the
ignorant malice to vilify them and
to display his own foolishness in
this happy style :

" The French Roman Catholic priest,
in coming to Hayti, leaves behind him
all his social ties, in the hope of return-
ing to them within eight or ten years,
the average period of his labors here.
All that he receives while in the country,
over and above his scanty personal
wants, goes abroad to enrich France at
the expense of the Haytian people, and
he even bends his energies to accumu-
late. In addition to his salary from the
government, which ranges from 20,000
francs to the archbishop to 1,200 francs
to the country curate, he is allowed a
tariff of prices for all public religious
services performed by him. Baptisms,
marriages, funerals, dispensations, in-
dulgences, Masses for the dead ser-
vices for each of these yield him by law
a revenue ranging from 50 cents up to
$50. Not only this, but he can collect
offerings from the faithful, and it is even

affirmed that many such offerings are
made to him under the dread secrecy
inspired by the confessional.

" It is true that France lost open politi-
cal control over this island in 1804, but
by means of the Roman Catholic clergy
she has maintained almost exclusive
control over the religious affairs of these
people. Indeed, the domination which
she once held over their bodies was
hardly more complete than that which
she still holds over their consciences
and spiritual susceptibilities. The priests,
in their present controversy with the
government, which is outlined in my
No. 501 already referred to, do not fail
to rely upon the spiritual subjugation of
the Haytian to the papal system of Rome,
in connection with their own supposed
power over him as citizens of a country
which once held him in physical bond-
age, and to whose interests they them-
selves are devoted.

" In the light of these facts it is no
cause for astonishment that the Haytian
government, aroused and inspired by
the policy and success of the Protestant
Bishop Holly in raising up and estab-
lishing a national clergy for the Protes-
tant Episcopal denomination, should
seek to conserve its own integrity and
the resources of its people, as well as to
avoid continual misunderstandings with
a class of foreigners resident here and
shielded by the dignity of sacerdotal
robes, by stimulating and encouraging
the young men of the country to enter
the ecclesiastical vocation.

" Meanwhile, it ought not to be un-
known to those who feel bound by the
holy injunction to have the Gospel
preached to all the world that in Hayti
the door stands wide open for every
kind of Christian missionary work."

And it is for writing such stuff
as this that we pay Mr. Ebenezer
Bassett $7,500 a year that is to
say, as much as is received by
thirty of the " country curates "
whom he reviles.

Our space is limited, and we
have but skimmed through our two
Red Books. We should have been
glad to have followed the erratic
flight of Mr. Partridge, our late
minister to Brazil, who fills quires
of paper with ridiculous nonsense

A Sectarian Diplomatic Service.

about " the exactions of Rome,"
the wickedness of " the ultramon-
tane party," and the awful danger
that the Brazilian ministry " will
yield to the demands of the Roman
Curia." Nothing escapes the birds-
eye view of this Partridge ; he
unconsciously explains much that
would otherwise be mysterious by
stating that the prime minister of
the cabinet is " a member of the
Masonic fraternity " ; but the scope
of his intellect is best shown by his
remark that " the throwing of
stones at the bishop of Rio, as he
ascended the pulpit to preach,"
was "a trick of the Jesuits." It
would have been pleasant to con-
gratulate Mr. Orth, who was our
representative at Vienna in 1876,
upon his sagacity in advocating,
with hysterical warmth, the law for
the virtual confiscation and destruc-
tion of the houses of the religious
orders in Austria a measure de-
nounced by Cardinal Schwarzen-
berg and thirty-one archbishops
and bishops as " a law which
equally violates the equality and
personal freedom of the citizen, the
ignity of religion, the honor of the
Catholic Church, and the members
of religious orders," but which, in
Mr. Orth's opinion, was "sound
and salutary, and demanded by the
progressive spirit of the age." A
page or two is deserved by Mr.
Williamson, who gives us a history
of a presidential campaign in Chili,
in which all the virtues are attri-
buted to the Masonic candidate,
and all that is devilish is ascribed
to "the church party," " the ultra-
montanes," and " the church."
Delightful would it be to tarry
with Mr. Scruggs, our talented and
courteous minister at Bogota, who
commences one of his despatches
thus : " In April last one Bermu-
dez, a bishop of the Roman Catho-

233

lie Church, proclaimed against the
public-school system of this repub-
lic," and who gives an account
of the events which followed, clos-
ing his glowing periods with the
cheerful assurance that " the church
property will probably be appro-
priated to pay the war debt." The
letters of our Mr. Rublee, at Berne,
apropos of the Old-Catholic schism
in Switzerland; of our Mr. Nicho-
las Fish, who during a brief inter-
regnum represented us at Berlin ;
and of several of our other agents,
furnish equally tempting matter
for comment. But we must pass
by them with the remark that none
of them are quite so outrageous as
those of Mr. Bassett, Mr. Beale,
and Mr. Marsh.

The present administration has
made changes in six of our most
important embassies. Mr. Kasson
has been appointed to Vienna, Mr.
Stoughton to St. Petersburg, Mr.
Milliard to Brazil, Mr. Lowell to
Madrid, Mr. Welsh to London,
and Mr. Bayard Taylor to Berlin.
It goes without saying that none of
these gentlemen have received any
diplomatic training. Mr. Kasson
is a respectable provincial lawyer,
who has sat in Congress, and who
rendered important services to his
party by going to Florida and tak-
ing care that the electoral vote of
that State was properly counted.
What he knows about Austria, and
how he may deport himself there,
remains to be seen. Without being
extravagant, one may indulge the
hope that he may prove to be an
improvement upon Mr. Beale. Mr.
Welsh is an old and worthy mer-
chant of Philadelphia, a prominent
member of the Protestant Episco-
pal Church, and an extensive dealer
in sugars : but we have yet to learn
what are his qualifications for the
weighty duties of minister to the

234

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Bencventum.

court of St. James. Mr. Lowell is
a poet, a man of letters, and a
scholar who has done honor to his
country; but we should be inclined
to doubt his fitness for managing
our commercial and political affairs
at the court of King Alfonso.
Mr. Taylor is a good journalist, in
a certain way; he has been atravel-
ler of some experience, and he is an
ardent admirer and a close student
of Schiller and of Goethe ; but he
has himself been swift to disclaim
the idea that these things made him
fit for the post to which he has
been appointed, and he rather ridi--
culed the notion that he had been
appointed minister to Berlin in
order that he might there finish his
great work- a new biography of
Goethe. There is much to be said
on both sides of the question, " Is
it worth while to keep up our diplo-
matic service at all?" We should
be inclined to take the affirmative ;

but we are not disposed to enter
into the discussion at present. One
thing, however, is certain, and that
is the necessity of freeing the ser-
vice from the weight of men like
Marsh, Beale, Partridge, Orth,
Williamson, and Scruggs. There
are others as bad, but these will
serve as types of the worst. In no
sense can they be said to rightly
represent this great, free, and noble
people ; in every sense they may
be said to misrepresent the Ca-
tholic population of the republic,
whose interests, rights, and feel-
ings can no longer be, as they
never ought to have been, safely
trampled upon by any adminis-
tration or by any party. What-
ever party does this betrays an
un-American spirit; its policy is
a bad one both for the country
and itself, and unless it changes
for the better its reign will be
short.

THE ARCHIEPISCOPAL PALACE AT BENEVENTUM.*

BENEVENTUM is a small town of
about fifteen thousand inhabitants,
situated geographically in the king-
dom of Naples. It formerly de-
pended, spiritually and temporally,
on the Holy See, which also held
jurisdiction over part of the ter-
ritory of the ancient duchy; the
other part being subject to the king
of Naples as to temporal affairs,
and to the archbishop of Beneven-
tum as to those of a spiritual na-
ture.

The archiepiscopal palace, or the
episcopio, to use the old term, stands

* Le Palais Archiepiscopal de Benevent. Par
Mgr. X. Barbicr de Montault, prelat de la maison
de Sa Sainted. Arras : A. Planque et Cie. 1875.

in its proper place, next the cathe-
dral, flanking the apsis. One of
the wings faces the market square,
where public gratitude has erected
a marble statue to Pope Benedict
XIII., the immortal benefactor of
the city, of which he had been
archbishop under the title of Car-
dinal Orsini. The entrance is to
the south. At the west, from the
garden terrace, or the windows of
the conventino, is a superb view over
a fertile valley, the verdure of
which extends up the very sides of
the mountains that fade away in
bluish tints on the horizon. It is
at once in the city from the proxi-
mity of the inhabitants, and in the

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventi

country as to its pure air, calm
solitude, and the enchanting aspect
of a landscape that always com-
mands attention and admiration.

The building is not, strictly
speaking, a palace.* It is large
and spacious, but not lofty or ele-
gant. Nothing in its exterior be-
speaks its occupant. It might be
taken for a theological seminary
or a convent, wrapped as it is in
gloomy silerce, and surrounded by
thick walls. Its general appearance
is dismal and unattractive. Only
an archaeologist would take any
pleasure in examining the huge
stones of which the walls are built.
These stones were hewn out in the
time of the Romans, and more than
one have the characteristic trou de
louve by which they were raised and
put in place. They were probably
taken from the amphitheatre, for
the misfortune that made the Coli-
seum at Rome an inexhaustible
quarry for the construction of so
many palaces, like the Farnese,
Barberini, etc., also befell the thea-
tre of Beneventum, of which but a
bare outline remains, though great
blocks from it are to be found at
every step in the private dwellings
and the walls that surround the
city. After the earthquakes of
June 5, 1688, and March 4, 1702,
the exterior of the palace was great-
ly modified by Cardinal Orsini, but
the building, as a whole, is ancient,
and many features of the walls, like
the belfry of the cathedral, carry

_ * The word palace is, by us, reserved for excep-
tional edifices that are vaster, loftier, and more high-
ly ornamented than the dwelling of a merely pri-
vate individual. But the Italian, who loves sonor-
ous epithets, is more indiscriminate in its application.
His word palazzo is susceptible of two meanings,
one referring to the edifice, and the other to the
person who inhabits it. In the latter sense it is ap-
plied to the residence of any high dignitary or per-
son of office, however little in accordance it may be
with his station. It is his rank which gives impor-
tance to his dwelling, and a name that sets it apart
and prevents it from being confounded with the
nouses of people merely in easy circumstances.

us back to the middle ages. Let
us study it in detail, for in more
than one respect it presents a
model worthy of imitation.*

The portal of the palace is monu-
mental. It has a semi-circular
arch, which is more graceful than
a square entrance, and more con-
formable to ecclesiastical traditions.
And the tympanum which fits into
the arch or ogive offers ample space
to the sculptor or painter for de-
coration. Against the lintel rest
the folding doors. These are open
all day, however, for the house of a
bishop is like that of a father who
cannot shut out his children.
Above are the arms of Cardinal
Orsini, carven in stone. Two oth-
er scutcheons once hung beside
them : one of Pius IX., destroyed
when his temporal power was sup-
pressed in the duchy of Beneven-
tum that is, in 1860, when the
kingdom of Naples was overrun by
the Garibaldian hordes; the other
that of Cardinal Carafa, the actual
archbishop, who was driyen into
exile, and whose palace was devas-
tated.

Two enormous lions, taken from
the front of the Duomo, stand at
the sides of the entrance. They
have come down from Roman times.
They are not of remarkable work-
manship, but the outlines are good.
There is life in their partly stretch-
ed-out forms, and pride in the pose
of their heads. The paws are
pressed resolutely together. One
of them grasps a head covered with
a helmet, and the other the re-

* In order to correspond full}' to the wish express-
ed so gracieuseinent by the Rev. Father Hecker,
founder of the Paulists, to have the plan of a build-
ing, with its ornamentation, in conformity with
Roman traditions, we have taken the principal
features of the palace at Beneventum as the model
of that which the Catholics of America propose
offering the cardinal of New York. The develop-
ment of this architectonic and iconographic project
will be the subject of a special essay. NotttfMgr',
Bar bier de Mont au It,

236

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum.

mains, probably, of one of those
nude children to be seen in the
mouths of the crouching lions
watching at the doors of the
churches at Rome, symbolic of
helplessness and innocence that
need aid and protection from the
strong. When the lion is represent-
ed crushing a beast or holding a
warrior's head, it signifies the vice
to be overcome, the enemy to be
annihilated.

Some look upon the lion as the
emblem of justice. This queen of
the cardinal virtues is generally re-
presented as a woman with various
attributes, such as the book of the
law, the balance wherein actions
are weighed, the sword to smite
the guilty, the eagle to show her
imperial nature, and the globe in-
dicating the extent of her empire.
On the public square at Bari is to
be seen a lion of the twelfth cen-
tury, with the brief but significant
inscription, CVSTOS IVSTICIE, on
its collar. The lion, then, does
not represent justice itself. That
virtue is only exercised in the tem-
ple, either by God or by his repre-
sentative. But the lion stands,
like the guardian of Justice, watch-
ing at the door of the Holy Place
in which she has taken up her
abode. Nothing, then, could be
more suitable for the door of a bi-
shop, the unflinching enemy of vice
as well as the sure protector of vir-
tue, than these t\vo lions, type of
the power conferred by the church
on her ministers. And they are
specially emblematic of the firm-
ness and energy of Cardinal Orsini,
who had them placed here.

The wall through which the
gateway is cut is bordered by a
line of merlons, the peculiar form
of which reminds one of Cordova
and the Alhambra. They produce
a picturesque effect, but are not of

the slightest utility. They are the
relics of feudal authority and pow-
er, the last vestige of which is the
annual payment of the cathedra-
tique, identical with the nominal
tribute some lords required of their
vassals, of no importance in itself,
but typical of the honor due from
the inferior to the pre-eminence of
his lawful chief /'// signum prceemi-
nentice. et honoris, to quote the holy
canons revived by Cardinal Orsini,
and maintained to our day, parti-
cularly in this point, by the col-
lateral descendant of Pope Paul
IV., who for more than thirty
years has occupied the see of
Beneventum.

From the top of the wall rises
one of those small open belfries
called bell-gables. It is of the
most primitive construction, being
a mere extension of a part of the
wall through which an opening for
a bell has been made. It termi-
nates in a gable like a mitre, on
which are an iron cross fleurdelise'e
and a small vane to mark the direc-
tion of the wind. The cross is al-
ways appropriate for a belfry, large
or small, if not obligatory, as Anas-
tasius the Bibliothecarius insists in
his works. The vane is no less
traditional at Rome, where it is
generally in the shape of a little
banner (the origin of which is quite
feudal), wherein the armorial en-
signs are so cut as to be embla-
zoned against the azure sky. Here
the vane is shaped like a flame.
It once bore the arms of the resi-
dent archbishop, but the rain has
washed off the color, and the sur-
face is now corroded by rust.

The small bell is of the kind
called nola. In ancient times it
was rung whenever the archbishop
left his palace or re-entered it, as
the bells of St. Peter's at Rome an-
nounce the visit and departure of

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum.

the pope. Later it only rang when
he set out on a journey and at his
coming back. Now it is mute, and
no longer announces his appear-
ance in public or his return to the
palace.

Passing through the gateway, we
come to the court. On the left are
the carriage and store houses, and,
beyond, the saddle-room, which
was quite brilliant in former times
when the cardinals went forth in
gala array. At the right is an
arched passage leading to the in-
terior of the palace, and further on
is the porter's lodge, formerly the
guard-house of the curia armata.

Around the court are many an-
cient monuments and inscriptions,
which constitute a small museum,
begun long since by the archbi-
shops. There is an Egyptian obe-
lisk of red granite, broken in two,
which once stood in the cathedral
court. It is covered from top to
bottom with hieroglyphics relating
to the deeds of some old king. Do-
mitian consecrated it to Isis. On

Vibbius Optatus, who died in
flower of youth :

237

the

D . M . A . Vibbio . Opta
To . Vix . An . XI . M . XI
Parent . Infelicissimi
Fecer .

D . XIX.

The unfortunate parents had no
illustrious name to bequeath to
posterity. The discreet maible
only echoes a profound grief.

Here is a landmark, rounded at
the top, and hewn to a point at the
bottom, the better to insert it in
the ground, that once stood on the
Appian Way, which passes trium-
phantly through the arch raised to
the glory of Trajan at one end of
Beneventum.

Beneventum, which copied Rome,
even in the device of its senate :
S. P. Q. B. Senatus popiilusquc
Beneventanus had a magistrature of
ediles at its head, who made gene-
rous provision for the embellish-
ment of the city. Here is a pedes-
tal on which this municipal corps
pompously proclaimed itself:

another side are three fragments of Splendidissimus ordo Beneventanorum,
fine marble columns : one of cipol-

One cannot help exclaiming, in

//#<?, so called on account of its
greenish veins, which resemble those
of an onion, in Italian cipolla ; the
second, of what is called porta san-
ta, because the casing of the door
in the Vatican basilica, opened
only at the Jubilee, is of this
marble, which is of a pale violet
color, or a purple that has lost
its freshness ; and the third is of
breccia corallina, the white ground
of which is relieved by reddish
veins.

The ancient inscriptions collect-
ed here, whether sepulchral, votive,
or commemorative, are not rare.

the present order of

plorab vil Tor pur s'est-il

view
things :

" Comment en tin
change !"

How into vile dross hath the pure gold changed !

The Romans loved statuary, and
were lavish of it in all their pub-
lic as well as private dwellings.
Above all, their sculptors produced
divinities and illustrious men, but
sometimes the principal members
of a household, if not the whole
family, to adorn the atrium. AVho
does not remember the Balbus
family in the Museum at Naples,

~ 7 J

But they are noteworthy for their the father and son on horseback,

clearness and brevity. How ex-
pressive, for instance, are these four
lines consecrated to the manes of

and the rest gathered around them ?
Here we find several statues, both
nude and draped. Nudity was

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventitm.

chiefly confined to heroes and the
gods. It signified apotheosis the
ascension to a higher world. The
terrestrial garb was laid aside; only
a glorified body remained. Pagan
art showed itself incapable of fully
expressing a state indicated in the
middle ages by a radiance sur-
rounding the transfigured body.
We have an admirable example of
the immediate change to the glori-
fied state in Perugino's immortal
production in the Sala del Cambio
at Perugia. There the bankers
and money-changers have constant-
ly before their eyes a symbol of
the change wrought by divine pow-
er on a body in the state of celes-
tial beatitude. Paganism divested
the body of its garments, but did not
render it luminous. It only invent-
ed a symbol which the church has
retained to designate the saints
the nimbus around the head, as
the most noble part of man be-
cause the seat of the intelligence.
But it could go no further. From
Apollo, who alone had the nimbus
in the beginning to express in a
measure the luminous atmosphere
of the sun, personified in him, it
passed to other divinities, and fin-
ally even to those to whom the
senate accorded the title of divine,
thus becoming the equivalent of
divus. It is really amusing to see,
on the Arch of Constantine at
Rome, the Emperor Trajan so di-
vinized that his bare head is sur-
rounded by a nimbus, though 'he
is engaged in the chase. The
nude among the Romans was,
therefore, a conventional way of
expressing what was right in sub-
stance, the immutation wrought
by glory, and was not intended
to excite ignoble passion. In other
cases their statues were modestly
draped, though sometimes a little
too much of the form was re-

vealed by the clinging folds of the
garments.

There are several sarcophagi in
the court, with nothing extraordi-
nary about them, but even in the
most unpretending affording proof
of artistic taste. They are adorn-
ed with scenic masques, vases of
fruit, the genii of the seasons, etc.,
which have their significance and
are not without poetry. Here is
one with a medallion of its former
occupant in the centre a por-
trait full of life and animation, as
if he still were under illusion as to
his nothingness. It is supported by
two genii, winged and nude, as if
bearinghim to the celestial regions
winged, because they are fulfilling
a mission ; nude, to indicate their
celestial origin. This emblem was
common in ancient times. The
middle ages did nothing but Chris-
tianize it by substituting angels for
genii, and placing in their hands,
not the body, but the soul, of the
deceased, about to receive the re-
ward of his sanctity and good
works. We see them on the tomb
of King Dagobert, in the abbatial
church of St. Denis, snatching the
soul of the king from the demon
who was endeavoring to bear it
away.

But we have lingered too long in
the precincts. Let us enter the
palace, and first visit the prisons
for prisons there are, the archbish-
op of Beneventum, as we have said,
having formerly a twofold jurisdic-
tion, temporal as well as spiritual.
His tribunal of justice imposed the
canonical penalties. Fines seem
to have been specially employed,
for among the officials of the Curia
there was one to receive and apply
them to some religious object. At
the same time there was a register
in which they were faithfully re-
corded. There were, too, differ-

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Bcnevcntum.

239

ent degrees of imprisonment. In
the car cere alia larga there was
comparative liberty. The purgato-
rio indicates a temporary expiation.
The inferno was perhaps the prison
from which death alone could be
looked forward to as a release.
The two latter correspond to the
carcere dtiro of the Venetians.
There are similar ones, but not so
spacious, in the governor's castle
overlooking Beneventum, which
also bore the terrible names of
purgatorio and inferno* Cardinal
Orsini, who, though severe, was of
a humane disposition, visited these
prisons in 1704, at which time
there were only three prisoners, it
appears, from the report of his visit.
After assuring himself that the
vaults were in a good condition,
capable of resisting all efforts at
escape, confornicatce et proinde tutce,
he saw the necessity of obviat-
ing the dampness of the ground by
a brick pavement, ut humiditas ar-
ceatur, and ordered the inferno to
be closed for ever, because} as he
said, it was a very damp and atro-
cious place. A thoughtfulness so
full of humanity is something to
dwell on. The very text should be
cited : " Eminentissimusarchiepis-
copus utpote humidissimam et im-
manissimam claudi demandavit et
quod sub poena excommunicationis
nemo ibi detendatur." The pris-
oners must have been delighted at a
threat so much to their advantage.
The cardinal, preoccupied also
with their spiritual condition, found
means of providing them with a
chapel where they could attend
Mass and on festivals hear a ser-
mon. Their cells were sprinkled
with holy water to drive away the
malign spirit, and ornamented with

* In an official paper at Dijon, dated Sept. 26,
1511, mention is made of an obscure dungeon under
the name of cachot cfenfer.

pictures of devotion. They were
forbidden to play cards or read
bad books, and were to go to con-
fession six times a year at Christ-
mas, Easter, Whitsunday, St. Peter's
day, Assumption, and All Saints.
Every month the vicar-general
visited them to listen to their
grievances, remove all grounds of
complaint, and assure himself that
all orders had been executed. And
the cardinal, who always kept an
eye on everything himself, went to
see them twice a year.

One item in the register of ac-
counts is particularly touching.
Cardinal Orsini increased the ra-
tion of bread from time to time at
his own expense, and had a fire
made in the winter, that the prison-
ers might not suffer from the cold.

The three soldiers employed to
make the necessary arrests were
under the command of a baricello,
or corporal, all -of whom, with the
jailer, were lodged in \htguardiola
beside the arched passage which
connects the two interior courts.

The second court is bounded on
one side by the sacristy of the ca-
thedral, and on the other by
the stables and the jubilee hospice.
The stables, built by Mgr. Pacca
(of the same family from which the
cardinal of that name descended),
are large enough for about twenty
horses none too many for the
archbishop and his suite, for his
visits could not always be made in
a carriage. Even in our day a
cross-bearer precedes his eminence
on horseback, clothed in a violet
cassock and mantdlone, and in
former times the cortege must have
been much more imposing.

The hospice affords a proof of
Cardinal Orsini's inexhaustible
charity. He had before built a
special asylum for pilgrims, not far
from the palace, under the title of

240

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Bencventum.

St. Bartholomew, patron of the
city. There is nothing left now to
remind one of it, except a narrow
street still called the Via dei pelle-
grini. But on extraordinary occa-
sions, as at the time of a jubilee,
this asylum was insufficient, and
the cardinal accordingly set apart
a whole wing of his palace to
lodge those who came to Beneven-
ttim or were on their way to Rome
to gain the indulgence of the Holy
Year. This hospice had two en-
trances to admit the sexes separate-
ly : one opening into the first
court, the other into the second.
The latter has on its lintel this in-
scription, which gives the precise
date and object of the foundation :

Xenodochivm Archiepiscopale
Vrsinvm pro An. Ivbilsei MDCC.

Nor was the cardinal content to
give them benches and tables in
such numbers as still to be spoken
of. He had the bare walls reliev-
ed by paintings of some religious
subject. In the room where pub-
lic prayers were offered and the
rosary sung, as it still is daily in
the cathedral to a peculiar air
handed down by tradition, was
painted Our Lady of the Rosary,
with St. Dominic and St. Catha-
rine of Siena at her feet. In the re-
fectory was depicted a scene from
the life of the Blessed Ambrogio
Sansedoni, a Dominican friar. He
was in the habit of serving five
pilgrims in honor of the five
wounds of our Lord. One day,
while waiting on his guests, his
eyes being opened by the Holy
Spirit, denoted by the white dove
on his shoulder, he saw with aston-
ishment that they were five angels
sent by God to reward his charity.
In the room where the pilgrims'
feet were washed is to be seen the
Blessed Andrea de Franchi, also a

Dominican, humbly prostrate be-
fore a pilgrim who afterwards re-
veals himself to be the Saviour.

In the arched passage we find a
staircase, leading on the one hand
to the hall of state, and on the
other to the curia. Taking the
latter direction, we pass beneath a
statue of St. Philip Neri, larger
than life, for which reason it is
called St. Filippone. Before it
burns a votive lamp, a tribute of
gratitude from Cardinal Orsini.
Higher up are two medallions of the
fifteenth century : one of the Blessed
Virgin modestly veiled, her hands
folded, borne to heaven by two an-
gels ; the other represents St. Mark
with his usual attribute, the winged
lion. The walls of the court-room
are enlivened by a series of land-
scapes, alternating with the Orsini
arms, but the most appropriate dec-
oration is the sentence from the
writings of St. Jerome :

Privsqvam avdias
Ne Ivdicaveris

Qvemqvam
D. Hieron:
De Sept: eccl.
Gradibvs.

To judge no one without first hear-
ing him is one of those axioms it
seems useless to repeat, and yet
how many precipitate judgments,
how many sentences that would
not be rendered, were so obvious a
duty heeded !

The metropolitan archives are
between the chancery and the of-
fice of the vicar-general, which
pour into it every week a mass of
official documents for preservation.
On the ceiling are emblazoned the
arms of Cardinal Banditi, who
fitted up the room with convenien-
ces for the registers and papers,
distributing them, according to
their contents, among the large
pigeon-holes which extend from

The Arcldepiscopal Palace at Beneventum.

241

the floor to the very ceiling, and
are literally crammed with docu-
ments. To find one's way through
such an accumulation requires the
sagacity and good memory of an
archivist like the present one, whose
patience is only equalled by his
wish to oblige. Beneventum is full
of such excellent priests, who are
ready to spend their leisure mo-
ments in aiding you in your re-
searches.

It is here Cardinal Orsini may
best be studied, and that we can
learn to what an extent he sacri-
ficed himself for his flock, thereby
meriting to become, by the unani-
mous suffrage of the Sacred College,
the successor of Pope Innocent
XIII. His incessant activity is
shown by the Diario of six volumes
in folio in which, till his elevation
to the Papacy, his secretary, day by
day, noted down the most minute
details of his official life. It be-
gins December i, 1685, the date of
his preconization as archbishop of
Beneventum by Pope Innocent
XI.

The contents refer chiefly to his
pastoral visits, ordinations, both re-
gular and extraordinary ; assisting
at the offices of the cathedral,
preaching in pontificals with seven
deacons around him; confirmation,
with examination of the children
on the eve; general communions,
baptisms, visits to the dying, visits
of devotion to churches ; consecra-
tion of bishops, churches, altars,
and chalices ; blessings of all kinds,
including vestments ; religious pro-
fessions ; processions wearing the
red hat ; attending lectures on the
Holy Scriptures by a theologian ;
exposition of the Blessed Sacra-
ment, absolution of the excommu-
nicated, synods, provincial councils,
consultations in cases of conscience,
instructions to the people after the
VOL. xxvii. 1 6

Gospel, saying the rosary with the
faithful, teaching children the cate-
chism, journeys, etc., etc.

At the end of the year a sum-
mary was made of his principal
labors. We give that of the year
1694 : Cardinal Orsini baptized 67
children and confirmed 13,851;
conferred orders on 841 clerks, 503
porters, 450 lectors, 449 exorcists,
435 acolytes, 436 subdeacons, 434
deacons, and 457 priests; conse-
crated 12 bishops, 100 churches, 100
stationary altars, 500 portable altars,
176 patens, and 1 88 chalices ; bless-
ed 5 abbots and 4 abbesses; receiv-
ed the profession of 88 nuns; per-
formed 6 marriages ; administered
extreme unction 8 times ; placed 13
corner-stones, and blessed 14 ceme-
teries and 234 bells.

What a proof of his activity, com-
bined with a very complicated ad-
ministration ! But let us cite a few
items from this unpretending
diary :

" In the evening I kept vigil before the
relics exposed in the church to be con-
secrated on the morrow.

"In the morning I solemnly conse-
crated the church of the Most Holy An-
nunciation at Jelsi, preached to the con-
gregation, and then said Low Mass.
This church is the CXXXV.

" I solemnly administered the sacra-
ment of confirmation in the church to 34
boys and 24 girls, in all 58.

"Assisted in cappa at a sermon on the
Blessed Sacrament by one of the stu-
dents of my seminary.

" Assisted in cappa at the Mass of the
feria, chanted (it was in Lent), and at the
sermon.

"At Fragnitello I was received with
the usual ceremonies, but, what was un-
usual (and this greatly affected me), all
the men, women, and children came out
to meet me a mile distant, with olive
branches in their hands, showing by this
manifestation the joy in their hearts.
God be for ever blessed !"

At the end of the year the car-
dinal signed the register to guaran-

242

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum.

tee the authenticity of the contents.
He adopted this formula :

"Annus 1695, Deo propitio, hie
terminatur.

" Ita est. Ego fr. Vin. Mar. card,
archiepiscopus m(attu) ^(ropria}^

The old palaces had a hall of
state for exceptional occasions,
when the bishop had to appear in
all his dignity. There is such an
apartment here, and it is of grand
proportions. It is adorned with
the portraits and arms of the pre-
lates who have occupied the see,
with a concise notice of each.
Among them are fourteen saints
and two beati : viz., SS. Photinus,
Januarius, Dorus, Apollonius, Cas-
sian, Januarius II., Emilius, John,
Tamarus, Sophus, Marcian, Zeno,
Barbato, and Milon. The latter
belongs to the eleventh century, St.
Photinus to the first, and the re-
mainder range between the fourth
and seventh. The Blessed Giacomo
Capocci and Blessed Monaldi lived
in the fourteenth century. Let us
hope, as the cause has been intro-
duced, we may soon add the Vene-
rable Orsini.

From St. Photinus to his Emi-
nence Cardinal Carafa di Traeto
there are fifty-one bishops and sev-
enty-one archbishops. The see
was not made archiepiscopal till
the year 969, during the pontificate
of Pope John XIII. Of the twen-
ty-three cardinal archbishops two
became popes : Alexander Farnese,
under the name of Paul III.; and
Cardinal Orsini, under that of Bene-
dict XIII. Three other popes were
likewise from Beneventum St. Fe-
lix (526), Victor III. (1086), and
Gregory VIII. (1187).

As an example of the concise
and elegant manner in which these
prelates' lives are noticed, we give
that of St. Milon, a native of Au-
vergne :

" LIX. Archiep. VIII. S. Milo ex Ar-
vernia in Gallia oriundus, VIII. Bene-
ventanus archiepiscopus, ille idem qui
pietate et literis Stephanum Grandimon-
tensis familiae fundatorem erudivit. Pro-
vincialem synodum consummavit A.D.
MLXXV. Obiit die XXIII. Februarii
A.D. MLXXVI. cum sedisset paucis
supra annum mensibus."

Above these records of the bi-
shops is a long array of armorial
ensigns, in which, unfortunately,
the arms and seal are often con-
founded, though essentially differ-
ent. The archbishops of Beneven-
tum have used for ages a seal of
lead on their diplomas and licen-
ses, similar to the bulla of the
popes. On one side, separated by
a cross, are the heads of the Blessed
Virgin, titular of the cathedral, and
of St. Bartholomew, the patron of
the city and diocese. On the other
side are the name and title of the
actual archbishop. This seal, in
spite of the principles of archaeology
and heraldry, is given as a coat of
arms to the bishops who had none,
beginning with St. Photinus, and
continuing to the seventh century.
From the time of St. Barbato, who
died in 682, another seal is added
in parti to the bulla, representing
a bishop on horseback crossing a
bridge and precipitating a dragon
into the water. This is doubtless
St. Barbato himself, and perhaps
refers to the golden viper which he
abolished the worship of at Bene-
ventum, transforming it into a cha-
lice, on which, says tradition, was
graven the Lord's Supper.* This
counter-seal is maintained from
the seventh to the eleventh century,
when the bulla is resumed under
Amelius (1072).

The first arms really heraldic
make their appearance under Car-

*St. Barbato's triumphal entrance into Bene-
ventum was by a gateway that has preserved the
name of Porta Gloriosa.

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum. 243

dinal Roger, the sixteenth archbi- Thus, they wore the tiara, had the

shop, who died in 1221. The red Blessed Sacrament borne before

hat is found on the escutcheons of them in their visits, styled them-

the twelfth century, though not selves Servus servorum Dei, issued

conceded to cardinals till about a diplomas in solemn form after the

hundred years later (at the Council style of the Cancellaria, sealed

of Lyons), and not to be seen on them sub plumbo, and imposed on

their arms before the fourteenth the bishops of the province the an-

century. But this may be on the nual visit ad limina B. Bartholo-

same principle that St. Jerome is meet apostoli. Of all these usurpa-

usually represented with a cardi- tions, only the tiara remains on

nal's hat at his side.

the arms, and the bulla on the li-

The bulla, seal, and arms, from censes; but even these are too-
the first, bear the tiara and crosier, much, for the tiara and bulla are
The latter adds nothing to the sig- essentially papal, and rightfully be-
nificance, and does not imply any long to the Sovereign Pontiff alone-
special privilege, being common to On the walls of the apartment
bishops and abbots. As to the are painted encamaieu all the saint-
tiara, even with a single crown at ed bishops of Beneventum in simu-
the base, it is a manifest usurpa- lated niches, clothed pontifically,
tion. The archbishops of Bene- with the tiara on their heads. One.
venttim, it is true, wore it in the alone has a distinguishing attribute-
middle ages, as is shown by a doc- St. Barbato, who has in his hand;
ument of the fourteenth century and the viper of gold. St. Photinus, ac-
the reliefs on the bronze doors of cording to the Diptychon of Bene-
the cathedral. But Paul II., and ventum, was ordained and sent
later St, Pius V., by a motu proprio, here by St. Peter in the year 40..
the original of which is to be seen He is believed to be of Greek ori-
in the archives of the chapter, con- gin. From him to St. Januarius, ,
demned the practice in formal who was martyred in 3.05, is a long
terms. If the tiara is no longer interval with no names, though
admissible on ceremonial occasions, tradition tells us the see had 1
why retain it on the arms? And eleven occupants in the time. This-
this tiara is boldly surrounded by loss of names is said to be owing,
a nimbus when placed over the to Diocletian, who ordered the
arms of the canonized bishops, writings of Christians to be de-
though none of them ever wore it, stroyed. There is a similar vacan-
\yith the exception, perhaps, of St. cy in all the sees in France, but
Milon. The nimbus is suitable for this is no argument against their
the head, which represents the apostolic origin. The first found-
whole body, whereas the covering ers might receive their mission
of the head* however sonorous its from St. Peter or his immediate
name or rich its make, should not successors,, and the difficulties of
have an emblem which denotes ele- the times might prevent their being .
vation on our altars and a claim to at once replaced. The churches
public veneration. This would be had to exist as best they could forr<v
a grave error, infringing on the long period, and were perhaps gov-

liturgy as well as iconography.

erned by bishops with no fixed re-

The archbishops of Beneventum sidence or distinct territory,
had a mania for imitating the pope.. To . complete, the parallel with

244

1 'he ArcJiiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum^

Rome, Beneventum is said to have
had a woman for one of its bishops,
as the papal see, according to its
enemies, was fraudulently occupied
by Pope Joan. Cardinal Orsini
spiritedly replies to this calumny
in the noble words inscribed next
the name of Bishop Enrico, who
died in 1170 : " Ex errore in necro-
logio monialium S. Petri orta fuit
fabula de Sebastiana moniali pro
archiepiscopo habita ne fabula sua
vacaret Beneventana Sedes in hac
Sebastiana ut Romana de sua Jo-
hanna." This calumny sprang from
a false interpretation of the record
in the necrology of the abbey of
San Pietro for November 29 :
" Obiit archiepiscopus et Sebastian,
mon." The archbishop and the
nun might certainly die on the
same day, without being, on that
account, one and the same person.

On the east wall of the hall is
painted the city of Beneventum,
surrounded by the principal towns
of the diocese and the sees of the
suffragans. As their number is
considerable, the frescos are con-
tinued in the passage leading to
the sacristy. They are not with-
out interest, though perhaps maps
would be preferable, after the
manner of those, so striking and
complete, which adorn the gallery
of Gregory XIII. at the Vatican.

As conferences and ecclesiasti-
cal assemblies, as well as the Man-
datum on Holy Thursday, were held
in this hall, there ds a permanent
throne of carved wood, but it
stands between the windows on
one side, instead of 'being at the
end in capite .aulce, the proper
place, where the entrance now is
from the private apartments.

One -of the 'doors in the hall
opens into the Monte di Pieta,
.founded by Cardinal Orsini to .re-
lieve the poor. of his diocese, where

money was lent on articles pledg-
ed and without the least interest,
conformably to the bulls of Leo X.
and Paul V., which definitely re-
gulated such institutions. He es-
tablished, moreover, a Mons /<>//-
mentarius, or wheat fund, to furnish
grain to the poor in want of bread,
or to sow, at the mere recommen-
dation of their curate, and inscrib-
ed over the door appropriate texts
from Holy Writ, showing him to
be the comforter of the poor :

Mons frumentarius Beneventanus ercctus

anno Domini 1694.
Factus es foriitudo pauperi, forlitudo ege-

no* (Isaias xxv.)
Eripiet de angustia\ pauper em (Job xxxvi.)

Revolutions have naturally put
an end to these charitable institu-
tions, without substituting any-
thing more to the advantage of the
people, but they cannot efface the
memory of the incomparable pre-
late who founded them. Canoni-
co Feuli has reason to say in his
Bulletin o Ecdesiastico that "others
may equal Orsini, but can never
surpass him."

At the top of the staircase is a
kind of marqtiise, supported by
elegant columns, before the door
leading to the private apartments.
Above are the Orsini arms of in-
laid marbles, the colors conformed
to the rules of heraldry, and the
inscription :

Fr. Vine. Maria. Ord. Praed. Card.
Ursino. Archiep. An. MDCCVIII.

which reminds us t]jat Cardinal
Orsini belonged to the Dominican
Order. Even when pope he con-
tinued to be a frate. From him
emanated the celebrated constitu-
tion which admonished bishops
chosen from the regular orders to
remember, by the color of their

* In tribulatione sua (Isa. xxv. 4).
t De angustia sua (Job xxxvi. if).

The Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum.

245

costume, the solemn profession
they had once made.

The most striking thing in the
antechamber is a double band of
emblematic medallions on the
walls, with explanatory mottoes,
such as were popular in the six-
teenth century. They all refer to
the obligations of a bishop, and
evidently allude to Cardinal Orsi-
ni as the model of one. They be-
gin with the holy name of God in
Greek, with the Sancttis, Sanctus,
Sanctus, the angels' eternal song of
praise. We will rapidly review the
other emblems here employed to
raise the mind from the visible to
the invisible, the material to the
spiritual.

The telescope, which enables
the human eye to penetrate the
profound mysteries of the heavens.
So the spiritual world is opened
by prayer and meditation. Alta a
longe cognoscit (Ps.cxxxvii. 6).

A dog, guarding the fold : em-
blem of pastoral vigilance. Vt vi-
tam habeant (St. John x. 10).

The mitre, supported by a col-
umn : episcopal firmness. Firma-
litvr et non flectctvr (Ecclus. xv. 3).

The wine-press overflowing with
the juice of the grape: emblem of
the spiritual harvest. Vt fructvm
plvs afferat (St. John xv. 2).

A clock, which tells the hours and
minutes : the value of time. Parti-
cvla non teprcetereat (Ecclus. xiv. 14).

The crane, emblem of vigilance,
because it was formerly believed to
sleep on one foot; the other holding
a stone, which, when it fell, awoke it.
Excvbat in custodiis (Num. xviii. 4).

The horse, held in check by a
vigorous hand : self-government.
Ne declines in ira (Ps. xxvi. 9).

The elephant, believed every
morning to adore the sun at its
rising : humility before God. Hv-
miliat semetipsvm (Philipp. ii. 8).

The lamp which burns and gives
light : figure of the bishop consum-
ing himself for others. Vt ardeat
et Ivccat (St. John v. 35).*

The pelican, nourishing its young
with the blood from its own breast :
a lively expression of extreme de-
votedness. Reficiam vos (St. Matt,
xi. 28).

The crosier is the shepherd's
crook. It terminates with a grace-
ful hook for the purpose of draw-
ing the lambs more gently. It was
once a saying : " It is good to live
under the crosier !" Svm pastor
bonvs (St. John x. 2).

The sun, shedding its rays on a
balance : equity under the inflexible
eye of God. sEqvitatem vidit vvl-
tvs eivs (Ps. x. 8).

The honeycomb, in which the bee
deposits its honey gathered from the
flowers : activity and sweetness.
Mansvetvm exaltant (Ps. cxlix. 4).

The stag, which, according to an
old notion, attracted serpents by
its breath in order to exterminate
them: the might of the Holy Spirit,
of which a bishop is the organ.
Flavit Spiritvs eivs (Ps. cxlvii. 18).

The trumpet, which, though so-
norous, can give forth sweet notes.
In spiritv lenitatis (Gal. vi. i).

The mill, turned by the water,
grinds wheat to feed the hungry.
A bishop, above all, should be the
father of the poor and needy. Fran-
git esvrienti (Isai. Iviii. 7).

A painting representing the sun :
the divine attributes should be re-
produced in a bishop. In eandem
imaginem (2 Cor. iii. 18).

The fox, emblem of the trans-
gressor, flies before the dog, sym-
bol of episcopal vigilance. A facie
tva fvgiam (Ps. cxxxviii. 7).

The dolphin, by the odor it ex-
hales, draws to it the fish of the

* These quotations are often modified the idea,
rather than the exact words, being aimed at.

246

Tlie Archiepiscopal Palace at Beneventum.

sea: the influence of virtue. In
odor em cvrrimvs (Cant. i. 3).

An anvil, struck by two hammers
at once, without being moved :
strength to resist exterior assaults.
Fortitvdinem meam cvstodiam (Ps.
Iviii. 10).

The phcenix, which springs to new
life on the pile where it is consum-
ed : the power of multiplying time.
Mvltiplicabo dies (Prov. ix. 2).

The bear, taking its young in
its paws, to teach them to stand
and walk : paternal direction of
souls. Donee formetvr (Gal. iv. 19).

The compass, turning its needle
to the polar star. A bishop should
not be guided by human influences.
Hanc rcqviram (Ps. xxvi. 4).

The rain, watering the garden :
going about doing good. Pertran-
siit benefaciendo (Acts x. 38).

The pomegranate contains a great
number of seeds : a bishop shelters
the multitude. Coper it mvltitvdi-
nem (St. James v. 20).

The mitre, surrounded by an
aureola : the splendor sanctity adds
to the episcopal dignity. Conlvlit
et splendorem (Judith x. 4).

The eagle, trying its eaglets by
making them look at the sun : God
alone should be looked to in trial.
Cvm probatvs fverit (St. James i. 12).

A tree, the vigor of which is only
increased by age : experience in-
creases one's efficiency. Fortior
cvm senverit (Prov. xxii. 6).

At one end of the antechamber
is the library, formerly containing
a fine collection of books, mostly
belonging to Cardinal Orsini, but
now unfortunately scattered. He
also established a printing-press in
the palace for the purpose of pub-
lishing his own edicts, licenses, and
pamphlets for the direction of his
clergy. A small oratory opens into
the library with its marble altar
turned towards the East and its

walls covered with paintings. One
of these is a votive picture from
Cardinal Orsini after his miracu-
lous preservation in the earthquake
of 1688 by the special intervention
of St. Philip Neri, representing him
buried among the ruins of his pa-
lace, his head alone visible, resting
on a picture of the saint, who, in
consequence of this memorable cir-
cumstance, has ever since been re-
garded as one of the patrons of
Beneventum.

It is said that when Cardinal Or-
sini was leaving Beneventum for
Rome, he turned towards the weep-
ing inhabitants, and, after praying
silently for an instant, promised
them his protection henceforth
against earthquakes, and, in fact,
not only has the city been spared
when serious disasters have occur-
red in the country around, but no
citizen of Beneventum has received
any injury, even when exposed else-
where to terrible danger. Many
families keep with veneration a bust
of the holy cardinal in their houses,
or some object once belonging to
him, and attribute to this devotion
a special protection.

There is nothing of interest in
the private rooms once occupied
by Cardinal Orsini. One would
like to see his unpretending furni-
ture, his pictures of devotion, the
kneeling-stool where he so often
prayed for his flock, and the books
he daily used, but they are all gone.
There is not even an authentic
likeness of him, * tho.ugh he resid-
ed here thirty-eight years, and ex-
pended in the restoration and em-

* There are three portraits of Cardinal Orsini in
the cathedral, taken at different periods of his life.
The forehead is high and well developed. The eye
is pleasant and sympathetic, but keen and pene-
trating. The nose has a bold outline, indicative of
his energetic will. The mouth is contracted at the
corners, giving it an expression of bitterness and
dissatisfaction. The face is full, and tells of life
and vigor.

" Juxta Crucem"

247

bellishment of the palace 64,589
ducats of his personal fortune.

We have already alluded to the
quarter of the palace called // con-
ventino, because it has the aspect
of a monastery. It is divided by a
corridor, with cells on both sides
that communicate with each other,
or can be made private at pleasure.
Here, without any luxury or dis-
play, Cardinal Orsini lodged the
bishops convoked for the provin-
cial councils, and generously pro-
vided for every expense these as-
semblies involved. The priests who
accompanied them were lodged in
the convent of San Modesto, where
nothing was wanting to their com-
fort. The register of accounts gives
some curious details as to the sup-
plies. Macaroni necessarily played
an important role. Snow was fur-
nished for refreshing drinks. And
as the wine called Lachryma would

doubtless have been too heavy, it
was previously tempered by a strong
addition of the ordinary red wine!

But the patience of the reader is
already exhausted with these de-
tails. As we have implied, the
archiepiscopal palace of Beneven-
tum is not precisely artistic, and
yet it is interesting and curious.
If the account has been unreasona-
bly prolonged, the memory of Car-
dinal Orsini is a sufficient justifi-
cation. We cannot make too pro-
minent the name and labors of
those who lived only for the church,
and sacrificed themselves for its
development and glory. Quam
multa, quam opportuna, quam gran-
dia accepta referunt beneficia, let us
say, in conclusion, with the inscrip-
tion on the hospital at Beneven-
tum, graven on marble to the praise
of Fra Vincenzo Maria, priest of the
title of St. Sixtus, Cardinal Orsini.

"JUXTA CRUCEM."

DEAR Lord," we say, " could we have stood
With thy sweet Mother and Saint John

Beside thy cross; or knelt and clung
Heedless what ruffian eyes look'd on
With Magdalen's wild grief, and flung
Our arms about th' ensanguined wood ! . . ."

But have we not the Crucified
Among us, " even at the door "?

Whom else behold we, day by day,
In the sore-laden, patient poor ?

And where disease makes want its prey,
Can we not stand that cross beside ?

O blest vocation, theirs who come,
At chosen duty's high behest,

To soothe the squalid couch of pain
With pledges of a better rest

Than all earth's wealth can give or gain,
And whispers of eternal home !

248

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

Never so near our Lord as then,

We touch His Wounds more heal'd than healing

Never so close to Mary's Heart,
Hear too for us its throbs appealing :

And when for other scenes we part,
It is with John and Magdalen.

THE LITERARY EXTRAVAGANCE OF THE DAY.

LA BRUYERE sees in all extrava-
gance of phrase some symptom of
weakness. " To say modestly of
anything it is good or it is bad, and
to give reasons why it is so, needs
good sense and expression. It is
much shorter to pronounce in a
decisive tone either that it is ex-
ecrable or admirable." He him-
self is a model of clearness and
exactness of expression. His Eng-
lish counterpart is Swift, of whom
Thackeray said: "He writes as if
for the police." Nothing in litera-
ture surpasses the vraisemblance
of Gulliver s Travels, which reads
like a book of authentic adventure.
Its artlessness is the perfection of
art concealing art. La Bruyere
also says : " What art is needed to
be natural (rentrer dans la nature] \
What time, what rules, what atten-
tion, what labor to dance with the
ease and grace with which we walk,
to sing as easily as we talk, tospeakand
express one s self as one's self thinks /"
To speak or to write as one thinks
seems, in these days of tumid and
extravagant expression, to be one
of the lost arts. We generally say
either more or less than we think,
usually more. For this reason we
should turn to the older classical
writers, because of the importance
they attribute to diction, and the
sense of duty they attach to it.
The new rhetorical doctrine is,

" Let the style take care of itself.
Give us thought." Robert Brown-
ing, whose poetry nobody under-
stands, probably not even himself,
declares in favor of "burrs of ex-
pression that will stick in the at-
tention." Any one who has scram-
bled through the labyrinths of some
of his poems has had "burrs"
enough to suffice him for a lifetime.
It is clear that this plea for thought
to the neglect of style is an excuse
for slovenly composition. There is
no reason why thought should not
have clear, precise, and beautiful
expression. Unless style be made
a subject of deep attention, and be
brought to the severest test of rhe-
torical criticism, there is an end of
literature. If the barbaric " yawp "
of Walt Whitman is to pass for
poetry ; if the pictorial daubs of J.
A. Froude are to be considered
historical portraitures ; and if ex-
travagant and exaggerated forms of
speech are to be ranked as striking
beauties, the literary critics and
the lovers of literature in general
must gird themselves for a tougher
battle for letters than they ever
did for any attack that threatened
them from Philistia. What we call
the Extravagant School of Litera-
ture numbers eminent names, and
is by no means confined to the
more obvious and pronounced sen-
sationalism of the daily press. Con-

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

249

temporaneous history, criticism, po-
etry, sectarian theology, and, won-
derful to say, philosophy and sci-
ence deal largely in exaggerated ex-
pression and extravagant theory.

It may be some consolation to
the newspapers and to the gentler
sex, both charged by the critics
with the use of exaggeration and
hyperbole, that they but follow the
example set them by grave modern
historians and scientists. The reck-
less writing in the journals, like the
fluent gossip at Mrs. Grundy's tea-
parties, is ephemeral. But extrava-
gance aspires to immortality in the
pages of the historian. The de-
scription of Mary Stuart's beheading
in Fronde lacks even the historical
accuracy of a New York Herald
reporter's account of an " execu-
tion." Macaulay's fantastic analy-
sis of motives exceeds in boldness
of conjecture a journalist's article
on the future policy of the Vatican.
In both sets of examples there is
the same fault unlimited specu-
lation and unjustifiable comment.
Darwin observes some particular
facts in natural history, and, in de-
fiance of a familiar rule in syllo-
gisms, leaps at once to a univer-
sal conclusion. Matthew Arnold,
fired by his name as a critic, indul-
ges in extravagant speculation upon
the relations of literature and dog-
ma. Science loses its cool head,
and philosophy its cautious pace,
on the presentation of hitherto un-
explained phenomena. Protestant
theology hears aghast that the
Greek of the Epistle to the He-
brews is more classic than that in
the other Pauline epistles, and
telegraphs the discovery to the
Board on the Revision of the Scrip-
tures. The dainty trick of Ten-
nyson's metre is the despair and
admiration of inglorious Miltons,
whose hands cannot strike the re-

sounding lyre with like skilfulness,
and thereupon jangle it in woful
measures, Bret Harte makes a
"hit" in the delineation of wild
Western life, and he is hailed as a
new-born genius. John Hay and
Joaquin Miller assume the bays.
A crowd of nonentities rush before
the public on the lecture platform,
and their extravagant nonsense
brings them fame and fortune.
The two classes react upon each
other for the worse. The extrava-
gant never corrects his faults, and
the public never perceive them, so
used have they become to this bane-
ful influence of sensationalism. It
permeates popular religion. A Pro-
testant Life of Christ by a prominent
preacher reads like a dime novel.

We readily pardon the extrava-
gance of fiction; and catechresis in
poetry does not call forth the se-
verest censure of the critic. Any
one familiar with the hard condi-
tions of modern newspaper writing
will not be disposed to judge harsh-
ly if both editor and reporter com-
bine to make their journal " spicy."
It may be that the high-pressure
system on which newspapers are
conducted has exercised a mark-
ed influence upon all classes of
readers and writers. The New
York dailies have a rather ques-
tionable //, which provincial
journals follow from afar off. The
stupendous enterprise of sending
expeditions to South Africa and to
the North Pole, the insatiable quest
for news, the undisguised love of
the sensational characteristic of
foremost journalism, have, in our
opinion, a debilitating and disas-
trous effect upon the scholarship
and the intellectual life of America.
The showy story, the painfully epi-
grammatic drama, and the pyro-
technical poetry of the land are
newspapery to the last degree.

250

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

Journalists do not even seem to
know or realize the influence which
they exert. What is a pointed and
brilliant editorial compared to the
honest endeavor of a journalist to
inculcate sound ethical and social
views in the minds of his readers ?
Who cares about Jones' slashing
attack upon Smith ? Why, in the
name of common decency, are col-
umns opened to the discussion of
Robinson's domestic infelicities ?
We do not wish to make up our
minds every morning upon the
state and prospects of the universe.
We are firmly convinced that the
world will go on, without being
daily buttonholed by talented edi-
tors to acquaint us with the fact.
The sensational newspaper has
spoiled some of the best traits in
the American, and it has given ab-
normal development to his worst
tendency his curiosity. A news-
paper would have scattered all
the happiness of Rasselas' valley.
It is happy for Americans that they
have a weakness for print, and seem
rather to enjoy a figure therein.
If the Bungtown Bugle did not no-
tice the arrival in town of Mr.
Porkpacker, let the editor tremble.
But the extravagance of journal-
ism is mainly confined to words.
It is not altogether true that the
guiding spirit of the newspaper is
sensation. This charge, which can
readily be sustained against the
contemporary historian, does not
hold of the journalist. He makes
the most of news, but he rarely
invents. He is sensitive on this
point. Accuracy is a prime requi-
site in a reporter. His is the
hyperbole of words. This comes
generally from a limited education
and inexact habits of thought.
When we reflect that the first and
last lesson of rhetoric is simplicity,
we should not expect too much

from men who are trained to think
and believe that no idea is accept-
able unless arrayed in gorgeous
imagery and blazing with tawdry
rhetoric. A fire with loss of life is
a terribly startling thing, and the
reporter imagines that he is really
describing its horror when, with
apt alliteration's artful aid, he heads
his account with *' The Fire-fiend
Furious Flaunting Flames Fran-
tically Flashing Fainting Firemen
Fused by the Fierce Fire," etc.
Richard Grant White has wearied
his readers for a decade and more
on the theme of newspaper Eng-
lish and cognate subjects. The
fact is, no man can be an etymolo-
gist without a fair knowledge of the
languages from which the English
is derived, and it is simply wasted
labor to counsel the attainment of
a classic style from a mere ac-
quaintance with one language, and
that the vernacular. The wonder is
that so much really good writing is
done under such limitations.

It takes some self-denial in a
newspaper man to say a thing sim-
ply. We understand that Western
newspapers have made a new de-
parture in announcing deaths, and
that a rather coarse, if not ribald,
humor is tolerated. This is an
evidence of a lower sensationalism.
The West has exercised a rough
and energetic influence upon the
laughable dilettanteism of the East-
ern press, but we must confess our
inability to relish its humor. Its
humor is extravaganza, and thus
would work out the very reform
and improvement which it is the
design of this article to advocate.
The pompous descriptions ending
in anti-climax, the open burlesquing
of the style of newspaper nov-
elists, the riotous characterization
of oddities, and the hearty dislike
of sham and cant that one meets in

TJic Literary Extravagance of the Day.

251

Western journalism must 'have a
good effect upon the general litera-
ture of the country. But one tires
of Mark Twain, mayhap for the
reason that one grows speedily
weary of professedly funny papers.
The poor court-jesters of the mid-
dle ages got more frowns than
smiles. Mark Twain has little of
that heartiness and bonhomie that
are the characteristic of true hu-

Antonelli, and that little love-af-
fair, you know. Ha! ha! ha!" No
wonder Dickens impaled the editor
of the New York Rowdy. Now, if
this man could have waited, and
read and reflected, it would have
been morally impossible for him to
have composed an obituary which,
if it had been written of any other
man than the dead Vicar of Jesus
Christ, would have exposed its au-

mor. Real wit he hqs none, nor thor to the pistol-shot of outraged
does he pretend to it. His humor relatives or to the chastisement of
is extravagance, which, even in
this humble but oh ! how genial
faculty and expression of the hu-
man heart, is seen to be out
place and power.

The more we read and write, the
clearer becomes to us the wisdom
of the Horatian maxim to keep
our lucubrations by us for years.
Hasty writing is not only hard
reading but often dangerous utter-
ance. An editor told the writer
that when the news of the late
Pope's death reached us he had
his biography already in type, but
without editorial comment. It was
necessary to compose some sort of
editorial upon an event which for
a time suspended the breath of
Christendom, and our editor, with
the nonchalance and conceit which
unfortunately characterize so many
of the journalistic guild, sat down
to dash off as fast as pen could
travel his estimate of that great,
long-suffering, and heroic man on
whose brow, where gathered the

public justice.

So long as ignorant and irrespon-
sible men are suffered to guide and
of control the expression of a journal,
so long will the American news-
paper fail of any high mission. It
is a good sign of the sturdy inde-
pendence of the American charac-
ter that it has shaken off the jour-
nalistic yoke and thinks for itself.
Formerly the editorial pages were
the first to be scrutinized and the
mysterious oracle consulted. But

" Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine."

The garish light of day has been
poured in upon the sanctum, and
the divinity has fled. The news-
paper is not likely soon again to
attain to that high dignity and
power which it held prior to the
last Presidential election, for rea-
sons too obvious to the reader to
need mention here. Year by year
the strongly-marked individuality
of the chief editor, so familiar of

glory of Thabor and the gloom of old, fades out of sight, either be-

Calvary, rested the mystic diadem
of the Supreme Pontificate. "Of
course," said our editor, " I hadn't
time to get up anything very fine,
but my Protestant friends were de-
lighted. I gave the good old man
some pretty severe raps that thing,
you know, about his being a Mason,
and opposed to progress and and

cause the race of great editors is
run or the conditions of newspaper
life have changed. We speak of
the newspaper only as it falls with-
in the scope of this article, which
regards its literary and not its
moral aspect. We do not advert
to it at all as a teaching or ethical
power, for we look upon the aver-

252

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

age journal with feelings akin to
contempt at its blind or wilful neg-
lect of the highest possibilities of
good. No men are better acquaint-
ed than are newspaper men with
the absurdity of Protestantism, its
failure both as a public institution
and a private religious life, its pet-
ty tyrannies, its squeamishness, its
rhodomontade, and its helplessness
before any attack of sound and
manly logic. They know, too, or
ought to know, the real good of the
Catholic Church. Yet how rarely
one sees in a journal even a feeble
recognition of the benefits of Ca-
tholicity! Why, in many quarters
we do not even get the show and
hearing graciously accorded to the
Mormons. Who has not felt the
covert sneer, the poorly-concealed
bigotry, and the ignorant prejudice
so thinly disguised? When Doyle,
England's best caricaturist, not
even excepting Cruikshank, was re-
quired by the proprietors of Punch
to draw a caricature of the Pope,
he threw his pencil in their faces

and told them " be ," a word

which the recording angel- cer-
N tainly blotted out. What are we to
think of a journal that seizes the
celebration of the feast of a great
national saint as a happy occasion
for publishing a series of "jocu-
lar " and blasphemous articles on
the saint's memory, twice pierc-
ing the sensibilities of Irishmen,
once through their faith and next
through their nationality? Is that
honest, worthy, or dignified jour-
nalism ?

Enough has been said to place
the general newspaper press upon
a low form in the school of ex-
travagant expression. Not until
editors feel a profound moral re-
sponsibility, and enlarge their minds
with at least a cursory study of Ca-
tholic theology two things which

are least likely to come to pass
will the American journal attain
any lasting prestige or power. As
it is, its tone becomes less dignified
and effective year by year, and we
should not be surprised to discover
in the newspaper, in time, the most
stubborn and powerful opponent
of Christianity, and even of general
morality. Heaven knows what in-
calculable harm it now does to im-
mortal souls by its constant vomit-
ing forth of social impurities and
criminal details. There are cer-
tain papers of large circulation and
"respectability" which cannot be
read by all without proximate dan-
ger of mortal sin. But if a Catho-
lic critic ventures to proclaim these
manifest truths, he is answered with
a howl about the church's opposi-
tion to progress and enlightenment.
The newspapers cannot bear criti-
cism whilst savagely attacking any
person or institution to which they
take a dislike. This sensitiveness
is a symptom of weakness.

We turn to the great masters of
extravagant expression. At their
head we place Lord Macaulay, who
has demonstrated the art of making
history romantic, and romance his-
torical. Query : whether Sir Wal-
ter Scott was not the founder of
the contemporaneous historical
school ? At any rate the cry is,
" Let us have no more dryly accu-
rate histories like Lingard's or Ar-
nold's. Relegate to an appendix
state papers and statistics. Give
us delightful conversations between
historical personages, somewhat in
the style of Landor's Imaginary
Conversations, only not so heavy."
It is so delightful to enter into the
secret motives of men, to interpret
their hidden spirit, and clearly un-
derstand their whole mental and
moral being. This is the new
school of historical writing, carried

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

to extravagant lengths by Macau-
lay, Froude, and Carlyle. The old-
fashioned idea of history was the
simple and exact statement of
events, the ascertained motives of
historical personages, and the ac-
tual results of their deeds and de-
crees. This idea the trio before
mentioned scout with derisive
laughter. Macaulay writes down
" the dignity of history " ; Fronde
penetrates into the arcana of royal
bosoms ; and Carlyle shrilly hoots
at the Dryasdusts for their histori-
cal investigations, and makes a bon-
fire of archives and state papers.
Of this precious triad Macaulay is
the least vehement, but none the
less must we dub him an extrava-
gant. He never can say a thing
naturally. He cannot rise above
an epigram or an antithesis. Nor
was there ever any intellectual
growth in him. In Trevelyan's
Life and Letters of Macaulay there
is a characteristic anecdote of his
boyhood. His mother refused him
a piece of cake for some misde-
meanor for missing a lesson, we
think. " Very well," antithetically
answered the future reviewer (cetat.
9), "hereafter industry shall be my
bread and application my butter."
This might have been written in
the Edinburgh forty years after.
When the famous essay on Milton
appeared, sensationalism had not
as yet invaded the prosy precincts
of the reviews. Jeffrey's classic
but dull reviews were models ; nor
did the humor of the "joking par-
son of St. Paul's " receive much
countenance from the Scotch, on
whom the parson revenged himself
when he said that a surgical opera-
tion was necessary to get a joke
into a Scotchman's head. Macau-
lay's brilliancy took the town by
storm. But what is there in the
review of Milton ? of Johnson ? of

2 53

Bacon ? He began the carnival of
the sensational. George Cornewall
Lewis said of Macaulay : " The
idea of a man of forty writing such
flowery and sentimental stuff ! Ma-
caulay will never be anything but a
rhetorician." But the reading peo-
ple had their appetites whetted by-
Scott and Byron, and there has
been little sobriety in literature
since. The extravagance of the
praise with which Macaulay be-
daubed Milton struck the critics
at the time; but when they an-
swered, he was famous. The
Americans raved over him. It was
perhaps as well that his History was
never finished, for it is morally cer-
tain that his infatuation for saying
brilliant things would have led him
to hurl Washington and the Ameri-
can patriots of the Revolution from
their pedestals. He could not re-
sist the temptation to bid men
abate their admiration of any es-
teemed character. To wind up
with a brilliant period was the
height of his poor literary ambition.
Of course he received his reward ;
but no man now who values his
reputation for scholarship would
think of citing him as an historical
or, what may seem stranger, a lite-
rary authority. That glowing tri-
bute to the Catholic Church in the
review on Ranke has always seem-
ed to us one of his rhetorical
bursts. There were in the subject
light and color, imposing figures,
an atmosphere of art and beauty,
and innumerable chances for in-
troducing epigrams and startling
paradoxes. He wrote an article
which flames like one of Rubens'
pictures. The whole argument is
false from beginning to end, and
its logic would shame the New
Zealander himself. The conclu-
sion which any thoughtful man
would draw from the powers and

254

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

attributes therein ascribed to the
Catholic Church is that such an
institution must be divine a con-
clusion furthest from the reviewer's
thought. He has made the dull
pages of English political history
as interesting as a fairy-tale, under
which designation it no doubt
will be tabulated by future scho-
lars ; for there is not a point d\ip-
pui in the entire history, from his
glorification of King William to
his defamation of Penn, that has
not been shattered by some one.
But who should seriously attack
romance ?

James II. was a poltroon, and
William III. was a brave man and
a great statesman. Macaulay did
not attempt all the possibilities of
sensationalism. This was left for
J. A. Froude, who now reigns in
his stead. Casting about for a
striking character, Froude lights
on Henry VIII. And it is here
that that delightful historico-ro-
mantic style soars to hitherto un-
explored heights of extravagance.
The injured monarch is introduced
to the sound of mournful music.
His tortured mind is apparent in
his anguish-riven face. Contem-
plate at leisure that Achillean
form, that massive brow, the mel-
ancholy grace of those royal legs.
A pensive smile irradiates a coun-
tenance on which all the graces
play. He is thinking of Katharine.
His conscience is smitten. Enter
to him Anne Boleyn. What
thoughts are hidden beneath that
alabaster brow? and so on for
volumes. The forte of the histo-
rian of this school is his thorough
knowledge of the thoughts .and de-
signs of his personages. Nothing
escapes his eagle eye. This won-
drous faculty, which has hitherto
been considered preternatural, en-
ables him to detect deep meanings

in the slightest act. The king
smiled significantly. Ah-hah !
Sergeant Buzfuz's interpretation of
Pickwick's note about the warm-
ing-pan sinks into obscurity along-
side of the calm and connected
analysis of motive that Mr. Froude
can weave out of King Henry's
stockings. It will amuse our rea-
ders to take up a few pages of any
of Fronde's historical works, and
study out illustrations of this criti-
cism. They will soon discover
that it is he who does all the think-
ing, planning, and suffering for his
historical automata, that are mov-
ed by the chords of his sympa-
thetic heart. No one would call
Froude a historian except in bur-
lesque. -He is a romancist.

But what shall we say of the
Scotch Diogenes, Carlyle, who
hurls books instead of tubs, though
the latter missile would do less
mischief? He is an extravagant.
We have hesitated some time about
classing him in the school, but we
think that we are justified, at least
by the wildness, unconnectedness,
and rhapsodical fury of his speech.
Besides, he frantically hates and
denounces America, which fact
would set him down at once as a
man of unbalanced intellect and
malignant humor. He used to
know how to write English, as his
Life of Schiller and Life of John
Sterling abundantly prove. But
in an evil hour he learned Ger-
man, and the next view of him we
have discovers him tossing in a
maelstrom of German metaphysics.
He certainly deserved a better fate.
We very much doubt if any sane
man can long keep his wits and
study German philosophy, especial-
ly in the mad outcomes of Fichte's
Absolute Identity and Schelling's
theories of the TO eyo. The best
minds of Germany, both Catholic

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

255

and Protestant, Mohler and Nean-
der, have pronounced the judgment
of all sensible men upon these
absurdities in one word rubbish.
Carlyle patiently worked in this
rubbish for years, and his result is
not half so good as his brave old
words, spoken out of his honest
heart : " Do what you are able to
do in this world and leave the rest
to God." In the name of com-
mon sense, do rational men care
anything about the critic of Pure
Reason, or the beer and tobacco
speculations of conceited egoists ?
It were well if men, like the parish
priest in Don Quixote, burnt all
those foolish books of knight-er-
rantry carried on in a world as
dreamy and fantastic as that fa-
bled by the old writers on chival-
ry. Carlyle 's command of lan-
guage is marvellous, but his style
is hybrid, wearisome, and frequent-
ly unintelligible. He is sensation-
al, in a bad sense, too. There is
not a hero that he has chosen who
was not chosen with an eye to
effect : Mohammed, a prophet !
Luther, the hero-priest ! Crom-
well, the hero-king ! The selec-
tion of these worthies enabled him
to say something startling. Then
the idea of taking Frederick II. of
Prussia as a type of the heroic,
kingly, religious, literary, and gen-
eral excellence of the eighteenth
century was carrying the extrava-
gant a little too far, The old man
now sits like a bear with a sore
head. We pardon him much, for
we look upon him as an embitter-
ed and disappointed man. He
seems not to care what he says nor
how rudely he says it. His criti-
cism on Swinburne, the erotic poet,
whose success is an indication of
something rotten in English letters,
is so harsh that we hesitate to
quote it, though it is richly de-

served : "He is a man up to his
neck in a cess-pool, and adding to
the filth." We need Diogenes to
snub Alexander and to trample on
the pride of Plato. Had Carlyle
escaped fantastic Germanism and
its wretched philosophizing, he
would rank with the greatest mas-
ters of language in any tongue.
The glow and beauty of many of
his descriptions are beyond praise,
and no more skilful hand has ever
drawn the vast and gloomy tableaux
of the French Revolution. His
historical method has the same
vice as Macaulay's and Froude's.
He is pictorial, imaginative, and
given to unwarranted speculation.
His style has the worst faults of
the sensational school, though it
may be alleged in his defence that
his vast knowledge of German has
unconsciously and radically modi-
fied it. Affectation he has none,
which cannot be said of his imita-
tors in word-coining.

Literary criticism, which cer-
tainly should have advanced some-
what since the days of Dennis, is at
present as "slashing" as that old
cynic himself could have desired.
The great reviews, spoiled by Ma-
caulay's example, have adopted a su-
percilious tone that but ill comports
with the dignity and functions of
true criticism. We recall only
one great exception, John Wilson
(Christopher North), in recent
English literary criticism, that is
not open to the charge of queru-
lous fault-finding. The narrow-
ness of the English reviews, and
their fatal obtuseness to see be-
yond the limits they have drawn
for themselves, have deprived
them of the proper power of liter-
ary judgment or suggestive writing
such as we associate with a review.
The latest of their number, the
Nineteenth Century, is not long

256

The Literary Extravagance of the Day,

enough before us to enable us to
form a satisfactory judgment. It
lacks unity, but, perchance, this is
a merit. The reader knows be-
forehand the judgment of the Ed-
inburgh, the London and British
Quarterlies, and the Westminster
on any subject. They are a bench
of Lord Jeffreys passing sentence
before any evidence is presented
to them.

There is no writer on whom sen-
sationalism works such quick and
fatal destruction as the critic. We
look to him to be above the pas-
sions of the hour, the rage of the
fashion, and the influence of lite-
rary and political cliques. Even
his admiration must be tempered.
He must betray no weaknesses.
When we come across a critique
which runs over with passion, weak
sentiment, petty jealousies, un-
worthy bickerings, and a subdued
but potent sensationalism, we are
shocked and disappointed. Most
contemporary reviews are pompous
exhibitions of the writer's own
learning, which may be in one
sense encyclopaedic, and which
generally throws the author under
review quite in the shade. The
older reviewers gave some hearing
to an author. They quoted him
largely, and enabled the reader to
judge for himself. They proffered
their opinions modestly, and sup-
ported their objections with proof
drawn from the book itself. But
nowadays, if a reviewer conde-
scends to advert to the book which
he is supposed to be reviewing, it is
in a high and mighty tone of cen-
sure or of autocratic approval.
This obtrusion of self and opinions
smacks much of the sensational.
The reviewer wishes to be seen up-
on the tripod, and he is convinced
in his own heart, or at least allows his
reader plainly to understand, that
he could write a much better book

than that which he has deigned to
review. Slashing criticisms are in
great favor. Oh ! for another Mac-
aulay to blast another Montgomery.
We say, Oh ! for another Pope to
place these gentlemen in another
Dunciad. There is no merit in
cutting a book to pieces. An eye
sharpened by malice and on the
lookout for faults will detect blun-
ders in a title. Where merited chas-
tisement must be inflicted it should
not be spared ; but that is a poor
idea of literary criticism that views
it as a medium of communicating
only stinging comment and bitter
diatribe. Criticism is essentially
calm and judicial. It should sift a
book as law does evidence. No
stormy passions should be suffered
to disturb its equanimity. There
is no other department of letters
that invites and exacts such rare
scholarship and genial wisdom.

The man who can quickly recog-
nize and honestly praise a work of
genius, and, through wise commen-
dation, introduce it to a wide circle
of readers, merits a crown more
precious than the poet's. In these
days of much bad writing and wide
reading there is deep need of such
exact criticism, such careful watch-
fulness over literature, and such
sure guidance of the public taste.
Keep sensationalism at least out of
our reviews and our book notices,
for if the critic loses the reckoning
we are indeed at sea.

We hinted that sectarian theolo-
gy has its sensational side. If we
can dignify with the name of theolo-
gy that congeries of books, sermons,
pamphlets, and tracts that is the
literary outcome of Protestantism,
then theology, the queen of the
sciences, is in the plight of Hecu-
ba as described in Hamlet :

" But who, oh ! who had seen the mobled queen
Run barefoot up and down, threatening the
flames," etc.

The Literary Extravagance of the Day.

257

No attempt is made to conceal
the sensationalism of the Protes-
tant pulpit. A dull preacher had
best betake himself to another oc-
cupation ; say anything that will
be listened to, sooner than behold
the agonizing sight of a sleeping
congregation. Modern congrega-
tions do not enjoy the traditional
nap. They are kept awake by the
attitudinizer in the pulpit. They
are not sure of what he is going to
say next. Sir Roger de Coverley
made his chaplain preach one of
Barrow's sermons, and, thus being
assured of orthodoxy, he slept with
a quiet conscience. The quality of
the majority of Protestant sermons
is as spiced and sensational as the
average popular lecture. What mo-
tive but that of making a sensa-
tion can induce Farrar and Stan-
ley to preach against hell in West-
minster Abbey ? Their sermons
are as high colored as a story in
the New York Ledger. The new
tack which the Protestant hulk is
now painfully taking is the harmoni-
zation of science and religion. We
verily believe that Darwin, Huxley,
and Tyndall take a malicious plea-
sure in seeing the squirms of Pro-
testant theologians. Those men
know themselves the inconclusive-
ness of their arguments against re-
velation, but the fatal spell is on
science, too it must be sensational
or nothing. The old scientists
worked calmly away for years, and
set forth the results of their inves-
tigations with the modesty of true
VOL. xxvii. 17

merit. But Huxley cannot ana-
tomize the leg of a spider with-
out publishing the process in
the newspapers, with some reflec-
tions upon its bearing and pro-
bably fatal effect upon the Mosaic
records.

In summing up the conclusions
suggested by our reflections upon
the extravagant, we must not for-
get that the ways and habits of
modern social life have almost ne-
cessitated this species of literature.
It is remarkable that the Latin
writers under the later emperors
have neither the purity of thought
nor of style of the old masters.
Literature is the reflex of passing
life. Our century is the century of
startling discovery, of kaleidoscopic
changes, of rapid social life and in-
tense intellectual energy. Its ex-
pression must be loud and boisterous.
But it is the duty of writers to
keep the gross sensational elements
of life out of letters. Litera-
ture should soothe and compose the
mind; should be its refuge from
turbulence and care ; should be a
ministry of peace and refreshment
to the wearied spirit. The endur-
ing products of human genius are
marked by the calmness and seren-
ity of the great souls that conceiv-
ed them, and they produce in us
the like frame of mind. The pub-
lic should look coldly upon the class
of productions we have been
examining, and bid

" The extravagant and erring spirit hie
To its confine,"

258 The Blue-Birds Note.

THE BLUE-BIRD'S NOTE.

NOT Philomel, 'mid dark of night, unseen,
Pipes sweeter notes unto the listening heart
Than from the adventurous blue-bird start
That sings amid the cedars' dusky green
When March doth fleck the sky with windy clouds,
When sodden grass is gray as naked boughs
Along whose length no touch of summer glows
Folded the buds within their spicy shrouds,
Waiting the coming of their Easter morn,

When the up-risen sun their bonds shall break,
Earth's alleluia in the forests wake,
Wherein no voice more glad than this is born
That fills the farewell hours of winter gloom
With skies of blue and fields knee-deep in bloom.

II.

Who hears the music of the blue-bird's song,
And sees not straightway cloudy skies grow fair
With softened light pale April kindleth there ?

Who heareth not the swollen, rippling throng

Of loosened streams that trip the roads beside,
That wear soft channels in the meadow grass,
And peaceful grow to uphold the crisp-leaved cress ?

Who sees not o'er the marsh-pools, dark and wide,

Rise tasselled willow and the later glow
Of sturdy marigolds' broad, golden bloom,
Dim light of violets ; while fresh perfume

From every budding twig doth overflow ?

Such world a song can build of shivering air

Earth's miracles unfolding everywhere.

in.

Singeth the dreamy nightingale of love,
Unsevered still the thrush from Paradise,
The lark's swift aspiration to the skies

Is faith that sees in perfect light above ;

And type doth seem spring's blue-winged herald's song
Of that calm faith Eternal Wisdom blessed,
Believing things unseen with quiet breast,

Not asking first to see the angels throng.

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

Faith meet for earth, filling the storm-rent skies
With cheerful song of trust and heavenly grace,
Softening with joys to come earth's rugged face,
Tinting life's gray with heaven's rainbow dyes
Thy note, O fearless blue-bird ! stainless scroll
O'er writ with love and hope for earth and soul.

259

GERMAN GLOSSARIES, HOMILIES, AND COMMENTARIES
ON SCRIPTURAL AND LITURGICAL SUBJECTS.*

A DILIGENT and impartial Ger-
man bibliographer, Dr. John Geff-
cken, Protestant pastor of St. Mi-
chael's, Hamburg, in his learned
work on catechetical treatises of
the fifteenth century, has pointed
out the almost complete forgetful-
ness of present scholars of a branch
of literature important in the theo-
logical and controversial history of
Germany before the Reformation.
He says of his own researches in
this field :

" There was a lost, or at any rate a for-
gotten, literature to be discovered step
by step, and its spirit grasped in all the
branches thus brought together and com-
pared. The following information will
show how little light the fragmentary
notices of Langemack in his Historia
Catechelica (vol. i.), or of Kocher, in his
Catechetical History of the Papal Church ,
threw upon the times to which I have
devoted my attention. The worst, how-
ever, was that even these scanty notices
were often false or misleading, and that,
instead of pointing out the right track,
they not seldom led into error. They
consist mostly of lists of titles of books,
without a hint of the contents of such
books, and not seldom an uncertain or
fanciful title is interpreted as denoting
contents utterly different from the reali-

*Die deutschen Plenarien (Handpostillen) 1470-
1522. Dr. J. Alzog. Herder. Freiburg in Breis-
gau. To this most interesting and valuable bro-
chure of the distinguished German ecclesiastical
historian the writer is chiefly indebted for the sub-
stance of the present article.

ty. The spirit of controversial prejudice
in which these works were written im-
pelled the authors, whenever they had
to deal with ante-Reformation times, to
paint the historical background in the
darkest possible" colors, in order to-
bring out in corresponding relief the
brightness of the new dawn of the six-
teenth century."

If this is true of such works as
those to which Geffcken refers, it
is equally so of the German Ple-
narii, or glossaries, commentaries,,
homilies, and various devotional
manuals in the vulgar tongue pub-
lished in the last half of the fif-
teenth century and the first quarter
of the sixteenth. The inquiry into
the publication, contents, and diffu-
sion of these books is as interest--
ing from an antiquarian as from a
theological point of view. They
are little known even to catalo-
guists of acknowledged merit.
Brunet, in his Manuel du Libraire* 1
etc., under the heading Plenarhtm,.
vol. iv., mentions only one, as the
Plenarium, or Book of the Gospels,,
printed at Basle by Peter von Lan-
gendorff in 1514; while under the
heading of Gospels (vol. ii.) he-
mentions in general terms several
" Evangelia." Hain, in his Reper-

* Dans lequel sont ddcrits les livres rares.pre"--
cieux,singuliers,et aussi les ouvrages les plus,
estimes. V e ejiit. Paris, 1860-1865, en vi. tomes*

26o

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

torium Bibliographicum (Stuttgart
and Tubingen, 1826-1828), in which
he claims to have collected the
names of all the books printed
from the time of the discovery of
printing to the year 1500, is a little
more explicit as to the gospels
and epistles under the heading of
that name, but has nothing to say
of any Plenarium ; although the
name stands as a separate heading,
it is followed by no details or ex-
amples. Graesse, in his Tre'sor de
livres rares et pre'cieux, ou nouveau
dictionnaire bibliographique (Dresden,
1859-1869), mentions only five of
these works, giving the dates and
presses but no hint of the contents
of the books. Earlier scholars,
however, had not so wholly lost the
tradition of the existence of these
manuals ; for instance, Nicholas
Weislinger, in his Armamentarium
Catholicum Argent., 1749 fol. sub
.anno 1488 (pp. 412-415), and Pan-
.zer, in his Annals of Ancient Ger-
.man Literature ; or, notices and de-
.scriptions of those books which, since
the invention of printing till the year
11520, were printed in the GERMAN
.tongue (Nuremberg, 1788), mentions
,a fact which Dr. Alzog says he has
not yet found proved by other
-documents the existence of simi-
lar manuals in other countries than
^Germany. The French have Les
.Postilles et Expositions des Epistres et
Evangiles Dominicales, etc. (Troyes,
51480 and 1492, and Paris, 1497),
and the Italians the same in 1483,
press and date not mentioned, and
^Epistole e Evangeli per tutto tanno,
per Annibale da Parma (Venice,
,1487). No doubt research among
the libraries of ancient Italian
cities, colleges, and monasteries
would discover many copies of
<such manuals, and the same may
be said of French glossaries. The
>act that ,they ,ha*ve but recently

come to light in Germany argues
equally in favor of their being at
some future time discovered in
other countries, certainly not less
enlightened at the time whence date
the German manuals.

It seems that hitherto no satis-
factory etymology of the name of
this class of books has been found ;
the explanation of Du Cange* be-
ing rather bald, that the books
" wholly contain the four gospels
and the canonical epistles." What-
ever the origin of the title, the
books themselves multiplied rapidly
from 1470 to 1522. They were in-
variably in the vulgar tongue, often
in dialect. They were meant as
emphatically popular hand-books,
guides to the liturgy, and interpre-
ters of the Latin offices of the
church, while they also supplied
the place of sermons, homilies, and
meditations by their glossaries and
explanations of the gospels, lessons,
and epistles. Some of these are
much in the style of the commenta-
ries of the early Fathers on Scrip-
tural subjects. The translations
from the Vulgate are generally ori-
ginal, and do not follow strictly
any of the authorized versions of
the day. In some of the later
Plenarii the Collects and Prefaces
are given, in others the Graduals
and Communions; in a few the
whole liturgy is translated and the
ceremonies explained. None of
these books was ever published in
Latin, and, unlike our modern mis-
sals, they very seldom, and then
sparingly, included the Latin text
with that in the vulgar tongue.
Hymns and sequences were also
often printed. Dr. Alzog was
drawn to the study of this branch
of church literature by his re-
searches for a hand-book of uni-

* Glossarium media; et infima latinitath.

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries. 261

versal church history, and by his
opportunities in the University
Library of Freiburg in Breisgau,
which alone contains six editions
of Plenarii of 1473, press unknown,
five respectively of 1480 (Augsburg),
of 1481 (Urach), of 1483 (Strass-
burg), of 1514 and 1522 (Basle),
and several others without authors'
or publishers' names, as well as the
kindred works of a famous preach-
er of that time, Geiler von Kei-
sersperg, printed at Strassburg.
The reproach sometimes made to
the fifteenth century, of being des-
titute of sufficient religious and
moral instruction in printed form,
is much neutralized by the oppo-
site reproach of a contemporary
whose name is famous in literature
as that of the author of the Ship of
Fools, Sebastian Brant. This pow-
erful satire, the work of a priest,
begins with these words in Ger-
man rhyme :

1 All the land is now full of holy writings
And of what touches the weal of souls,
Bibles, and the lore of holy fathers,
And many more such like,
In measure such that I much marvel
No one grows better on such cheer."

Alzog names thirty-eight man-
uals, including five by Keisersperg,
with his sermons and expositions
of doctrine, and seven in Low Sax-
on dialect, interesting as showing
the peculiarities of spelling in cer-
tain districts at that time. The
form of the title is almost unvaried
in all : " In the name of the Lord.
Amen. Here follows a Plenarium
according to the order of the holy
Christian Church, in which are to
be found written all epistles and
gospels as they are sung and read
in the ceremony of the holy Mass,
throughout the whole year, in or-
der as they are written in the fol-
lowing." The two earliest men-
tioned by Alzog are of 1470-1473.

They are adorned with title-pages
or frontispieces, Scriptural or alle-
gorical subjects. In the University
Library of Freiburg is a small folio
with a wood-cut of our Lord, his
right hand uplifted in the act of
blessing, and his left carrying an
imperial globe, the ball surmounted
by a cross, such as may be seen in
pictures of the old German empe-
rors. Round the four sides of the
print runs the following curious
inscription, unfortunately clipped
short in part by the binder : " This
portrait is made from the human
Jesus Christ when he walked upon
the earth. And therefore he had
hair and a beard, and a pleasant
countenance. Also a ... He
was also a head taller than any
other man on the earth." The first
edition mentioned by Panzer and
Hain as containing a glossary on
the Sunday gospels is of the year
1481, printed at Augsburg, but the
four editions between 1473 ar| d
1483 all had uniform glossaries.
The mention is worded thus : " A
glossary will be found of each Sun-
day gospel that is, a good and use-
ful teaching, and an exposition of
each gospel, very useful for every
Christian believer (or believer in
Christ) to read." In 1488 Weis-
linger and Panzer point to a book
printed at Baden by Thomas Ans-
selm, called Gospels with Glossaries
and Epistles in German, for the whole
year ; also the, beginning / the Psalm
(the "Judica " and Introit] and the
Collect of each Mass according to the
order of the Christian Church. An-
other book of 1516, printed at Du-
tenstein, has the same title with
this addition : " for the whole year,
with nothing left out." A very
elaborate manual, of which a copy
(1514) is in the University Library
of Freiburg and is mentioned in
Panzer's catalogue, is called

252

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

" The Plenarium, or gospel book. Sum-
mer and Winter parts, through the whole
year, for every Sunday, Feria, and Saints'
days. The order of the Mass, with its
beginning or Introit. Gloria Pahi, Ky-
rie Eleyson, Gloria in Excelsis, Collect or
prayer, Epistle, Gradual or penitential
song, Alleluia or Tract, Sequence or
Prose. Gospel with a glossary never
yet heard by us, and ended by fruitful
and beautiful examples.* The Patrem
or Creed, Offertorium, Secreta, Sanctus,
Agnus Dei, Communion, Compleno and
lie Missa est or Benedicamus Domino,
etc. And for every separate Sunday
gospel a beautiful glossary or Postill,
with its example, diligently and orderly
preached by a priest of a religious order,
to be seriously noticed and fruitfully ap-
plied for the greater use of the believer,
who in this quickly-passing life can read
nothing more useful. . . ." At the end
are these words : '* To the praise and
worth of Almighty God, his highly-
praised Mother Mary and all saints, and
to the use, bettering, and salvation of
men. . . . Printed by the wise Adam
Peter von Langendorff, burgher of Basle.
1514. In folio."

The book contains four large
wood-cuts of some artistic merit,
Christ crucified, with a landscape
in the background, and two groups,
one of four womerr- on one side, the
other of four men on the other, and
the following legend beneath, taken
from Notker's famous hymn Me-
dia Vitcz, which " wonderful anthem
or sequence," says an Anglican
writer, is " so often mistaken for a
psalm or text " f : " In the midst of
life we are in death : whom shall
we seek to help us, and to show us
mercy, but thou alone, O Lord,
who by our sins art righteously en-
wrathed ? Holy Lord God, holy
strong God, holy, merciful, and
eternal God, suffer us not to taste

* These u examples " constituted a literature
apart, to which reference will be made later, cha-
racteristic of the middle ages, of which scholars
like Grimm speak with more respect, because more
knowledge, than many more modern and less discri-
minating writers.

t Bampton Lectures, 1876. Witness of the
Psalms to Christ and Christianity. Dr. William
Alexander.

the bitterness of death." The
other wood-cuts, respectively indi-
cating Christmas day, Easter eve,
and Whitsunday, represent the
Adoration of the Infant Jesus by
Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds,
with a landscape in the back-
ground ; the Resurrection ; and the
Descent of the Holy Ghost in the
form of fiery tongues. The book
contains many smaller wood-cuts.

Another Plenarium (Strassburg,
1522) boasts of being "translated
from the Latin into better Ger-
man," and another, of the same
year (Basle), announces " several
other Masses, never hitherto trans-
lated into German," as well as a
register with blank leaves. Kei-
sersperg's sermons " in the last
four years of his life, taken down
word for word from his own
mouth," are printed at Strassburg
in 1515, and are qualified in the
title-page as " useful and good, not
only for the laity, and never hither-
to printed." His Postill, or "Com-
mentaries on the Four Gospels," is
printed in four parts in Strassburg
in 1522, also his Lenten sermons,
and some additional ones on a few
saints' days, " written down from
his own mouth by Henry Wess-
mer"; but the most curious work
mentioned is a folio volume of his
sermons, without title, and con-
taining other treatises with fanciful
titles and bearing on mysterious
subjects. " The Book of Ants,
which also gives information con-
cerning witches, ghostly appear-
ances, and devilish possession, very
wonderful and useful to know, and,
further, what it is lawful to hold
and believe touching them " ; also,
" the little book, ' Lord, whom I
would gladly serve,' in fifteen parts
of fine and useful doctrine ; final-
ly, the book of * Pomegranate,' in
Latin Malogranatus, containing

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries. 263

much wholesome and sweet doc-
trine and advice." This dates from
1517 (Strassburg, John Greinnin-
ger). For the sake of the language
the manuals printed in Low Saxon,
chiefly in Liibeck, are among the
most interesting specimens. The
titles are much the same as the
German, but generally more con-
cise. Panzer remarks of one of
them, printed by Stephen Arndes
at Liibeck in 1496, and adorned
with several fine wood-cuts, that
he has seen three other editions,
printed in 1488, 1493, and 1497.
A few of the peculiarities of spell-
ing, and of the indifferent use of
various forms of one word, will be
seen in the following examples :
book, in the contemporary High-
German, spelt buck or buoch, is here
spelt boek) boeck, bok, and bake, this
last a form often found in Old Eng-
lish writers ; holy, heylig, heilig, or
hailig, is here spelt in five different
ways : hilgen, hylgen, hylligen, hilli-
gen, and hyllyghen ; and birth, ge-
burt, is bort and borth. Das (the)
becomes dat ; endigt (ends) is turn-
ed to ondighet ; and the #'s and ;z's
are in general used the reverse way
to that common in High-German.

The contents of the Plenarii
show the peculiarities of the litur-
gy as used at that time. The same
epistle and gospel sung or read on
Sunday was repeated on Monday,
Tuesday (which the oldest manu-
als call After-Monday), and Thurs-
day. Wednesdays and Fridays
throughout the year had separate
epistles and gospels, and Saturday
is not mentioned, unless it is indi-
cated by the " third day," which
the later editions speak of as "hav-
ing a separate epistle and gospel
throughout the year." Each day
of Lent had a separate one. Some
of the books of 1473 contained
special Masses that of the Wis-

dom of God for Mondays, the Holy
Ghost for Tuesdays, the Holy
Angels for Wednesdays, the Love
of God for Thursdays, the Holy
Cross for Fridays, and the Blessed
Virgin for Saturdays. There fol-
lowed Masses for rain, for health,
for sinners, for fair weather, and for
"all believing souls." The glosses
on the gospels in the earlier edi-
tions are interesting from their
simplicity and directness. Even
the preface of the Basle Plenarium
of 1514, though less simple, is a
good specimen. It is noteworthy
that the Immaculate Conception is
implied in the text. The heading
is from Luke xi. 28 : " Blessed are
they who hear the word of God
and keep it." The preface runs
thus :

" Jesus Christ is the Word of the Eter-
nal Father ; the Word is made flesh (un-
derstand by that, man) in the womb of
the immaculate, holy, and pure Virgin
Mary, that we too may be saved. From
this Word, as from Christ the Son of
God, flows Holy Scripture, which is the
life-giving flow of the blessed paradise
of the highest heaven, penetrating and
making fruitful on this earth the para-
dise of the holy church to the use of all
believers. And in order that man may
better know and acknowledge his Lord,
he has at hand the help of Holy
Scripture, which is the source of all
knowledge and wisdom, of whom all
knowledge is the servant and follower,
and which teaches and admonishes us,
through the wonderful works of God, to
worship the Maker of all ; for Christ the
Son of God is the wisdom of the Eternal
Father, and in him and through him are
all creatures made, and, indeed, so won-
derfully made and hidden that no human
wisdom can fully penetrate into these
secret recesses. Such is the teaching of
Holy Writ.

"To confess God, to avoid sin, to do
good, and to show ourselves diligent in
the love of God and our neighbor this
is a spiritual pharmacy of all sweet-
smelling and precious medicine. Al-
though many prophets and other saints
have written Holy Scripture and divine

264

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

truth, each one according as it was given
to him by the Holy Ghost, yet are the
strength and truth of the holy gospels
above every other Scripture, as says St.
Augustine in his Concordance of the
Gospels. And Holy Scripture is so
fruitful, wise, and unfathomable that we
can never fathom it till the end of this
passing life on earth, and till we come
to the place whence Scripture itself flow-
eth . . . and ourselves read in the great
Bible that is, the Book of Life.

" And because many men do not under-
stand Latin, and yet can read German,
therefore this book of the gospels, with
its belongings, has been translated into
German, to the glory of God and the
use of such as shall feed their souls on
it. For man liveth not on material bread
alone, but on the spiritual bread which
is the Word of God, as Christ says by
the mouth of the evangelist Matthew, in
the fourth chapter."

Much more follows ; for instance,
an enumeration of the nine graces
that a diligent reader of Scripture
receives, in which much good but
rather trite advice is given, and of
the five kinds of men who read
Holy Writ, only two of whom do it
to advantage. These conceits be-
longed to the age, and, indeed, sur-
vived the age, as we find in the
Presbyterian sermons of two cen-
turies later in Scotland and the
Puritan sermons of New England.
Keisersperg was profuse of them,
and some of the quaint and rather
strained combinations and coinci-
dences which he imagined are a
curious illustration of the sort of
pulpit eloquence popular in the
fifteenth century. The prominence
given among saints to the four
evangelists grew naturally out of
the reverence paid to the four
gospels as the noblest part of
Scripture. The Plenarii often con-
tained allegorical representations
of them under the conventional
figures known to art, and under-
took to explain the reason of these
figures being applied to them, con-

necting them with the four living
creatures of Ezechiel's vision and
those of the Apocalypse. But, be-
yond the constantly-received ex-
planations, they sometimes contain-
ed details calculated to astonish
readers of a later day. Such is the
idea of the fitness between St.
Mark and the symbolic lion, de-
rived from the belief that lion
whelps were awakened the third
day, by the roaring of their mother,
from the sleep or trance in which
they had been born, which was in-
terpreted to refer to the fact that
St. Mark chiefly dwells on the
resurrection of the Lord on the
third day after his death. The
Basle manual from which the fore-
going preface is quoted has special
prayers in honor of the evangelists,
chiefly to the end that they would
help the faithful to a better under-
standing of, and acting up to, the
principles of the Gospel. The
wood-cuts which distinguish these
as well as the Latin missals took
the place of the illuminations of
the older books in manuscript, and,
though wanting in the finish and
delicacy of the latter, were design-
ed on the same models and in the
same spirit. The Latin missals
now in the University Library of
Freiburg, of 1485 and 1520, are
rich in this kind of ornamentation,
the latter having as title-page the
Crucifixion, with a group of many
figures, and around the illustration
representations of the seven sacra-
ments, whose grace flows from the
atonement of Christ. The same
idea is conveyed in the often-re-
peated allegorical representation in
mediaeval pictures of two angels
collecting in golden cups the blood
that flows from the outstretched
hands of the Saviour on the cross.
Freiburg has many treasures in
the department of illuminated

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries. 265

manuscripts, the chief one being a popular teaching and the propaga-
Codex of the tenth century, with tion of practical piety among the
the Sacramentanum Gregorianum. masses we often come upon those
It contains two hundred and ten naively-propounded conceits which
pages of parchment, and begins were common to earnest and in-
with a calendar of twelve pages on genious men of that day For in-
purple ground with arabesque bor- stance, the word alleluia whose
ders. The Ordinary of the Mass etymology was probably wholly un-
is written on a similarly colored known to the author, is thus dis-
ground, and has three illuminated sected and explained in one of the
pictures a portrait of Pope Gre- Basle editions of the sixteenth cen-
gory the Great, an angel uplifting tury:
the Host, and an elaborate Byzan-
tine crucifix. Five thousand francs " The word has four syllables that is,
,ere offered for it by a French SKJ^'^^Sft^
archaeological society, and refused second, le, levatus in cruce, or uplifted on
by the university. Among the the cross ; the third, lu, lugentibus apos-
peculiarities set forth by the Ger- tolis * or the apostles have mourned and
man manuals is the order of Sun- *" or^uHth ' the . fourth '
days throughout the year, which, ^senVrom t^d^, wherefore we sh6uld
before the Council of Trent, were rejoice with all our strength and sing
reckoned from Trinity instead of ~"'
Whitsunday, and, in the case of
Easter falling early, were supple-
mented by a "twenty-fifth Sunday
after Trinity," as the editions of
1473 to J 4 8 3 have it, " if another
Sunday is needed." The later edi-
tions and the Latin missals simply
call it, without comment, " the
twenty-fifth Sunday." As time "Consider, O my soul ! with thorough
went on, the German Plenarii devotion, the gifts and benefits of God
contained more and more, some- ^herewith he has so abundantly blessed
jj- t . , . , , thee. He has created thee out of nothing
times additional votive Masses, and in his image> He has giyen the f

and the Passions and Prophecies wisdom and understanding, that thou

of Holy Week, sometimes the whole mayest distinguish good from evil. He

of the liturgy, including the minor has also iven thee reason beyond that of

parts, sometimes even more than ^ other creatures, and made them sub-

7, T . , . , , r ject unto thee. He has put the sun and

the Latin books themselves as, for the moon in heaven to give ]ight to the

instance, the thirteenth to the fif- world. He causes all green things to
teenth chapters of St. John, inclusive, grow and ripen on the earth to thy use,
for the edification of their readers that thou mayest be fed and clothed there-
on Maundy Thursday. Theglos- with '

5 great devotion, how inestimable are the

sanes or homilies also grew longer gifts of the holy sac raments t so sweetly

and more serious after 1514, and prepared for thee. How clean should

among explanations of undoubted be thy hands from all evil works, how

moral worth and pious intent due, chaste th ? H P S > how hol y J h J bod y> how

A i ..L- i Vi 1 a spotless thy heart, to which the Lord Al-

Alzog thinks, greatly to the mflu- m P ighty , the y God of purity, humbles him-

ence^of the Swiss Friends of se lf so lovingly ! How great should be

God," a brotherhood devoted to thy thankfulness to God thy Creator,

On the other hand, some of the
prayers and meditations of these
now obscure books of devotion
were beautiful, dignified, and
f imitation. The language
reminds one of the
Christ :

266

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

who gives himself to thee so freely, not
for any good he derives therefrom, but
only that he may. cleanse thee, in thy
misery and sickness, from sin, and give
thee eternal life. Amen."

The manuals also made typo-
graphical progress corresponding
to that of their contents, and, after
1483, began to have their pages
both numbered and headed, while
the spelling became a little more
uniform, but the odd comparisons
and arbitrary combinations in the
text developed themselves as freely
as ever. Indeed, they had one
merit that of fixing a thing in the
minds of hearers less likely to be
impressed by generalities; and, un-
like the sensational devices of the
present day, they were not resorted
to as mechanical means by men to
whom they were themselves indif-
ferent, but came from the " abun-
dance of the heart " of authors fully
penetrated by their meaning and
proud of having originated this
particular form of it. For instance,
a panegyric on St. Martin, Bishop
of Tours, is resumed in the seven
letters of the German word Bischof,
each standing for the initial of a
word describing some quality of
the saint ; and the same happens
with the seven letters of the name
of Matthew, Matheus (seven was,
from obvious causes, a favorite
number in the mystical mind of
those ages), which are thus inter-
preted : Magnificentia in relinquen-
do (magnanimity in relinquishing),
Auscultatio in obediendo (hearing in
obeying), Tractabilitas in non resis-
tendo (tractability in not resisting),
Humilitas in sequendo (humility in
following), Evangelisatio in pradi-
cando (evangelization in preaching),
Virtuositas in. operando (efficiency
in working), Strenuitas in patiendo
(fortitude in enduring).

The glossaries on the epistles

and gospels contain many passages
remarkable as setting forth the re-
verence for Holy Writ of which
those times have been too hastily
pronounced deficient. The four
oldest editions (from 1473 to 1483)
have the same commentary for the
first Sunday in Advent, on which
the gospel of Palm Sunday, pointing
to preparation for the coming of the
Lord, was then read. The whole
is filled with texts and allusions to
the prophets; the preparation is
asserted to consist in being " wash-
ed clean of evil thoughts," " in lay-
ing aside the torn garments of sin,
that bind us to the darkness where
we have hidden ourselves that we
may not be seen, ... in hating
the garments of impurity and those
of pride. ... It is not seemly to
stand in the hall of the King cloth-
ed in mean garments, as we find in
the Book of Esther, cap. iii., and
therefore no one should enter the
holy time of Advent while yet bur-
dened with sin "; and so on through
a host of Scriptural quotations in
which moral virtues only are incul-
cated, and of ceremonial obser-
vances there is no mention. The
edition of 1514 (Basle) on the same
occasion says that this gospel is
read twice in the year, on the an-
niversary of the day when our
Lord entered Jerusalem, and on
the. first Sunday in Advent, which
commemorates his spiritual com-
ing and his assuming human na-
ture. The various kinds of ad-
vents or comings are represented
by the gospels of the four Sundays,
the last being the entry into the
heart of every sinner when he re-
pents of his sin and is icon verted.
" As the Jews asked John the Bap-
tist, ' Who art thou ?' so should
every man ask himself, Who am 1 ?
If we examine honestly we must
needs acknowledge that we are but

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries. 267

poor sinners. Of this advent St.
John speaks in the Apocalypse :
'Behold I stand at the door of thy
heart and knock with my gifts ; and
whoever opens unto me, to him will
I go in, and give him bread from
heaven, and a new stone in his
hand, that is the new joy of ever-
lasting life.' " * Of this advent St.
Augustine speaks :

" Lord, who shall give it to me that
thou shouldst come into my heart, sweet
Jesus, and fill it, and that my soul should
forget all evil and all sin ? . . . ' This is
everlasting life (John xvii. 3), that men
know thee, Father in heaven, and con-
fess thee alone the living and true God,
and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.'
This raises a question namely, Why did
the Lord Jesus not come earlier? why de-
lay his coming so long ? For this reason :
that Adam transgressed God's command
on the sixth day, and the coming of
Christ was therefore deferred till the
sixth age of the world. ... If you turn
to the Lord in truth, he will answer you
through the prophet Ezechiel: ' In what-
soeverhour the sinner repents of his sins
and forsakes them, and is turned from
his unrighteousness, I will remember
his sins no more, saith the Lord."

The commentary on the gospel
of the first Mass on Christmas night
in the Basle edition of 1514 con-
tains glimpses of legends which
long kept their hold on the popu-
lar and even the scholarly mind of
that age. The story of the Sibyllic
prophecies is outlined:

" The Emperor Augustus, when he
had conquered the whole world for the
Roman Empire, was about to be adored
by the Romans as a god. But he resist-
ed and asked for a delay of three days,
during which he sent for the wise woman,
the Sibyl of Tibur, and asked her advice.
When she shut herself up with the em-
peror and prayed to God to tell her how
to advise the emperor, she saw close by
the sun a shining ring of light, and with-
in the ring a beautiful Virgin with a fair
Child upon her knees. Then the Sibyl

* A paraphrase of Apocalypse ii. 17 and iii. 20.

showed the Virgin and Child to the em-
peror, and said : " This Child upon the
knees of a Virgin must thou adore, for he
is God and Lord of the whole world, and
the Child that is to be born of a Virgin
shall be for the consolation and salva-
tion of mankind.' So when the empe-
ror saw this he refused to let himself be
adored. . . .

" We read also that once the Romans
built a fine temple, large and grand,
which they meant to call the Temple of
Peace. While they were building it
they asked the Sibyl how long the temple
should stand. She answered and said:
' Until a Virgin shall bear a Child.'
' Then,' said the Romans, ' as that can
never happen, the temple will stand for
ever, and shall be called the Temple of
Eternity.' Then came the night when
our Lord Jesus Christ was born, and a
great part of the temple fell suddenly in
ruins, and many who have been in Rome
say that every Christmas night a portion
of this temple still crumbles into ruin, as
a sign that on this earth nothing is eter-
nal."

The three Maries at the sepul-
chre give the author occasion in
the homily on Easter Sunday to
link the virtues we ought to prac-
tise with the names of the three
holy women. From Mary Magda-
len, whom, according to the tradi-
tion of the time, he identified with
Mary the Sinner, he bids us learn
" the great diligence and great love
with which she sought God the
Lord; . . . so should we also anoint
the feet of Christ with the ointment
of contrition and repentance. From
Mary Jacobi (Mary the mother of
James, or Jacob) we should learn
to overcome sin, because Jacob
means a fighter and striver. . . .
From the third Mary we should
learn to have a true hope of ob-
taining grace, for Salome means a
woman of grace (probably he con-
sidered wisdom and grace identi-
cal), . especially the grace to
battle against despair." And this
suggests a comparison of the three
Maries with the three virtues, faith,

268

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

hope, and charity. Galilee, again,
which he interprets to mean in
German Passover, is set as a sign
that we must part with sin and
cross over to God, die to the world
and be detached from its allure-
ments. The commentary on the
gospel of Whitsunday, in the older
editions (1473-83), contains these
words : " If you love God, you will
willingly hear his word and dili-
gently say to yourself, What I hear
is a token from the great King."
Then follow several Scriptural quo-
tations strengthening and illustrat-
ing this truth. The epistle of the
day gives rise to an explanation of
the appearance " as it were of fie-
ry tongues " : " The fire of the Holy
Ghost consumed all fear in their
hearts, and so enkindled them that
they feared neither king nor empe-
ror. So was fulfilled the saying of
the Redeemer, * I am come to bring
a fire upon the earth,' and what do
I wish but that it should be enkin-
dled?" Then the tongues signify
that the word is spread by the
tongue ; God sent the Holy Ghost
in fiery tongues, that they (the
apostles) might burn with love and
overflow in words. What is the
Holy Ghost ? He is the Third Per-
son of the Holy Trinity, who con-
firms and establishes all things, and
who comes at all times to the heart
of every man who makes himself
ready to receive him, as says St.
Augustine : " It is of no use for a
teacher to preach to our outer ears,
if the Holy Ghost be not in our
hearts and do not give us true un-
derstanding. " The likeness of the
Holy Spirit to a dove is then in-
geniously drawn out in compari-
sons such as St. Francis of Sales,
two centuries later, might have
adopted in his Introduction to a De-
vout Life, and the prayer or aspira-
tion at the end is thus worded :

" May the Father, the Son, and the
Holy Ghost help us to hear the
word of God and keep it, that our
hearts may be enlightened and en-
kindled by the fire of the Holy
Ghost, that we may live with sim-
plicity and joy among the doves,
and that the true Dove, the Holy
Ghost, may come to us and abide
with us for ever."

The later editions of the six-
teenth century have a longer and
more complicated homily on the
same subjects; they dwell, among
other things, on the peace and
comfort brought by the Holy
Ghost, and distinguish three kinds
of peace, that of the heart, that of
time, and that of eternity, the sec-
ond of which alone was not given
to the apostles, because their Mas-
ter also had it not, as is inferred
from several texts quoted at length.
The suddenness, the force of the
wind, and the quickness of the ap-
pearance in the upper chamber in
Jerusalem are all turned to practi-
cal account by the commentator,
who also reminds his readers that
the grace of God comes soonest to
those who lead a life of inner recol-
lection and prayer. The love of
God is shown under a sort of
parable, that of the scholars of an
Athenian philosopher, who begged
their master to write them a trea-
tise upon love, and received from
him in answer the picture of a
lion with a legend round his neck :
" Love brings forth nothing which
afterwards causes remorse to man."
Thus Christ, the Lion of the tribe
of Juda, is spiritually this lion of
love, whose works were all for the
salvation of man. For Trinity Sun-
day the glossaries of both the older
and the later editions are very
short, the mystery being confessed-
ly unfathomable, and the ancient
Fathers themselves having but fee-

a belief in one almighty, ever-present
Being, a father and protector of the good,
a leader and raiser-up of the fallen or
the wavering, an avenger against the
evil and oppressing."

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries. 269

bly succeeded in throwing any oth- this coating still shines the true gold of
er light than that of faith upon the
subject. Both editions contain a
warning not to search curiously
into the mystery, but believe with
simplicity, and the later ones cite
the legend of St. Augustine and the

child whom he met by the sea-shore search appeared as interesting land-
trying to bail the sea into a small marks of the progress of a nation's
trench in the sand. On the thir- mind, and links with all its former
teenth Sunday after Trinity the vi- beliefs and traditions. Again, they
sion of God by purity of heart, were striking illustrations, fitter to
" and by the reading of Holy Scrip- remain in the popular mind as
ture and practising its precepts," is
descanted upon in the 1514 Basle

Such stories have to later

re-

edition, and the fate of Lot's wife
is used as a simile for the turning
back from God into sin, while the

emblems of great truths than the
learned doctrinal disquisitions,
which were always above the un-
derstanding of the masses. They
are rather emblems than facts ; the

love of our neighbor, as flowing condensation of a truth than its ac-

tual outcome. We have only room
for a single specimen. Whether it
was intended to be related as a vi-
sion in a dream, or partly as a wak-

from a true love of God, is strenu-
ously inculcated by Scripture texts
and warnings.

The description of the contents

of these manuals, however, would ing dream, does not appear clearly
not be complete, nor wholly con- from the text :
vey the spirit of the age in which
they were published and read,
without some mention of the mira-
culous stories printed in them un-
der the head of " useful examples."

Of these Frederick Hurter, in his
work on Pope Innocent III., vol.
iv. pp. 547-8, says :

"All writers of this time (the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries ; and what ap-
plies to those applies to later centuries
almost as far as the seventeenth) are full
of wonder-stories a proof of how uni-
versal and deeply ingrained in man was
the belief in wonders. Many of these
are simply mythical, others had passed
by tradition and literary embellishments
from the region of facts into that of myths,
while others again must be left uninter-
preted by criticism, unless it is disposed
to dismiss them with a mere denial.
Whatever decision one may come to on
this point, one truth certainly underlies
this mass of tales : that they cannot have
been without influence on the mind of
thousands. Many may be looked upon
as childish and crude, but from beneath

"There was," says the Basle Plena-
rium of 1514, on the occasion of Good
Friday, " a prior in a monastery, who
sat in his cell after his meal and fell
asleep. While he slept, one of his breth-
ren died and came to the sleeping prior,
and spoke to him : ' Father prior, with
your permission, I am going.' When
the other asked him where, he answered :
' I am going to God in eternal blessed-
ness, for in this very moment I have
died.' Then said the prior : ' Since many
a perfect man must after death pass
through purgatory, and one seldom
comes back to earth from it, I ask you
how can you go at once to God, and how
do you know you have deserved it ?'
Then answered the monk : ' I always
had the habit of praying thus at the feet
of the crucifix : " Lord Jesus Christ, for
the sake of thy bitter sufferings which
thou hast endured on the holy cross for my
salvation, and especially at the moment
when thy blessed soul left thy body,
have mercy on my soul when it leaves
my body." And God mercifully heard
my prayer.' Then the prior asked again :
'How was it with you when you died?'
and the other answered : ' / thought at

2/0

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries.

that moment that the whole world was a
stone, and that it lay upon my breast, so
terrible did death seem to me.'' "

The Plenarii were not the only
manuals scattered among the ra-
pidly-increasing number of people
who, in Germany, could read in
their native tongue. Besides the
Scriptures, of which nine transla-
tions, some partial, some entire,
were printed before Luther's, from
1466 to 1518, and three entire ones
after his in the sixteenth century
alone,* there were previous to that
period fourteen complete Bibles
in High-German and five in Low-
German (the University of Freiburg
possesses copies of eight of the
former), and many psalters and gos-
pels, as well as separate books of
Scripture published singly. The
psalter was undoubtedly the best-
known and most commonly used
part of Holy Writ. Panzer men-
tions the three oldest editions
printed in Latin and German,
without date or press, in folio ;
another octavo at Leipsic ; others
in German, Augsburg, 1492 and
1494 ; Basle, 1502 and 1503 ; Spires,
1504; Strassburg, 1506 and 1507;
Metz, 1513 ; and the Book of Job,
Strassburg, 1498. Again in the

* The German translations of the Bible, in part
or complete, of which the library of the Univer-
sity of Freiburg possesses copies, are as follows : i.
1466, Strassburg, folio, in 2 vols., printed by Egge-
stein. 2. 1472-1474, Strassburg or Nuremberg, large
folio, i vol., printer not named, the chief source
from which the following editions were compiled.
3. 1474. Augsburg, Glinther Zainer. 4. 1474,
Augsburg, i vol., large folio, Antony Sorg. 5. 1483,
Nuremberg, large folio, 2 vols., Antony Koburger.
6. 1485, Strassburg, small folio, 2 vols. 7. 1490,
Augsburg, small folio, 2 vols., Hans Schosperger.

8. 1507, Augsburg, folio, i vol., but very defective.

9. 1518, Augsburg, small folio, 2 vols., the first
missing, Sylvanus Otmar. 10. 1534, the Old and
New Testaments, Mayence, folio, i vol., Dieten-
berger (of which six other editions were printed at
Cologne between 154- and 1572). n. 1534, The Old
and New Testaments translated directly from the
Hebrew and the Greek texts, Frankfort-on-the-
Main, Christian Egenolff. 12. The Old and New
Testaments, according to the text authorized by
Holy Church, 1558, Ingoldstadt, small folio, i vol.,
Dr. John Ecken.

same years, and from the same
presses as well as Mayence and Nu-
remberg, came the epistles and gos-
pels, and the four Passions, divided
according to their use on Sundays,
while the first popular illustrated
" Bibles of the Poor," condensa-
tions and selections, chiefly of the
most stirring stories told in the
Old and New Testaments, followed
each other rapidly after 1470. The
wood-cuts were generally very good,
and the Latin and German texts
printed side by side. " German ex-
planations of the office of the Mass "
were also printed, and the devo-
tional writings, meditations, etc., of
Tauler, Suso, Thomas a Kempis,
Geiler von Keisersperg, and Sebas-
tian Brant. Lives of the saints
and martyrologies were also print-
ed, arranged according to the
calendar in two parts, winter and
summer; but though in the main
edifying, these were chiefly reflec-
tions of traditions rather than au-
thentic biographies taken from con-
temporary sources. That style of
writing was not known then, and
the general example of a holy life
was more the object of the writers
than the historic details of real life.
But even in these traditions some
nucleus of undisputed fact might
always be found beneath the ivy
tracery of legend. Panzer remarks
that these editions differed greatly
from Jacob of Voragine's Legenda
Aurea, and often contradicted it.
Catechisms and manuals for con-
fession and communion were also
familiar, and some of the litanies
now reprinted in modern prayer-
books are of this date, while even
the contents of the Breviary were
translated into German by a Ca-
puchin, James Wyg, and printed in
Venice in 1518. "Little prayer-
books " are mentioned by Panzer
as printed at Nuremberg, Lubeck

German Glossaries, Homilies, and Commentaries. 271

(these in Low German), Basle, and
Mayence from 1487 to 1518. Two
were called the Salus A?umce and

lampadius : " It breathes the pur-
est and noblest devotion (mystik) ;
we shall seldom find a communion-

the Hortulus Animce. The latter is book penetrated with such a clow

111 -* i i O

as well known now in English as it
was then in German ; one edition
of 1508 has a little versified intro-
duction, interesting as showing how
Sebastian Brant's talents were often
practically employed :

" The soul's little garden am I called.
Known am I yet from my Latin name.
At Strassburg, his fatherland,
Did revise me Sebastian Brant,
And industriously me corrected,
And into German much translated,
That now is to be found in me
Which will give joy to every reader ;
Now, who uses me aright,
And plants me well, reward shall have."

The prayer Anima Christi is
found in some editions. A book
called The Mirror of the Sinner
went through five editions from
1480 to 1510, which Pastor John
Geffcken has most impartially and
fully criticised in his history of
catechetical instruction in the fif-
teenth century. The Ten Com-
mandments was the title of two
books printed at Venice by x an
Augsburg printer in 1483, and
Strassburg in 1516, and a Manual
for Preparation for Holy Communion,
several times reprinted at Basle,
has suggested this praise from Her-
zog, the biographer of John QEco-

of devotion "; if we had any room
left for quotation, this judgment
would be found fully deserved.
Manuals for the sick and dying were
also widely used; three of 1483,
1498, and 1518, and one without date,
are given in Panzer's catalogue.
The Gardenof the Svulalso contains
a long passage on the fit prepara-
tion for death ; and other books
have special prayers for the same
circumstances. That we are apt
to see but one side of any question,
and that false impressions un-
luckily in the popular mind chiefly
avail themselves of the axiom that
*' possession is nine points of the
law," Jacob Grimm very apposite-
ly complains in the preface to his
Antiquities of German Jurispru-
dence. "What is the use," he
says, "of the poetry being now
discovered which presents the
joyous vitality of life in that time
(the middle ages) in a hundred
touching and serious representa-
tions ? The outcry about feudal-
ism and the right of the strongest
is still uppermost, as if, forsooth,
the present had no injustice and
no wretchedness to bear."

272 Dante s Purgatorio.

DANTE'S PURGATORIO.

TRANSLATED BY T. W. PARSONS.

CANTO SIXTEENTH.

' Drizza (disse) ver me 1'acute luci
Dello Intelletto, e fieti manifesto
I/error de' ciechi, chi si fanno duci.'

Purg. xviii. 16.

Turn thy sharp lights of intellect towards me

And many errors will be manifest,

In many a volume by the world possessed,
Of men called leaders, and who claim to be.

BLACKNESS of hell, and of a night unblest

By any planet in a barren sky
Which dunnest clouds to utmost gloom congest,

Could not with veil so gross have barred mine eye
Nor so austere to sense as now oppressed

Us in that fog which we were folded by.
Its sharpness open eye might not abide,

Therefore my wise and faithful escort lent
His shoulder's aid, close coming to my side,

And, thus companioned, close with him I went
(Like a blind man who goes behind his guide,

Lest he go wrong or strike him against aught
To kill him haply or his life impair)

On through that sharp and bitter air, in thought
My duke observing, who still said : ' Beware

Lest thou be separate from me!' Anon
Voices I heard, and each voice seemed in prayer

For peace and pity to the Holy One
Of God, the Lamb who taketh sins away ;

Still from them all one word, one measure streamed,
Still Agnus Dei prelude of their lay,

So that among them perfect concord seemed.
4 Those, then, are spirits, Master, that I hear?'

I asked. He answered : * Rightly hast thou deemed :
They go untangling anger's knot severe.'

* Now who art thou discoursing at thy will
Of us ? Who cleavest with thy shape our smoke

As time by calends thou wert measuring still?'
So said a voice, whereat my Master spoke :

'Ask him if any mounteth hence, up there.
And I : ' O being, who dost make thee pure

Unto thy Maker to return as fair
As thou wert born ! draw near me, and full sure

Thou shalt hear something to awake thy stare.'

Dante s Purgatorio. 273

' Far will I follow as allowed,' he said ;

* And if the smoke permit us not to see,
Our sense of hearing may avail instead

Of sight, and grant me to converse with thee.'
Then I began : 'With that same fleshly frame

Which death dissolveth, I am bound above:
Here through the infernal embassy I came,

And if God so enfold me in his love
That his grace grants me to behold his court

In manner diverse from all modern wont,
Keep not from me the knowledge, but report

Who thou wast, living, and if up the mount
My course is right : thy word shall us escort.'

' Lombard I was, and Mark the name I bore;
I knew the world, and loved that sort of worth

At which men bend their bows not any more.
Thy course is right : climb on directly forth.'

He answered, adding : * Pray for me when thou
Shalt be up there.' I answered him : 'I bind

Myself in good faith by a solemn vow
To grant thy wish ; but with one doubt my mind

Will burst within unless I solve it now.
The simple doubt which I had formed before

From others' words is doubled now by thine,
Which, joined with those words, make my doubt the more..

The world in sooth, as I may well divine
From what thou say'st, is wicked at the core

And clothed with evil ; of all virtue bare :
Show me, I pray, that I may tell again

Others, the cause of this ; for some declare
That Heaven is^cause of ill, and some say men/

A deep-drawn sigh which anguish made a groan
First giving vent, to ' Brother ' spake he then :

* The world is blind ; sure thou of them art one.
Ye who are living every cause refer

Still to high Heaven, as though necessity
Moved all things through Heaven's* motion. If this were,.

Freedom of will impossible would be,
Nor were it just that Goodness should for her

Sure meed have joy, and Badness misery.
Heaven to your actions the first movement gives

I say not all; but granted I say all,

* By heaven, throughout this discourse, Dante means, simply, planetary influence. The lesson taujht
by Marco Lombardi is the same as that which Shakspere puts into the mouth of Cassius :

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

VOL. XXVII. 18

274 Dante s Purgatorio.

For good or evil each his light receives,
And a free will which, if it do not fall,

But win Heaven's first hard battle, then it lives.
And, if well trained, is never held in thrall.

* To greater power and to a higher soul

Free, ye are subject; and that power in you
Creates the mind, which no stars can control :

Hence if the present world go wrong, 'tis due
To your own selves ; and of this theme the whole

I will expound as an informer true.
Forth from His hand (before its birth who smiled

On his new offspring) into being goes
A little weeping, laughing, wanton child;

The simple infant soul that nothing knows,
Save that, by pleasure willingly beguiled,

She turns to joy as her glad Maker chose.
Taste of some trifling good it first perceives,

And, cheated so, runs for the shining flower,
Unless a rein or guide its love retrieves.

Hence there was need of Law's restraining power ;
A king there needed, that at least some one

Of God's true city might discern the tower.
The laws exist, but who maintains them ? none ;

Because the Shepherd, Sovereign of the fold,

Though he may ruminate, no cleft hoof bears :
The people then, seeing their Guide so fond

Of what they crave, and with like greed as theirs,
Pasture with him, and seek no good beyond.

'Tis plain to see that what hath made mankind
So bad is evil guidance, not your own

Corrupted nature. Once of old there shined
The twofold splendors of a double sun

In Rome, which city brought the world to good ;
One showed the way of earth to men, and one

Gave them to see the other way, of God.
One hath destroyed the other, and the sword

Is with the crosier joined, that neither fears
'The other's check ; so joined they ill accord.

If thou dost doubt me, think what fruit appears
iln the full blade, since every plant we know

For good or evil by the seed it bears.
Once in that goodly region by the Po

And Adige watered, valor used to dwell
.And courtesy, ere Frederic's trouble came :

Now one might journey through that country well

Secure from meeting (if it gave him shame

To speak with good Btea) any that excel.

Dantis Purgatorio.

Three old men yet dwell there in whom the old

Chides the new age, and time seems slow to run
To them till God replace them in his fold;

Currado da Palazzo, he is one,
Gherardo likewise, of the life unblamed,

And Guido da Castello, who perchance
Simply the Lombard might be better named,

After the fashion of their speech in France.
vSay thou this day, then, that the Church of Rome,

Confounding human rule and sway divine,
Sinks with her charge beluted in the loam?'*

* Thou reasonest well,' I said, ' O Marco mine,
And I perceive now why the sacred tome

The sons of Levi bars from heritage.
But who is that Gherardo who, thou say'st,

Remaineth in rebuke of this rough age
From those who formerly the realm possessed?'

' Either thy tongue misleads me or thou show'st
A wish to try me,' he to me replied,

'That, using Tuscan speech, thou nothing know'st
Of good Gherardo. No surname beside

I know, unless unto that name he bore
One from his daughter Gaia be supplied :

Go thou with God ! I follow thee no more.
See ! raying yonder through the fog a gleamy

Splendor that whitens it; I must away
(It is the Angel there !) before he see me.'

Thus turned he, nor would hear me further say.

* It is well to note in connection with this passage that Dante was, up to the time of his banishment by
a political faction, a Guelph, the Guelphs being then the patriotic party in Italy, and supporters of the
pope in his resolute opposition to the foreign invasion under Frederic Barbarossa. During his exile
Dante changed his politics and joined the Ghibellines. Had he lived in our own days it is certain that he,
whose faith was so high and clear, would have shared the openly expressed convictions of all responsible
men and competent judges in this matter, that the temporal authority of the Holy See is necessary, as
things now are, to the full liberty and full exercise of its spiritual authority. Dante's opinion, as above
expressed, is that of a political partisan in bygone times. Were he living to-day, instructed by the les-
sons of the centuries which have passed since he wrote, there can be no doubt that he would adhere to his
earlier, truer, and more patriotic political convictions and see no impossibility of the union of" The twofold
splendors of a double sun in Rome" in the person of Rome's lawful and historic pontiff and king. EC.
C, W.

2 7 6

Respectable Poverty in France.

RESPECTABLE POVERTY IN FRANCE.

UNDER the title of " Indigence
in a Black Coat " an observant
French writer * draws a painful
picture of the sufferings of a class
of his countrymen usually much
less compassionated than the so-
called working-classes. That term,
indeed, is a misnomer when applied
to anyone especial class, as, with rare
exceptions, every one in France is
hard at work, manually or intellec-
tually. The class, however, with
which these few pages are concern-
ed is one still more deserving of
respectful sympathy than even
those who follow the honest, nay,
noble, career of skilled or unskilled
labor.

Besides the mechanic and artisan,
whose payment follows in a certain
measure the progressive price of
provisions, there are other catego-
ries of men, assuredly not less in-
teresting, whose pecuniary level has
never risen or fallen even by a five-
franc piece, and who at the present
time are compelled to live on the
appointed salary which has been
attached to their place for an un-
limited number of years.

Everywhere in the towns rents
have doubled, and even trebled.
The system of railways has dissemi-
nated local production, which for-
merly had a local and limited sale,
over all parts of France, and even
abroad, without any proportionate
incomings to compensate for the
increase of prices attendant on so
great an increase of sale. The
latter, it need hardly be said, in-
volves a like increase of produc-
tion.

* Under the now de plume of " Jeande Nivelle."
See Le Soleil for Jan. 4, 1878.

In a country like France, where
the agricultural riches are im-
mense and the landed property
infinitesimally parcelled out, the
means of transport, which have in-
creased tenfold within the last
thirty years, have carried riches,
or at least competency, into the
villages and other country parts.
To such a degree is this true
that there is not now a peasant
in France who cannot maintain
himself by his strip of land. For-
merly he would have carried into
the town, on market days, the pro-
duce of his land and live stock.
Now he rarely takes the trouble to
do this, and almost always strikes
a bargain with buyers who purchase
en masse and pay him a high price.
Thus, with hardly any expendi-
ture,* he can live on his little pro-
perty, his aim being to save all he
can and to sell as dearly as possi-
ble.

But in the cities and small towns
how to live is a more difficult pro-
blem. The clerks, secretaries, and
small functionaries of every kind,
who could formerly support and
educate their families in a respect-
able way, have no longer the possi-
bility of doing so on the meagre
and rigidly-fixed salaries dispensed
to them by the state. The sea it-
self is no longer a resource. The
railway carries off the produce of
the tides to Paris and the other

* The diet of a French peasant is frugal in the
extreme. His two meals usually consist of cab-
bage-soupin which on Sundays and other special
occasions a morsel of bacon is boiled accompanied
with rye bread. We have known a very well-to-do
couple make half a rabbit last them four days in
the way of meat. Many kinds of fungi are common
articles of diet with the French peasantry. They
cook them with vinegar u to kill the poison."

Respectable Poverty in France.

277

large towns, which purchase the
whole and throw away thousands
of kilos of spoilt fish every week.

Again, these small official situa-
tions generally involve the necessi-
ty of being respectably, or even
well, dressed. A professor, for ex-
ample, or a magistrate, an employe
of the registration or other govern-
ment offices, belongs, by education
or by the functions he discharges,
to a class of persons who must
make a good appearance, under pain
of being neglected, unnoticed, or
even altogether tabooed.

At Paris, where there is an abun-
dance of everything, and into which
the provinces pour the overflow of
their riches, life, for certain persons,
is materially impossible. The oc-
troi absorbs all, and, under pre-
text of making the capital a rich
and beautiful city, peoples it with
poor by rendering their means
wholly inadequate to meet the in-
creasing exigencies of expenditure.

Thus, while living is difficult to
them in the provinces, because the
country sends all its produce to the
great towns, in the towns they can-
not live at all. The imposts there
are enormous; while the fact that
the necessaries of life are abundant
is accompanied by no diminution
of price, but the contrary.

Still, nothing is done ; and these
meritorious persons, obliged to
conceal a very real poverty beneath
an outward show that eats into
their slender resources, and who,
unlike so many around them, are
disenchanted of the dream that the
world is all their own, suffer un-
complainingly. Perhaps they are
weary of complaining ; in any case
they do not noisily insist and threat-
en, but, at the utmost, plead, and
certainly wait until hope and ener-
gy wither in the blight of continued
disappointment. Hundreds of thou-

sands of persons thus exist, and
those who may be called the intellec-
tual essence of the nation : profes-
sors, magistrates, men occupied in
the various departments of art, and
who prepare the intellectual pros-
perity of a generation to come.
These men, especially such of them
as have a family dependent upon
them, drag on life year after year so
miserably remunerated that how they
contrive to live, and to strain the
two ends to meet by any honorable
means, is simply a mystery. In
vain may each capable member of
the family put a shoulder to the
wheel and effect prodigies of econo-
my. With every noble effort they
find their life growing harder, and
the cost of life increasing in pro-
portions of which it is impossible
to see the limit.

In the times through which
France is passing even the wealthy,
and those who are regarded as the
favored ones of fortune, reduce
their expenses under the influence
of a certain feeling of apprehension
which is not easy to define, unless
a reason for it may be found in the
frequent government changes and
general instability of political affairs
in this country. They instinctive-
ly restrain their expenditure to
what they regard as the necessaries
of life, and indulge in few of the
luxuries of patronage involving out-
lay. And thus the hardness of the
times makes itself so severely felt
in all the liberal professions that
in the study of the professor or
literary author, as in the atelier of
the artist, the pressing cares of life
not un frequently absorb the mind
so as to eclipse and benumb the
powers of imagination and inven-
tion. The father and bread-win-
ner anxiously asks himself how,
even with marvels of economy and
self-denying privation, he is to pro-

278

Respectable Poverty in France.

vide for the present needs and fu-
ture career of his children.

The question we are considering
is for the moment drowned amid
the tumult of political strife. It
must, however, assert itself witli in-
creasing urgency in proportion as
misery, in the full acceptation of
the word, shows itself as the inevita-
ble consequence of the progressive
increase of prices in things of abso-
lute necessity, without such com-
pensation as corresponds with it or
even approximates to it.

And yet France is far from be-
ing poor. Sober, industrious, and
economical, her treasury is rich in
spite of the enormous war-tribute
by which it was partly diminished
of late. That diminution was, by
comparison, insignificant. Surely,
with all the sources of wealth which
France has at command, there
must be amply sufficient to pay, at
a rate commensurate with their
services and due requirements, men
who have never bargained for their
trouble, but who now, under the
continuance of the actual condi-
tion of things, will find it impossi-
ble to live.

This is a question demanding
prompt attention, unless the ano-
maly is to be maintained that
France is a country of great actual
and possible wealth, in which the
elite of the nation are more and
more exposed to the danger of dy-
ing of hunger.

The writer on whose words, veri-
fied by our own observations, we
have based our remarks says that
from all quarters he receives letters
of which the following extract is a
sample : " What you have stated is
far short of the truth. Could you
lift the veil that conceals our mise-
ry, you would see into what a gulf
of distress we have been plunged
by years of indifference to our

needs. From time to time we
make earnest representations of our
case, but these, as well as the proofs
we give of the hard reality of our
necessities and expenses, are year
after year treated with the same
passive disregard ; and there are
very many amongst us who, in
spite of the most rigid economy,
will never be able to recover them-
selves."

In case our remarks should seem
to have too general a character, or
to be in any way exaggerated, we
will give an example namely, the
parochial clergy, the men who are
unweariedly denounced by the radi-
cal-republicans as " pillagers of the
budget " and " robbers of the
state."

The ordinary income of one of
the more opulent among the rural
parish priests (by far the larger pro-
portion receive less some much
less) is as follows :

Indemnity of the government for each
quarter, paid three weeks or more
after time = 225 francs, equalling per

annum the sum of. 900 frs.

Indemnity of the commune 100 "

Casual receipts 60 "

(Say, 40) Low Masses 60 "

Forming a total of 1,120 * l

Then, as the sum of obligatory
expenses, we have the following :

Wages of servant 240 frs.

Door and window tax 53 "

Prestation, or taking of oaths 5 "

Taxfordog 8"

For the Fund for Infirm Priests, as the only
means of securing a morsel of bread if

disabled 10 "

Total 316 "

There remains, therefore, for this
parish priest to live upon an aver-
age income of 804 francs i.e.,
about $160. He is not even
"passing rich " on the traditionary
" forty pounds a year."

With these eight hundred and
four francs he must meet all ex-
penses, keep open the hospitable

Respectable Poverty in France.

279

door of the presbytery the house
so readily found, so close by the
church, and so accessible ; the
house which receives the first visit
of the poor, the outcast, and the
wanderer, and whose occupant,
thus poor himself, has neither the
wish nor the right to close against
any one the way to his fireside.
Two francs and four sous a day,
however, are the magnificent sum
allowed for the inmates of this
presbytery and for all the needy,
who, regarding it as their natural
home, go straight to the kitchen,
not knowing what it is to be sent
away empty.

We are personally acquainted
with several country cures whose
governmental stipend is from four
to six hundred francs a year, and
it is only the more important parish-
es of the cures doyens or cures de
canton to which is attached the
ampler revenue of nine hundred
francs, or thirty-six pounds sterling.
A large proportion of the cure's de
commune do not receive more from
the state than four hundred francs
per annum. And this stipend is
termed, as if in mockery, an " in-
demnity." It only deserves that
title if we read the word by the
light of a wholesale spoliation of
church property and revenues,
parochial, monastic, collegiate, and
eleemosynary, effected by the re-
volution, and later on ratified, or
at least condoned, by the state. If,
indeed, as all history proves, the
Catholic Church has been the sa-
viour and preserver of the state,
the state has often shown itself the
Judas of the church, and this " in-
demnity" is its kiss of peace.

There are now in France more
than twenty thousand priests who
are the recipients of this exorbi-
tant civil list. They neither com-
plain nor recriminate, but patient-

ly and bravely act for the best in
the interest of all. With a calm-
ness derived from faith, they allow
to sweep by them, as if heeding it
not, the flood of stupid and malig-
nant calumnies with which they
and their sacred office are daily as'-
sailed. They go on receiving the
poor, visiting the sick, consoling
the sorrowful, sympathizing with all,
assisting, even beyond their pow-
er, the distressed out of their own
pittance, and thus further lessen-
ing the scanty means doled out to
them for the sublime service of
every hour services basely mis-
represented as to their motive,
their spirit, and even their result.

It is not our present intention to
dwell on the high social part filled
by the second order of the clergy
in France, and almost invariably
with the most praiseworthy self-
abnegation. But, at a time when
honor, justice, and moral sense are
by so many in France completely
forgotten, or treated as an efferves-
cence of obsolete and Quixotic sen-
timentalism; when it is the order
of the day^for each to get as much
as possible for himself, and thrust
himself into any office at hand, irre-
spective of worth, fitness, or merit ;
and when legions of " enlightened"
and " advanced " " republicans "
(especially those who elect to be
married like heathens and buried
like dogs) are gnashing their teeth at
the clergy of France, so excellent,
so devoted, and in the truest sense
so liberal, it would be well if these
men who insult them without stint
and against reason were made aware
that the more opulent among the
men they revile are receiving, for
all personal and household require-
ments, and the satisfaction of the
hospitable instincts of their sacer-
dotal hearts, the munificent revenue
of forty-four sous a day.

2 80

The Coronation of Pope Leo XIII.

THE CORONATION OF POPE LEO XIII.

(FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.)

ROME, March 20, 1878.

THERE is a passage in the circular of
the cardinals addressed to the diplo-
matic corps accredited to the Holy See
on the eve of the conclave which de-
serves to be noted in connection with
the issue of the conclave and the secular
policy of the new Pontiff. The circular,
after renewing all the protests and re-
servations of the deceased Pontiff, and
declaring the intention of the cardinals
to hold the conclave in Rome, because
the first duty of the Sacred College is
to provide the widowed church with a
pastor as quickly as possible, says:
" And this resolution was taken with the
greater tranquillity, inasmuch as, pledg-
ing the future in no wise, it left the fu-
ture Pontiff at liberty to adopt those mea-
sures which the good of souls and the
general interests of the church will sug-
gest to him in the difficult and painful
condition of the Holy See at present."
The future for the new Pontiff is a free
and open field which he can traverse in
the manner he shall judge best for the
weal of the church. The protests and
reservations of the deceased Pontiff
touching the temporalities of the Holy
See constitute a realm of principle. Sur-
rounding this is a free border-land for
the new POJDC.

People here in 'Rome and elsewhere
who speculate much on the present con-
dition of the Holy See, and especially on
the so-called antagonism existing be-
tween itself and the Italian government,
hoped that Leo XIII. would assume a
less inflexible attitude before the people.
Of the liberals, the conservatives, who
are the acknowledged exponents of the
sentiments of the crown, hoped for a for-
mal conciliation. The Catholics ex-
pected that the new Pope would at least
appear occasionally in public to bless
them ; while the curious tourists of all
countries had visions of the solemn and
imposing ceremonies in St. Peter's
which were the characteristic feature of
Rome in other days. The expectations
of all have been falsified so far. Since
the 3d of March, the day of Leo XIII. 's

coronation, the most sanguine liberals
have desisted from their conciliatory
speculations, and the rest have settled
down into quiet resignation, yet hoping
that a propitious occasion may again
bring the Pontiff in public before his
people.

A more fitting occasion than the day
of his coronation could not be desired.
Nay, the Pontiff himself had resolved to
make his appearance, and be crowned
before the people, in the upper vestibule
of St. Peter's. The Mass and other
functions, prefatory of the coronation,
were to have been performed in the Sis-
tine Chapel. In fact, on the ist of Marcli
the members of the Sacred College each
received an intimation from the acting
Secretary of State that the ceremonies
preceding the coronation would be per-
formed in the Sistine Chapel of the Vati-
can Palace. In the vicinity of the inner
balcony of St. Peter's temporary balco-
nies were erected for the diplomatic
corps, the Roman nobles, and persons
of distinction, native and foreign. The
confession of St. Peter and the papal
altar under the dome were surrounded
with a strong railing to prevent acci-
dents, while the central balcony itself
was enlarged by extending it farther out
into the basilica and back into the ves-
tibule. It had been the intention of His
Holiness to be crowned here, and after-
wards to bestow the apostolic benedic-
tion upon the people below. But on
Friday afternoon, March i, the workmen
received orders not only to discontinue
but to undo the preparations. It is un-
necessary to speculate on the cause of
this order in the presence of explana-
tory facts. A demonstration of enthusi-
astic devotion on the part of the multi-
tude of Catholics who would be assem-
bled there was naturally expected, and
in this there was nothing deterrent what-
ever. But the information had eked
abroad, and was duly reported to His
Holiness, that a party of Conciliators had
resolved to seize the occasion of the sol-
emn benediction, and create a demon-
stration in favor of a conciliation with

The Coronation of Pope Leo XIII.

the existing order of things. Flags,
Papal and Italian, were to have been
produced just at the moment of benedic-
tion, and an interesting tableau of alli-
ance to have succeeded. But this was
not all. A counter-demonstration of
the radicals was also mooted. This is
no trivial hearsay, as the events of the
same evening sufficiently attest. I pass
over the allusions to the explosion
of Orsini shells in the church. In the
face of such expectations ordinary pru-
dence would have suggested to the Sov-
ereign Pontiff the inexpediency of a pub-
lic ceremony. Yet if he were disposed
to hesitate before giving credence to
what was related to him by reliable au-
thority, the attitude suddenly assumed
by the government left no doubt in his
mind as to what was expedient in the
matter. Crispi, the garrulous Minister
of the Interior, had given out that the
government would not consider itself re-
sponsible for the maintenance of order
in St. Peter's on the 3d of March. He
had previously addressed a circular to
the prefects and syndics of the realm, in-
terdicting any participation of theirs in
the public rejoicings for the election of
Pope Leo XIII., because, forsooth, he
had not been officially informed of the
election ! He seems to have overlooked
the inconsistency of this act with the effi-
cient service rendered by the troops in
St. Peter's during the funeral ceremonies
of Pius IX., albeit the government had
not been officially informed of his de-
mise. The church, however, has long
since learned that it is vain to look for
consistency in men who are strangers to
truth and fair dealing. Moreover, she
has, within the past few years, had bitter
experiences in the doctrine of provoca-
tion, as inculcated by the Italian gov-
ernment. Leo XIII. was crowned in
his own chapel, in the presence only of
the cardinals, the prelates, and dignita-
ries, ecclesiastical, civil, and military, of
the Vatican, the diplomatic corps, the
Roman nobility, and a few guests.

At half-past nine o'clock on Sunday
morning, the 3d of March, Pope Leo
XIII., preceded by the papal cross,
and surrounded by the attendants of his
court, by the Swiss and Noble Guards,
descended from his apartments to the
vestry hall. The two seniors of the car-
dinal-deacons, the penitentiaries of St.
Peter's, and the archbishops and bishops
awaited him there. When he had been

vested in full pontificals, with golden
mitre, a procession was formed, moving
towards the ducal hall. A Greek dea-
con and subdeacon, in gorgeous robes,
attended upon the deacon and subdea-
con of honor. The cardinals were as-
sembled in the ducal hall, where an altar
was erected. His Holiness knelt for a
moment in prayer, and then mounted a
throne which stood on the gospel side
of the altar. There he received what is
termed the first obeisance of the cardi-
nals, who approached, one by one, and
kissed his hand. The archbishops and
bishops kissed his foot. Having impart-
ed the apostolic benediction, the Pope
intoned Tierce of the Little Hours. An-
other procession was formed, preceded
by the first cardinal, who bore the sa-
cred ferule in his hand and chanted the
Procedamus in pace. The Pope was car-
ried in the gestatorial chair under a
white canopy borne by eight clerics.
The Blessed Sacrament had previously
been exposed in the Pauline Chapel.
Thither the procession moved. At the
door of the chapel the Pope descended
from his chair, entered the chapel bare-
headed, and knelt for a time in silent
prayer. It is to be supposed that in
those moments he prayed for humility of
self, as well as peace and benediction
upon his reign. It is the fitting prelude
to the significant ceremony which fol-
lowed. Just as the procession was
about to move from the chapel-door to-
wards the Sistine Chapel a master of
ceremonies, bearing in his hand a
gilded reed, to the end of which a
lock of dry flax was attached,.approach-
ed the throne, and, going down upon
one knee, gave fire to the flax. As
it burned quickly to nothing he said :
Pater Sancte, sic transit gloria mundi
" Holy Father, thus passeth away the glo-
ry of the world." He repeated the same
ceremony at the entrance to the Sistine
Chapel, and again just as the Pope was
approaching the altar a sage reminder,
for the Sistine Chapel at that moment
presented a spectacle of glory and mag-
nificence which has no parallel.

Sixty-two cardinals, in flowing robes
of the richest scarlet, the magnifi-
cence of which was enhanced beneath
tunics of the finest lace, and as many
attendant train-bearers in purple cas-
socks and capes of ermine ; archbishops
and bishops vested in white pontificals ;
clerics of the apostolic palace in robes

282

The Coron ition of Pope Leo XIII.

of violet; Roman princes, gentlemen of
the pontifical throne, in their gorgeous
costumes ; officers and guards in splen-
did uniforms ; diplomatic personages
ablaze with decorations ; Knights of the
Order of Jerusalem in their historic
vesture ; ladies in black habits and veils,
gracefully arranged, and gentlemen in
the full dress of the present day. De-
spite all this splendor, the most trivial
worldling could not but be impressed
with the sacred solemnity, the awful ge-
nius of the occasion. A Pope was to be
crowned "the Great Priest, Supreme
Pontiff; Prince of Bishops, heir of the
apostles ; in primacy, Abel ; in govern-
ment, Noe; in patriarchate, Abraham;
in order, Melchisedech ; in dignity,
Aaron ; in authority, Moses ; in judica-
ture, Samuel ; in power, Peter ; in unc-
tion, Christ."*

The Mass has begun. The choir has
sung the Kyrie Eleison in the inimitable
style of the Sistine Chapel. The Pope
has said the Confiteor. He returns to
the gestatorial chair. The three senior
cardinals of the order of bishops, mitred,
come forward, and each in turn extends
his hands over the Pontiff and recites
the prayer of the ritual, Super electum
Pontificem. Cardinal Mertel, first of the
officiating deacons, places the pallium
upon his shoulders, saying at the same
time : Accipe pallium, scilicet plenitudinis
Pontijicalis officii, ad honorem Omnipotenlis
Dei, et gloriosissinia? Virginis Afarice, Ma-
iris e/jts, ct Beatorutn Apostolorum Petti
et Pauli et Sancta Romance Rcclesii?.
Leaving the gestatorial chair, and as-
cending the throne on the gospel side of
the altar, the Pope again receives the
obeisance of the cardinals, of the arch-
bishops and bishops. The Mass proper
for the occasion is then celebrated by
the Pontiff, and the Litany of the Saints
recited.

The solemn moment has arrived.
The Pope again ascends the throne,
while the choir sings the antiphon,
Corona aurea STiper caput ejus. The sub-
dean of the Sacred College, Cardinal di
Pietro, intones the Pater noster, and af-
terwards reads the prayer, Omnipotens
sempiterne Dezts, dignitas Sacerdotii, etc.
The second deacon removes the mitre
from the head of the Pontiff, and Cardi-
nal Mertel approaches, bearing the
tiara. Placing it on the head of the

* St. Bernard.

Pope, he says : Accipe thiaram tribus
coronis ornatam, et scias te esse Pat rein
Principum et Regum, Rectorem Orbis, in
terra Vicarium Salratoris Nostri Jesu
Christi, cul est honor et gloria in specula
satciilonitn,

The Pope then arose and imparted
the trinal benediction. This was fol-
lowed by the publication of the indul-
gences proper to the occasion. From
the Sistine Chapel the Pope, with the
tiara still glittering on his brow, was
borne in procession back to the vestry
hall, whither the cardinals had preceded
him. When he had been unrobed and
seated anew in the middle of the hall,
Cardinal di Pietro approached and read
the following discourse: "After our
votes, inspired by God, fixed upon the
person of your Holiness the choice for
the supreme dignity of Sovereign Pon-
tiff of the Catholic Church, we passed
from deep affliction to lively hope. To
the tears which we shed over the tomb
of Pius IX. a Pontiff so venerated
throughout the world, so beloved by us
succeeded the consoling thought, like a
new aurora, of well-founded hopes for
the church of Jesus Christ.

" Yes, Most Holy Father, you gave us
sufficient proofs, while ruling the dio-
cese entrusted to you by divine Provi-
dence, or taking part in the important
affairs of the Holy See, of your piety,
your apostolic zeal, your many virtues,
of your great intelligence, of your pru-
dence, and of the lively interest which
you also took in the glory and honor of
our cardinalitial college ; so that we
could easily persuade ourselves that,
being elected Supreme Pastor, you
would act as the apostle wrote of himself
to the Thessalonians : 'Not in word
only, but in power also, and in the Holy
Ghost, and in much fulness.' Nor was
the divine will slow in manifesting itself,
for by our means it repeated to you the
words already addressed to David
when it designated him King of Is-
rael : 'Thou shall feed my people, and
thou shall be prince over Israel.'

"With which divine disposition we
are happy to see the general sentiment
immediately corresponding ; and as all
hasten to venerate your sacred person
in ihe same manner as all ihe Iribes of
Israel prostrated themselves in Hebron
before the new pastor given them by God,
so we too hasten, on this solemn day of
your coronation, like the seniors of the

TJie Coronation of Pope Leo XIII.

283

chosen people, to repeat to you as a
pledge of affection and obedience the
words recorded in the sacred pages:
' Behold, we shall be thy bone and thy
flesh.'

" May heaven grant that, as the holy
Book of Kings adds that David reigned
forty years, so ecclesiastical history may
narrate for posterity the length of the
pontificate of Leo XIII. These are the
sentiments and the sincere wishes
which, in the name of the Sacred Col-
lege, I now lay at your sacred feet.
Deign to accept them benignantly, im-
parting to us your apostolic benedic-
tion."

His Holiness replied : " The noble
and affectionate words which you, most
reverend eminence, in the name of the
whole Sacred College, have just address-
ed to us touch to the quick our heart,
already greatly moved by the ualooked-
for event of our exaltation to the supreme
pontificate, which came to pass contrary
to any merit of ours.

" The burden of the sovereign keys,
formidable in itself, which has been
placed upon our shoulders, becomes
still more difficult, considering our in-
sufficiency, which is quite overcome by
it. The very rite which has just been
performed with so much solemnity has
made us comprehend still more the
majesty and dignity of the see to which
we have been raised, and has increased
in our soul the idea of the grandeur of
this sublime throne of the earth. And
since you, lord cardinal, have named
David, spontaneously the words of the
same holy king occur to us : 'Who am
I, Lord God, that thou hast brought me
hither?'

" Still, in the midst of so many just
reasons for confusion and discomfort, it
is consoling to us to see the Catholics all,
unanimous and in harmony, pressing
around this Holy See, and giving to it
public attestations of obedience and of
love. The concord and affection of all
the members of the Sacred College, most
dear to us, console us, and the assurance
of their efficient co-operation in the dis-
charge of the difficult ministry to which
they have called us by their suffrage.

"Above all, we are comforted by con-
fidence in the most loving God, who has
willed to raise us to such an eminence,
whose assistance we shall never cease
to implore with all the fervor of our
heart, desiring that it be implored by all,

mindful of what the apostle says : * All
our sufficiency is from God.' Persuad-
ed, moreover, that it is he who ' chooses
the weak things of the earth to confound
the strong,' we live in the certainty
that he will sustain our weakness, and
will raise up our humility to show his
own power and cause his strength to
shine forth.

" We heartily thank your eminence for
the courteous sentiments and the sincere
wishes which you have now addressed
to us in the name of the Sacred College,
and we accept them with all our heart.
We conclude, imparting with all the
effusion of our soul the apostolic bene-
diction. Bencdictio Dei, etc."

His Holiness then retired to his apart-
ments, and the solemn assembly dis-
persed.

Meanwhile, the vast basilica of St.
Peter had been crowded witli people
since ten o'clock in the morning, who
hoped on, despite the contrary appear-
ances, that His Holiness would come
out at the last moment to bless them.
Deeming such an event not unlikely,
the Duke of Aosta, now military com-
mander in Rome, had ordered several
battalions of soldiers into the square,
with orders to render sovereign honors
to the Pontiff if he appeared on the outer
balcony. This measure inculpated still
more the Minister of the Interior, inas-
much as the unofficial information which
was acted upon by the Minister of War
should have been sufficient for the Inte-
rior Department. Save and except the
salaried organs of the ministry, the
journals of every color in Rome con-
curred in censuring the action of Signer
Crispi, adding, at the same time, that it
was the duty of the government to show
every consideration for a Pontiff whose
election has given such universal satis-
faction. The breach between the church
and state, they concluded, was only wi-
dened and the antagonism intensified.

Though the ceremonies of the corona-
tion terminated at half-past ten o'clock,
and the equipages of the cardinals and
dignitaries had disappeared from the
neighborhood of the Vatican, still the
expectant and anxious people lingered
in the basilica until the afternoon was
far advanced. Then only did they turn
homewards, supremely dissatisfied, not
with the Pope but with the civil autho-
rities. The demonstration of the canaille
in the evening against the Pope and the

284

The Coronation of Pope Leo XIIL

clerical party only confirmed the report
of an intended tumult in St. Peter's, to
be provoked by the radicals. The pala-
ces of the nobles had been illuminated
about an hour on the Corso, when the
mob assembled at the usual rendezvous,
Piazza Colonna. With a movement
which betokened a previous arrange-
ment they rushed down the Corso to
cries of " Death to the Pope !" " Down
with the clericals !" " Down with the
Law of the Papal Guarantees !" etc. They
halted before the palace of the Marquis
Theodoli, and assailed the windows with
a prolonged volley of stones, which they
had gathered elsewhere, as no missives
could be had on the Corso, unless the
pavement were torn up. A full hour
elapsed before the troops appeared on
the scene and the bugles sounded the
order to disperse. Only a few were ar-
rested.

That same afternoon the Mausoleum
of Augustus was the witness of a more
systematic and dangerous demonstration
against the Law of the Guarantees. The
speakers, several of whom are members
of the Parliament, indulged in the most
villanous tirades against the Papacy,
coupled with no measured votes of cen-
sure upon the government. A strong
memorial was drawn up and addressed
to Parliament, demanding the abroga-
tion of the Law of Papal Guarantees.

Two days after his coronation Pope
Leo XIIL appointed to the office of Sec-
retary of State his Eminence Cardinal
Alessandro Franchi, formerly prefect of
the Propaganda. Whether it be that the
moderate liberals still harbor visions of
a formal conciliation, or that their esteem
for Leo XIIL is superior to every party
question, or both the one and the other
motive actuate them, is not yet establish-
ed ; but the fact is, every act of the new
Pontiff has been more warmly commend-
ed, as an additional instance of his un-
questionable capabilities and profound
sagacity, by the liberal than by the Ca-
tholic press. I am far from wishing
to intimate that the latter displays no
enthusiastic admiration for theinaugura-
tive acts of Pope Leo's pontificate. But
the liberal press is particularly demon-
strative in its admiration. The nomina-
tion of Cardinal Franchi to the Secre-
taryship of State has been hailed with
jubilation by organs which hitherto have
devoted every energy to bringing the
late incumbents of that office, living and

dead, into disrepute. " Cardinal Fran-
chi," say they, "is the man for this
epoch. Accomplished, polished, bland
of manner, skilled in diplomacy, and
of accommodating disposition, he will be
a worthy companion and counsellor to
Leo XIIL in the new era for the church
just inaugurated." It is to be regretted,
however, that their admiration for the
Sovereign Pontiff and his secretary has
not been able to keep their usual powers
of invention from running riot in their
regard. Cardinal Franchi is already
credited with addressing a circular to
the nuncios abroad, asking how a
change of the Vatican policy in a less ag-
gressive sense would be regarded by the
powers of Europe. He is also said to
have made the first step towards an un-
derstanding with Prussia, while the Pope
himself is asserted as having address-
ed an autograph letter to the Czar of
Russia, in which he expresses the hope
that the difficulty between the Holy See
and the imperial government, touching
the condition of the church in Poland,
will soon be removed.

It is needless to observe that the nomi-
nation of Cardinal Franchi as Secretary
of State is pleasing to the Catholics.
His career has been throughout one of
eminent service to the Church. He was
born of distinguished parents in Rome,
on the 25th of June, 1819. At the age of
eight years he entered the Roman Semi-
nary, where he graduated with distinction,
and was ordained priest. Soon after he
was appointed to the chair of history in
both his Alma Mater and the University
of the Sapienza. Later on he became
professor of sacred and civil diplomacy
in the Aecademia, Ecclesiastica. Some of
his pupils are now members of the
Sacred College. In 1853 he was sent
as charge d'affaires to Spain, where he re-
mained, with honor to the Holy See and
to himself, until 1856. Recalled from
Spain, Pope Pius IX. himself consecrat-
ed him Archbishop of Thessalonica in
partibus, and appointed him nuncio to
the then existing courts of Florence and
Modena. He remained in that capacity
until the annexation to Piedmont of
both duchies in 1859. Returning to
Rome, he was nominated in 1860 secre-
tary of the Congregation of Ecclesiasti-
cal Affairs. In 1868 he was sent back
to Spain as apostolic nuncio. The
Spanish Revolution of 1869 brought his
useful labors in that country to a close,

New Publications.

285

and he again sought his native city, but
only to be sent to Constantinople in
1871, on the delicate mission of arrang-
ing the serious difficulty then existing
between the Holy See and the sultan
touching the Armenian Catholics in the
Turkish capital. His sound judgment,
coupled with his proverbial urbanity,
enabled him to bring his mission to a
successful conclusion in a short time,
and he returned to Rome laden with
presents from the sultan to the Holy Fa-
ther. He was created cardinal in the
consistory of December 22, 1873, and in
the March of the following year was ap-
pointed prefect of the Propaganda. His
qualifications for the present office need
not be enlarged upon after a considera-
tion of his antecedents. With the office
of Secretary of State is joined that of
prefect of the Apostolic Palace, and ad-

ministrator of the revenues and posses-
sions of the Holy See. In the latter ca-
pacity he will be assisted by their Emi-
nences Cardinals Borromeo and Nina,
recently nominated at his request by the
Sovereign Pontiff.

Pope Leo XIII. has inaugurated an
era of reform in the administrative de-
partment of the Vatican. He is fast re-
trenching unnecessary expenses. He has
brought into the Vatican his old frugal
habits which distinguished him as the
bishop of Perugia. He still uses the
midnight lamp of study, and is at the
moment of the present writing busily
engaged in drawing up the allocution
which he will pronounce in the coming
consistory.

In that document Leo XIII. will stand
revealed in his attitude before the Powers,
friendly and hostile, of the world.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

A LIFE OF POPE Pius IX. By John R.
G. Hassard. New York : The Catho-
lic Publication Society Co. 1878.
" It is . . . with the story of the pri-
vate virtues of Pius IX., the outlines of
his public life, and the most important
works of his pontificate that the pre-
sent biography will be chiefly concern-
ed," says the author of this really excel-
lent life of the late Pope. Mr. Hassard
has closely kept to the programme which
he thus clearly set down for himself in
the beginning, and the result is one of
the most comprehensive biographies of
Pius IX. that we have yet seen. The
book is by no means a bulky one, yet
the story of the wonderful pontificate is
all there ; the events that mark it group-
ed with the skill of a thoroughly prac-
tised and efficient pen ; the secret forces
that impelled those events brought to
light ; and the lights and shadows of the
ever-shifting scene pictured with a rapid
yet bold and true hand. Mr. Hassard
has the happy gift of collecting his facts,
setting them together in the briefest and
most intelligible form, and leaving the
reader to make his own comment on
them. The comment is sure to be such
as the author himself would make, so

clear and logical is his arrangement of
the premises. Another happy feature
marks this biography: there is an ab-
sence of gush. The author writes ten-
derly and with an open admiration of
his subject ; but the tenderness never
sinks into sentimentality, and the admi-
ration is always manly and reasonable.
The anecdotes are well chosen and hap-
py, and most, if not all, of them will be
new to the general reader. The author's
study of the workings of the secret so-
cieties, which play so prominent a part
in the history of the last pontificate, has
been close and searching. His acquain-
tance with European politics generally,
so necessary in a biographer of Pius IX.,
is equally thorough. These necessary
qualifications give a special value to the
present Life, while the whole story is
told with a genial glow of personal re-
gard and admiration for its subject, none
the less charming that its tone is ration-
ally subdued. Mr. Hassard is to be con-
gratulated on having produced a bio-
graphy that will be cherished by Catholic
readers as we cherish and keep by us,
and look at again and again, a faith-
ful miniature of one very dear to our
hearts.

286

New Publications.

LETTERS OF JOHN KEATS TO FANNY
BRAWNE. From the original manu-
scripts, with introduction and notes
by Harry Buxton Forman. New
York : Scribner, Armstrong & Co.
1878.

Were these the letters of John Brown
instead of John Keats the world would
wonder, with reason, what possible mo-
tive could have induced their publica-
tion. Well might poor Keats, were he
alive, say on seeing them in print and
exposed to the public gaze, " Save me
from my friends I" Their publication is,
perhaps, the greatest injury that the un-
fortunate poet, or his memory, ever had
to sustain. As letters, even as love-let-
ters, they are remarkably dull and insi-
pid. How Miss Fanny Brawne received
them of course we do not know. Love
is reputed to be blind. It is certainly
color-blind. Othello could never have
looked black at least not very black
to Desdemona. Had he worn his native
sable that poor lady would undoubtedly
have been reserved for a better fate. So
it is presumably with love-letters. They
may contain wells of wit and wisdom
and eloquence and fire to the party to
whom they are addressed, and who is
bewitched by love's potion, though to
all the rest of the world they are the
very embodiment of absurdity and non-
sense. Titania, over whom the spell has
been wrought, sees an Adonis where
everybody else only sees honest Nick
Bottom, the weaver, fittingly capped by
an ass's head. It is an evil day for Bot-
tom when the love potion has lost its
virtue and the scales drop from the eyes
of Titania. Such an event does happen
at times to all the Bottoms and Titanias,
and probably it happened to Miss Fanny
Brawne, who never became Mrs. Keats,
but Mrs. Somebody Else. If ever she
had cause for a grudge against Keats
she has more than revenged it by allow-
ing some prying busybody access to
these very silly letters which are now
given to the public for the first time.

They show nothing but weakness,
mental and moral, in their author. It
should be remembered, however, that
they are the letters of a man marked for
death. They exhibit not a trace of the
wit and humor which Keats really had,
and to which he sometimes gave expres-
sion. They are utterly without his classic
grace and profound, if pagan, sympathy
with nature. They are the expressions

of morbid feeling, and of nothing else.
They can serve no purpose but to lower
Keats in the estimation of all who read
them. He was never a robust character ;
but these exhibit him as a weakling of
weaklings, and it was simply cruel to
publish them. The whole thing is a piece
of the worst kind of bookmaking we have
seen. The introduction, which is worth
nothing save to perplex, occupies sixty-
seven pages ; the letters, which are of
about equal value, occupy one hundred
and seven pages ; an appendix of nine
pages sets forth "the locality of Went-
worth Place " ; to all of which there are
no less than six pages of an index with
such headings as these : " Arrears of Ver-
sifying to be Cleared " ; " Books lent to
Miss Brawne not to be sent home " ;
" Brawne, Fanny " ; " Brawne, Marga-
ret " ; " Brawne, Mrs." ; " Brawne, Sam-
uel, Jr. " ; " Brawne, Samuel, Sr." (why
not "The Brawne Family" at once?) ;
"Cafe, Keats will not sing in a";
" Flirting with Brawne " ; " Front parlor,
Watching in"; "Getting Stouter";
"Laughter of Friends"; "Sore throat,
Confinement to the house with" ; and so
on. We do not know who Mr. " Har-
ry" Buxton Forman may be, but if ever
it came to pass that we were threatened
with fame at the cost of a future Harry
Buxton Forman to hunt up our love-
letters or butchers' and bakers' bills, or
every scrap that we might write in an
incautious moment, we should certainly
prefer to all time our present happy ob-
scurity.

LIFE OF HENRI PLANCHAT, Priest of the
Congregation of the Brothers of St.
Vincent de Paul. By Maurice Maig-
nen. Translated from the French, with
an introductory preface. By Rev. W.
H. Anderdon, S.J. London : Burns &
Gates. (For sale by The Catholic Pub-
lication Society Co.)

This Life is a beautiful one. In read-
ing it we are constantly reminded of t
just and faithful man the privile
servant of God who, amidst the turmoil
of the world, possesses his soul in peace.
Henri Planchat was born of good pa-
rents at Bourbon-Vendee on November
22, 1823. After a holy youth he was
called to the sanctuary and studied un-
der the venerable Sulpitians at Paris.
Being ordained priest on December 22,
1850, he offered his first Mass the next

New Publications*

287

day, and the day after that "attained,"
says his biographer, " the climax of his
wishes by becoming a member of the
little community of Brothers of St. Vin-
cent of Paul, in order to live and die in
the service of the working classes and
of the poor in general." Interior recol-
lection, humility, and the perfect per-
formance of the duties of his ministry
raised him to a martyr's throne. A
dreadful storm, the fury of the Commune,
suddenly burst upon this life of singular
simplicity and charity, devoted to the
needy and the ignorant for upwards of
twenty years, and he was basely massa-
cred, out of hatred to religion, in the Rue
Haxo, on the 27th of May, 1871, among
that very class of people for whom he
had labored so earnestly and so long.
" We are the good odor of Christ," says
the apostle, and in the untimely yet hap-
py death of Henri Planchat we perceive
the aptness of Bacon's saying about ad-
versity, that " virtue is like precious
odors, most fragrant when they are in-
censed or crushed."

The Rev. Father Anderdon, S.J., has
written an introductory preface to this
English translation which is short and
to the point ; but a scholar like Father
Anderdon should not have mistaken
(preface) Poitou for Picardy, which was
an altogether different province of the
territorial divisions of France before the
Revolution.

ONE OF GOD'S HEROINES :
cal Sketch of Mother
Kelly, Foundress of
of Mercy, Wexford.
O'Meara. New York :
Publication Society Co.

A Biographi-
Mary Teresa
the Convent
By Kathleen
The Catholic
1878.

Nothing that the very gifted author of
the Life of Frederic Ozanain writes can
fail to attract attention or excite admi-
ration. Miss O'Meara seems equally
happy in biography as in fiction. Her
stories, such as Are You My Wife?
Alba's Dream, etc., etc., need no recom-
mendation to readers of THE CATHOLIC
WORLD. In the touching little biogra-
phy which calls for the present notice
Miss O'Meara has evidently performed
a labor of love. The title exactly de-
scribes the subject of the sketch. Mother
Kelly was indeed " one of God's hero-
ines," called up at a time when such
heroines are peculiarly needed in our
own days. She was born in 1813 ; she

died on Christmas day, 1866. Her reli-
gious life was a sustained series of heroic
actions actions none the less heroic
that they were done in a practical, unos-
tentatious, matter-of-fact manner. Her
good wo. ks live after her, and it was a
kindly and just thought to commemo-
rate them as they have been commemo-
rated in the bright pages of this tender
and graceful little memoir by so skilful
a hand and appreciative a heart. No
one can read One of God's Heroines with-
out feeling that after all the world is a
brighter place than so many writers are
wont to picture it. It will always be
bright and worth living in while it can
boast of such pious and charitable souls
as Mother Mary Kelly. The only fault
to be found with the present sketch of
that life is its brevity.

To THE SUN ? From the French of Jules
Verne. By Edward Roth. Philadel-
phia: Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfin-
ger. 1878.

That very clever Frenchman, Jules
Verne, has again given us a most inte-
resting and wonderful tale, which has
been very successfully translated by Mr.
Roth. It is to be wished that all transla-
tions were equally well done. Captain
Hector Servadac and his servant, Ben
Zoof, a typical Frenchman, are hurled
into space upon a piece of the earth's
surface, and proceed with alarming ve-
locity toward the sun. Of course they
are not the only ones removed from this
sphere. There are some Englishmen and
Spaniards, and a Dutch Jew. We must
not forget a Russian count and his com-
panions, who all play an important part
in this wondrous story. Verne's object
is to interest boys in the exact sciences,
as Mayne Reid's was to awaken a cor-
responding interest in natural history.
At the present day, when stories for boys
are becoming so intensely vulgar, and
contain so much slang which passes for
wit and playful badinage, it is a relief to
find a story that is told in good English,
and that contains, moreover, in a marked
degree the highest sentiments of manly
honor. There is in it an undercurrent
of the strongest feeling against the Ger-
mans, which is vented upon a Holland
Jew. The book would have been better
without this. Some English officers
come in for a few hits at their na-
tional characteristics, but, on the other

288

New Publications.

hand, our young eapjaia himself is fre-
quently reproyed by his Mentor, the Rus-
sian count, who, of. course, is nearly
faultless.

The chief beauty of the book is the
large amount of interesting scientific
knowledge which can be gleaned from
it, if carefully perused, and although
not as amusing as Twenty Thousand
Leagues under tlie Sea or A Journey to the
Centre of the Earth, it can be cheerfully
recommended to our boyish friends as
full of absorbing interest and healthy in
its moral tone. It is to be followed by a
sequel.

THIRTY-NINE SERMONS PREACHED IN
THE ALBANY COUNTY PENITENTIARY,
FROM MAY, 1874, TO MARCH, 1877.
By the Rev. Theodore Noethen, Ca-
tholic Chaplain. Albany : Van Ben-
thuysen Printing House. 1877.

These discourses are published in aid
of a fund for increasing the Catholic
library of the prison. The author's pre-
face tells us that the library contains
about one hundred bound volumes and
a number of pamphlets. " An incalcu-
lable amount of good has already been
effected " by it ; but the number of Ca-
tholic prisoners nearly four hundred
makes many more books necessary.
" If," he says, " there could be some
concerted action among the Catholic
publishers of the United States, each
contributing a few books, an excellent
library would soon be formed ; and it is
but right that this suggestion should be
acted on, for the reason that prisoners
are sent to the Albany penitentiary from
all parts of the Union." He praises the
example of a few of our leading Catholic
publishing houses, " whose generous
contributions of English and German
books, together with rosaries and me-
dals, have earned for them the gratitude "
of their unfortunate fellow-Catholics.

These sermons are short and simple,
and will be found very useful to pastors
whose time is crowded with work, and

particularly to those in the country who
have 'more than one " mission " to at-
tend. They will also prove excellent
reading for the Catholic inmates of other
penitentiary institutions.

THE FOUR SEASONS. By Rev. J. W.
Vahey. New York : The Catholic
Publication Society Co. 1878.

This is a useful book of instruction,
written in a pleasing and popular style.
The ' ' four seasons " represent the various
stages of human life from early youth
to ripe old age. The lesson inculcated
is the old one, that as a man sows so
shall he reap. The author has happily
contrived to weave much practical ob-
servation and really sound knowledge
into his allegory for such the little work
may be styled. The chief object aimed
at is to arouse Catholic parents to the
necessity of religiously guarding the edu-
cation of their children, and thus keep-
ing them all their lives within the church
into which they are baptized. Father
Vahey's volume has the warm approval
of his archbishop, the Most Rev. John
M. Henni.

THE YOUNG GIRL'S MONTH OF MAY.
By the Author of Golden Sands. New
York : The Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co. 1878.

Golden Sands, which was noticed
in this magazine, has become, as it de-
served to become, a very popular book
of devotion. In the present small vol-
ume the same author has given us a
work admirably adapted for May devo-
tions. There is a special motive, as-
piration, and brief meditation set apart
for each day of the month of Mary, breath-
ing a happy piety and tender grace
throughout. The devotions need not
at all be restricted to "young girls."
The same skilful hand that rendered
Golden Sands into English has with
equal happiness set this Month of May
before English readers.

THE

v ^v

>7l%
IV uy

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVII, No. I59.-JUNE, 1878.

THOREAU AND NEW ENGLAND TRANSCENDENTALISM.*

THERE is a story told of an illit-
erate cobbler who was wont to at-
tend the theological discussions in
an Italian university, and who, de-
spite his ignorance of Latin and
the points discussed, always dis-
covered the disputant that was
worsted. To a friend who express-
ed surprise at his acuteness he ex-
plained that he had noticed that
the arguer who first lost his tem-
per was the one who also lost the
victory.

The cobbler's test admits of wide
application. The consciousness of
truth begets serenity. What chron-
ic ill-temper was there amongst the
first Protestant Reformers ! And
even to-day a Protestant controver-
sial author writes as though he were
aflame with rage. The doughty
Luther, warmed, possibly, as much
with the wine whose praises he so
lustily sang as with polemical zeal,
hurls such names as sot, devil, and
ass at his opponents. He has de-
clined and conjugated the word

* Tkoreau, the Poet-Naturalist. By W. E.
Channing. Boston : Roberts Brothers. 1873.

Thoreau : his Life and Aims. A Study. By
H. A. Page. Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co. 1877.

" devil " in all cases, moods, tenses,
numbers, and persons. We can im-
agine his broad face purple with
rage, and his bovine neck throb-
bing apoplectically, as he pours out
the vials of his wrath upon that
"besatanized, insatanized, and su-
persatanized royal ass," Henry
VIII., whose accredited book won
for the monarchs of England that
most glorious, though now, alas !
inappropriate, title, " defender of
the Faith." The meekMelanchthon
had the tongue of a termagant ; and
Bucer must have suggested to
Shakspere some of the characteris-
tics of Sir John Falstaff, so far as
a command of billingsgate goes ;
for the wordy combats of that Re-
former (Bucer, we mean) recall the
conversational victories of the
knight of sack.

Morbid irritability and unwhole-
some sensitiveness were the char-
acteristics of the movement known,
rather vaguely, as "New England
Transcendentalism," which, forty
years ago, promised America a new
life in religion, literature, and art.
This ill-temper was a forecast of de-

290

Thoreau and New England Transcendentalism.

feat. It brought the movement
under the suspicion of weakness
and error. It was a voice crying
in the wilderness; it had not, how-
ever, the trumpet-tones of strength
and conviction, but was rather the
puny wail of complaint and de-
spair. We were just ceasing to be
provincial and were opening to
world-wide influences. Our na-
tional boastfulness was hugely de-
veloped, and we flattered ourselves
that no pent-up Utica contracted
our powers. De Tocqueville says
of us that we are a nation without
neighbors; and this, of course,
means that we are without stand-
ards or comparisons of excellence,
and so, like the Buddhist devotee,
we aim after perfection by self-
contemplation. New England was
filled with schoolmasters who had
read Carlyle and translations of
the Encyclopaedists, and who in
consequence began to have doubts
about what not even Pyrrho would
have considered a doubt, so far as
it had any existence in their minds
religion. The stern-eyed old
Calvinism which watched them like
a detective became inexpressibly
odious to them, and they hated
"Romanism," too, with all that
contradictoriness that baffles ex-
planation. It was soon discovered
that Scotch Puritanism was unfit-
ted for the latitude of New Eng-
land, though it must be said that
the mechanical virtues and the staid
habits of the people owed much
to that strange fanaticism which,
whether happily or unhappily for
them, has passed away for ever.

How to throttle Puritanism, and
yet preserve its corpse from putre-
faction as a convenient effigy to
appeal to, became a problem for
which no solution presented itself.
The American masses even to this
day venerate the Pilgrim Fathers,

and no amount of historical evi-
dence will shake their veneration
for those fierce and ignorant fana-
tics, whose memory should long ago
have been buried in charitable ob-
livion. It is only the Catholic his-
torian and philosopher that can
to-day respect the inkling of truth
which they held, and which St.
Augustine says is to be found in
every heresy and doctrinal vagary.
They attempted to make the
Bible a practical working code of
laws an idea which to-day would
be greeted with laughter by their
children, who have long since un-
learned veneration for the Scrip-
tures. There is something quite
noble, though irresistibly ridicu-
lous, in the old Puritan notions
about the Bible. One wonders
that they did not revive the rite
of circumcision. Protestants are
beginning to acknowledge the wis-
dom of the church in not making
the Scriptures as common as the
almanac or the newspaper. The
whole atmosphere of New England
became Judaic. Biblical names of
towns abounded. Scriptural names
were given to children, with a dis-
regard for length and pronuncia-
tion that in after-years provoked
the ire of the bearers. The Mosa-
ic law was ludicrously incorporated
with the legal enactments of the
civil law. The old Levitical ordi-
nances were carried out as far as
practicable, and the minister of the
town just barely refrained from
donning the garments of the high-
priest and decorating himself with
the Urim and Thummim. This
anomalous society survived even
the great social changes which
were wrought by the Revolution.
Puritanism repressed all indi-
vidual eccentricities of religious
opinion. The boasted independ-
ence of Protestantism scarcelv ever

Thore-au and New England Transcendentalism.

291

did exist, except in name. Let a
man to-day dissent from the opin-
ions of the sect in which he has
been brought up, and he may as
well become a Catholic, though that
is the crowning evidence of being
given over to a reprobate sense.
What liberty did Luther give the
Sacramentarians ? What diver-
gence of opinion did Calvin allow
in Geneva? He punished heresy
with death. What toleration was
there in the Church of England for
Dissenters ? And there is a quiet
but effective persecution kept up in
the English church to-day against
all " Romanistic tendencies." There
is not a greater delusion prevalent
than the lauded Protestant freedom
of investigation and liberty of con-
science. The Catholic Church,
even as judged by her enemies,
was never so intolerant as that
obscurest of Protestant sects, the
Puritans of New England. The
harshest charges that have been
falsely made against a merely local
tribunal, the Spanish Inquisition,
are historically proved against the
full ecclesiastico-civil tribunals of
Massachusetts in the punishment,
not of turbulent and contumacious
heretics, but of wretched and harm-
less old women accused of witch-
craft. Every Protestant church is
a complexus of social and business
influences, all of which are cruelly
and unfairly brought to bear against
any member who uses the Protes-
tant right of private judgment.
If he will disjoin himself from
church communion, though his
interpretation of the Scriptures
may assure him that the Father is
worshipped in spirit, he is looked
upon as an infidel and blasphemer.
The petty persecution of the Protes-
tant church is a subject admissive
of infinite illustration.

Cramped and crippled by a fierce

Scotch Coven an tism, what were
the aspiring minds of New England
to do ? A natural idea struck them.
Some of the fathers of the Revolu-
tion were infidels. That great and
glorious light of American history,
Benjamin Franklin, who was held
up as a model to every New Eng-
land boy, was a sort of deist. The
influence of that man's example and
writings has been one of the most
baleful in our country's history.
The fathomless depths of his pride,
the cool assurance of his " virtue,"
the intensely worldly spirit of his
maxims, and his Pharisaical reward
of wealth and honors in this world
have been imitated by thousands
of American youth. That nauseat-
ing schedule of " virtues " which he
drew up ; such hideous maxims as
" Rarely use venery " and " Imitate
Jesus and Socrates," which seem to
us infinitely more shocking in their
cold calculation than a wild de-
bauch or a hot-headed oath ; his
constant prating about integrity as
the high-road to health and wealth ;
and, in short, the whole wretched
man, body and soul, furnished the
worst yet widest-copied example
of American virtue and success.
Add to such influences the school-
boy beliefs in liberty and indepen-
dence, the solemn Fourth-of-July
glorification of individual freedom,
the vision of the Presidency open to
the humblest youth in the district
school, and the gradual weakening
of faith in the Bible, brought about
by the rapid multiplication of the
poor, deistical histories and scien-
tific miscellanies of fifty years ago,
and the end of Puritanism was soon
predicted. The heavy hand of the
clergy was shaken off. The curios-
ity deeply planted in the Yankee
nature looked around for a new re-
ligion. At once all the vagaries of
undisciplined thought, so long held

2 9 2

Thoreau and Nciv England Transcendentalism.

in silence by Protestantism, burst
out in Babel speech. Chaos was
come again. If Puritanism had
dared, it would have sent the
"Apostles of the Newness," as they
were called, to the scaffold or the
pillory, or, at the very least, it
would have pierced their tongues
and branded them with symbolic
letters.

And what a revelation ! We laugh
at the wild rhapsodies of George
Fox, and Mr. Lecky, in his late
book, England in the Eighteenth
Century, has rather cruelly, we
think, dragged up Wesley's and
Whitefield's eccentricities for the
laughter of a world which should
rather be in tears over the vanish-
ing of such earnestness as both
those deluded men had ; but the
laughter which New England
Transcendentalism evokes is hearty
and sincere, from whatever side we
view it.

In the first place, there is no
meaning in the name. The logician
knows what transcendental ideas
are the ens, verttm, bonum, etc.; and
what philosophy calls the transcen-
dental is really the most familiar,
as connected with universal ideas.
But Transcendentalism in New En-
gland was understood to mean a
high, dreamy, supersensuous, and
altogether unintelligible and unex-
plainable state, condition, life, or
religion that escaped in the very
attempt to define it. Dr. Brown-
son complains that he had much
difficulty in convincing a philo-
"sopher that nothing is nothing ; and
we feel much in the same men-
tal condition as that philosopher,
for we cannot see how Transcenden-
talism (a polysyllable with a capi-
tal T) is nothing. It is infinitely
suggestive. It is any number of
things, all beginning with capitals.
It is Soul, Universe, the Force, the

Eternities, the Infinities, the ftia
HOI uparo?. It is Any Number of
Greek and Latin Nouns. It is, in
fact, a Great Humbug (in the larg-
est kind of caps). Mr. Barnum's
" What-is-it ?" is nothing to the Pro-
tean forms of Transcendentalism.
A fair definition might be, Puritan-
ism run mad. There was a certain
method in it, and it would be false
to say that the absurdity ever went
so far in America as Fichtism or
even Hegelism in Germany. The
old Puritan leaven was too strong
for that ; and the Yankee common
sense, which not even the wildest
flights of Transcendentalism could
wholly carry from earth, instinc-
tively rejected the German theories.
Not even Comte's Positivism, which
has quite a following in England
and an influential organ in the
Westminster Review, ever gained
ground amongst us. We do not
believe in Cosmic Emotion or Ag-
gregate Immortality, ponderous and
unmeaning words, to which, listen-
ing, a Yankee asks, Heow ?

The surprising fact is how, in
the name of all the philosophers
and the muse that presides over
them, did New England fall a vic-
tim to the "Apostles of the New-
ness " ? It was worse than the Pro-
testant Reformation, which is said
to have developed more crazy and
eccentric enthusiasts than any oth-
er physical or social convulsion re-
corded in history. The shrewd
Yankee genius was supposed to be
insured against spiritual lightnings.
The cold and common-sense tem-
perament of the people seemed far-
thest removed from the action of
" celestial ardors." But the fierce
old Puritanism was taking only a
new form. The spirit that sent
Charles I. to the scaffold was nur-
tured amid the gloomy woods.
Only that the sweet providence of

Thorcau and New England Transcendentalism.

293

God, mysteriously permitting and she might rise to the contemplation
clearly punishing evil, is grad- of the true Light !
ually withdrawing even the physi-
cal presence of that spiritually and
intellectually unbalanced race, what
chance would there be for the ac-
tion of his all-holy will as wrought
out by the church ? New England
is largely Catholic to-day, yet New
Hampshire will have no popery in
her councils. " This spirit is not
cast out without prayer and fast-
ing." Milton, who lacks spiritual their fear and disgust, that they
insight, fails to identify the spirit could not control it. It was worse
of pride with the spirit of impurity, than Frankenstein, for it appeared
New England, alas ! has been filled to have symmetry, and the land was
with the spirit of pride, and of ha- quickly enamored with its beauty,
tred against the City of God, and " ' '

No sooner was the restraining
power of Puritanism cast off than
Transcendentalism, like the genie
in the Arabian Nights, rose like an
exhalation, and afterward defied
the command of the invokers to
return to its former limited quar-
ters. The men who assisted at
this liberation of a powerful and
anarchic spirit soon discovered, to

. i ~

lo ! now she is slain by the spirit
of impurity, and the stranger with-
in her gates has taken her place
and will wear her crown. And
that stranger is the despised and
hated " Romanist," who now enjoys
the blessing foretold in that mystic
Psalm whose counsels New Eng-
land despised the blessing of pro-
geny. It is a prophecy and a his-
tory (Ps. cxxvi.): " Unless the Lord
buildeth the house, they labor in
vain that build it. Unless the
Lord keepeth the city, he watches
in vain that keepeth it. It is in
vain for you to rise before the Light.
Rise after ye have sat down, and
eaten the bread of sorrow. Behold,
children are an inheritance from
the Lord, and the fruit of the womb
is his reward. As arrows in the
hand of the mighty, so are the
children of them that were re-
jected."

This is the divine " survival of
the fittest." Would to Heaven
that the solemn significance of this
great Psalm could sink into the
heart of New England and cast out
the foul demons that have so long
lurked within it ; that, having par-
taken of "the bread of sorrow,"

Every theorist felt that the millen-
ium had dawned. A truce to
common sense was called. The
leaders of the movement were put
in the painful but logical predica-
ment of inability to object to the
consequences of their teachings.
The over-soul was reduced to such
limitations as the necessity and
obligation of using bran-bread in
preference to all other forms of
food. Carlyle's Sartor Resartus
happening to appear at a time
when the inspiration was fullest,
Sartorial heresies became the rage.
Bloomer costumes asserted their
rights. The old sect of Adamites
revived, and nothing but tar and
feathers, which hard-headed Cal-
vinists bestowed with unsparing
vigor and abundance, prevented
many from rushing into a state of
nudity. There arose prophets of
vegetarianism, and, says Lowell,
every form of dyspepsia had its
apostle. Money, the root of all
evil, was condemned by impecu-
nious disciples, who drew largely
upon treasures which they imagined
they had laid up in heaven. Fu-
rious assaults were made upon the
Bible, which was stigmatized as a
worn-out and effete system. A

2Q4

Thoreau and New England Transcendentalism.

crew of anti-tobacconists, who re-
gretted that they could not find a
condemnation of the weed in Scrip-
ture, were joined by a set of teeto-
talers, who did not hesitate to con-
demn our Blessed Lord's use of
wine, and, as they were unable to
see the high, mystic significance of
the Eucharist, they vented their
foolish wrath upon such of the Pro-
testant sects as retained wine in
the Lord's Supper, and this with
such effect that it became quite
common in New England to ad-
minister bread and milk instead of
wine in the communion, thus de-
stroying even the semblance to the
blood which we are commanded to
drink in remembrance of That
which was shed for our redemp-
tion, and which, in the divine Sac-
rifice celebrated by Christ on Holy
Thursday, was then really and truly
poured forth, in the chalice, unto
the remission of sin.

The revulsion from the unspeak-
able harshness of the Puritanic in-
terpretation of the Scriptures was
so complete that men cast about
for an entirely new theological ter-
minology. The transcendental pe-
dants were ready for the want.
What was grander than the old
Scandinavian mythology? What
is Jehovah to Thor ? What is the
Trinity to the sublimity of the Bud-
dhistic teachings ? The cardinal
doctrine of the New Testament is
the golden rule, which was familiar
to the Greeks, and expressed in
our own terms by Confucius. Sa-
tan's master-stroke was thus level-
led at the Bible, which was the word
of life to the New-Englander. Take
the written word away from the
Protestant, and the gates of hell
have prevailed against him. The
inscriptions upon the Temple of
Delphi preserved Greek mythology
for centuries. Infantine belief in

the poor, adulterated word of the
Scriptures, which, after all, were
never subjected to the full action
of the Protestant theory, kept alive
some remnants of Christian faith
and hope. But to cast away the
Bible for the Vedas, the Krrshnas,
the Mahabarattas, the skalds, and
the devil knows what other vague
and windy compilations of Scandi-
navian and Brahminical supersti-
tions was to inaugurate a chaotic-
era,, the like of which history does
not record. There is no sympathy
between the American mind and
the Buddhism of the East, much
less between the minds of the Yan-
kee Transcendentalists and the wild
beliefs of Danish sea-kings, who
would have knocked their brains
out, as puling and scholarly crea-
tures unfit to wield a club or har-
poon a seal, and consequently ob-
jects of the just wrath and derision
of Odin and Thor. Yet these
strange mythologies, intermixed
with fatalism, Schellingism, and
nature-worship, formed the olla-
podrida to which New England for
at least ten years sat down, after
the unsavory dish of Puritanism
had been thrown out of doors.

The spiritual squalor and intel-
lectual poverty of most Tran-scen-
dentaHsts were studiously kept out
of sight, and the school for it
would be blasphemy to call it a
religion pushed forward into no-
tice its exponents, who, under the
stricter requirements of writing,
considerably toned down their sen-
timents, and sought to give intelli-
gible and literary form to their ex-
travagances. A magazine, called
the Dial, was published in Boston,
in 1840 and a few following years,
and notwithstanding the petulant
genius of Emerson, its editor, who
only now and then yielded to the
spirit of newness, the strangest gub-

Thoreau and New England Transcendentalism. 295

idea has but to turn over the old-
er Atlantics to see the painful ef-
forts made to paraphrase the name
of God, which, whenever boldly
printed, has some title of limitation.
We have any quantity of Valh alias
and mythologies, and poems about
the Christ that's born in lilies, etc. ;
but it is tacitly understood that
Kultur is the presiding genius. It
must be admitted that New England
Transcendentalism developed, or at
least engaged, considerable literary
and poetic talent. Not to speak
of its High-Priest, Avatar, Inspira-
tionalist, Seer, or Writer (with a
big W), or Whatsoever you call him
Emerson, who has retreated from
its altar and seems to be swinging
his Thor-hammer wildly in every
direction, there appeared a number
of writers, all under the mystic
spell. They aimed at a certain
vague and beautiful language, and
were given to pluralizing nouns
which are one and singular in mean-
ing. A certain kind of poetry,
after the manner of Shelley, but
not after his genius, sprang up and
monthly bedecked \\\Q Atlantic with
flowers. The literary men of New
England were made to feel that in-
spiration sprang from Transcenden-
talism alone.

Nathaniel Hawthorne became its
novelist, and Thoreau, whom we
have been keeping at the door so
long, suggested to him the idea of
Donatello in The Marble faun a
finely-organized animal, acted upon
by human and otherwise spiritual
influences. Hawthorne's morbid
genius, for which we confess we
have little admiration, was unnatu-
rally stimulated by the Transcen-
dental seers. He is for ever div-
ing into the depths of inner con-
sciousness, and always appearing
with a devil-fish instead of a pearl.
His Note-Books show him to have

berish began to mumble in its col-
umns. The following, from the
" Orphic Sayings " of Bronson Al-
cott, who was considered to be one
" overflowed with spiritual intima-
tions," is an illustration of the jar-
gon. It might be proposed by a
weekly paper as a puzzle to the
readers :

''The popular genesis is historical.
It is written to sense, not to soul. Two
principles, diverse and alien, intercharge
the Godhead and sway the world by
turns. God is dual. Spirit is deriva-
tive. Identity halts in diversity. Unity
is actual merely. The poles of things
are not integrated. Creation is globed
and orbed."

The leaders of the movement
cared nothing about letting their
infidelity be known ; but the mass
following were loath to break com-
pletely with their religious tradi-
tions. They did not know what
Kultur meant, and had neither
knowledge of, nor sympathy with,
Wilhelm Meister or Werther. The
Atlantic Monthly, which may be re-
garded as having taken the place
of the Dial, became the repository
of Transcendental thought, though,
with Yankee shrewdness and savoir
faire, the editors managed to give
it an unsectarian and, in time, even
a national character.

The Atlantic never committed
itself to Christianity, or, if it did so,
it was to that spurious horror which
in rhyme, idea, and general -relative-
ness joins Jesus with Croesus. A
peculiar school of literature, mark-
ed with the patient study of Ger-
man idealism, grew up around the
Atlantic, which, with characteris-
tic New England assertion, claimed
to be the critic and model of Ame-
rican letters. The orphic style was
sternly kept down in the Atlantic,
but it would assert itself. Any one
who cares about illustrating this

296

Thoreau and New England Transcendentalism.

been a spiritually diseased man,
for whom the stench and ugli-
ness of moral fungus growths had
more charms than had the flowers.
He has the besetting weakness of
false reformers, chronic irritation,
quite as vehement against the pet-
tiest crosses and vexations of life
as against its awful tragedies and
crimes. This is the evolution of
Transcendentalism. It began with
enthusiasm and ended in worse than
Reformation anger at everything
and everybody, not excepting itself;
but it was not an anger that sins
not.

Theodore Parker was its theolo-
gian by excellence, and as the one
god he believed in was himself, we
suppose he may be allowed the
title. Margaret Fuller Ossoli was
co-editor with Emerson of the Dial,
and was a strong-minded woman,
whom her admirers insisted upon
calling Anne Hutchinson come
again so strong, after all, were their
New England traditions. Dwight
wrote their music, if music can be
limited in expression. William El-
lery Channing was the poet of
Transcendentalism, and Henry D.
Thoreau was its hermit.

Thoreau was born at Concord in
1817, and he died in 1862. He
was the only man among the Tran-
scendentalists that allowed their
theories the fullest play in him, and
the incompleteness and failure of
his life cannot be concealed by all
the verbiage and praise of his bio-
graphers. Emerson's high-flown
monologues ruined him. A trick
of naturalizing and botanizing
which he had, and which never
reached the dignity or usefulness
of science, was exaggerated by a
false praise that acted more power-
fully than any other influence in
sending him into the woods as a
hermit, and among mountains as

a poet-naturalist. He appears to
have cherished some crude notions
about the glory and bountifulness
of Nature and her soothing and up-
lifting ministry, but these notions
are, in the ultimate analysis, admis-
sive of much limitation and qualifi-
cation, if they be not altogether
agra somnia mentis. The Tran-
scendentalists worshipped Nature
and built airy altars to the Beauti-
ful, but they did not venture into
the woods on a rainy day without
thick shoes and good umbrellas.
Thoreau gave up his life to this de-
lusory study and adoration of Na-
ture, and got for his worship a bron-
chial affection which struck him
down in the full vigor of manhood.
We have no patience with an ideal
that takes us away from the com-
forting and companionship of our
fellow-men. What divine lessons
has Nature to teach us comparable
with her manifestations in human
nature ? Why should we run off
into solitude, and busy ourselves
with the habits of raccoons and
chipmunks that are sublimely in-
different to us ? How much better
is old Dr. Johnson's theory: "This
is a world in which we have good to
do, and not much time in which to
do it," and who, on being asked by
Boswell to take a walk in the fields,
answered : " Sir, one green field is
like another green field. I like to
look at men."

Life in the woods is very good
for a mood or a vacation, but man
escapes from them into the city.
The old proverb about solitude
runs, Aut deus, aut lupus no one
but a divinity or a wolf can stand
solitude. One of the weaknesses
of Transcendentalism was an affec-
tation of seclusion. It was too
good 'for human nature's daily food.
Man is such a bore ! " O for a
lodge in some vast wilderness!"

Tkoreau and New England Transcendentalism.

297

Now, all this is sinful and unreason-
able. Why should we shrink from
the bad and evil and objectionable
in mankind to herd with the wild
beasts of the forest ? The only
thing that sanctifies solitude is the
Catholic faith ; and, even when the
monastic idea sought to realize
complete isolation from the world,
the superiors were loath to grant
permission. They felt that it is
not good for man to be alone, and
St. Benedict, in his Rule, has a re-
flection that there were monks lost
in solitude who would have been
saved in community. The true
idea is that we can be solitary in
spirit in the midst of crowds.
There is no necessity of betaking
ourselves to the woods.

Very likely the high praise of
isolation, as nutritive of genius, act-
ing upon a naturally retiring dispo-
sition, first led Thoreau to his syl-
van life. The common idea that
he was a hermit or a misanthro-
pist is fully disproved by his biogra-
phers. In our opinion he is just
the reverse, and if we were dispos-
ed to bring in evidence we could
show that he was wild for notorie-
ty. His private letters are more
affected than Pope's, who wrote
with an eye to publication. All
Thoreau's books are full of his
private experiences, thoughts, and
emotions. He never suffers you to
escape from his overpowering per-
sonality. He never sinks the ego.
He reminds one of the diary of the
private gentleman in Addison's
Spectator : " To-day the beef was
underdone. Took a walk. Dreamt
about the Grand Turk." Thoreau
is for ever telling us about his per-
sonal feelings, his method of baking
bread, and his dreams about tor-
toises, etc. There is something
funny in his writing six volumes
for men on whom he fancied he

looked with Transcendental con-
tempt. The fact is, he was a fine,
naturally talented, and poetic man,
who was bewitched by the theories
which we have sketched; and the
contest within his spirit has led his
biographers and critics into par-
donable misapprehensions of his
life and aims. Left to himself and
his aspirations, he would have de-
veloped into a fair poet or a good
naturalist perchance an Agassiz
or an Audubon. He had no theo-
logical or philosophical ability, but
a deep sense of truthfulness, which
made him experimentalize upon
the theories which he heard. He
found it much easier than would
most men to live in the woods, to
take long walks, to navigate rivers,
and to collect specimens of natural
history. His studies in nature
have no value to the scientist.
He was a good surveyor and liked
animals. He wrote some indiffer-
ent poetry. He described some
gorgeous sunsets. He delivered an
oration on John Brown, and he
managed to let the world know that
he built and lived in a hut at Wai-
den. Voilct tout. He flippantly criti-
cised our Lord Jesus Christ, ridi-
culed all Christian beliefs, preferred
the company of a mouse to that of
a man, of an Indian to a white
man, and died without a single
throb of supernatural faith, hope, or
charity. This was a man, too, who
had Catholic blood in his veins,
but who could not bear to hear the
chime of church-bells without some
contemptuous remarks, and who pro-
fessed himself a Buddhist without
the Indie veneration, and a wor-
shipper of Pan without knowing or
believing that the great Pan had
died for his salvation.

Two biographies are before us,
one by William Ellery Channing,
who was Thoreau's friend and com-

298

Thoreau and New England Transcendentalism.

panion, the other by H. A. Page,
who appears to be a biographer-
in-general or by profession. Chan-
ning's, as might be expected, is a
sort of prose In Memoriam ; and
Page's is made ridiculous by an at-
tempted comparison between Tho-
reau and St. Francis of Assisi,
based on the saint's love of, and
miraculous power over, animals,
and the Concord man's ability
to bring a mouse out of its hole
or tickle a trout. Strange as it
sounds, this comparison is carried
on through one-third of the vol-
ume. Page must be a member of a
Society for the Prevention of Cruel-
ty to Animals, for Thoreau's kind-
ness to brutes he evidently regards
as his finest trait. Such stuff as
"the animals are brethren of ours
and undeveloped men," and the
slops of evolution in general, are
poured out in vast quantity, and
the impression forced upon the
reader is that Mr. Page, who speaks
of himself as an Englishman, has
no conception of Thoreau's charac-
ter, nor, indeed, of any adventurous
or sport-loving nature such as free-
ly develops on our wide plains and
high mountains.

Thoreau graduated at Harvard,
but without distinction. He and
his brother taught school for a
while at Concord, where the sage
lives who gave such cheering voice
to Carlyle. There was a wildness
in him which nothing could sub-
due, yet it took no cruel or brutal
form. He appears to have had
that passionate love of external na-
ture which is so sublime as a real-
ity, so detestable as an affectation.
He was made of the stuff of pio-
neers and Indian scouts, but with
rarer feeling and poetic tempera-
ment. A water-lily was more than
a water-lily to him. He had no
social theory to advocate a delu-

sion about him into which Page
falls but he took to the woods as
an Indian to a trail. There is no-
thing Transcendental about his life,
and yet he is the chief and crown
of Transcendentalists. He had a
brave, high life in him, which 13
perfectly intelligible and realizable,
quite as much in the parlor as in
the swamp. Heroism need not
leave New York for the steppes of
Russia. A naturally timid priest
who anoints a small-poxed patient
is as brave in his way as Alexander
or Charles XII. of Sweden. A
thousand hermits have lived before
Thoreau, and made no palaver
over their social discomforts, which
are, indeed, inseparable from their
way of life. There is an unplea-
sant soup$on of Yankeeism when, in
Walden, Thoreau lectures us on
economy. The Transcendental au-
rora vanishes before the prosaic
hearth-fire.

We remember having read A
Week on the Concord and Merrimac
Rivers and The Maine Woods dur-
ing a summer vacation which we
spent between Mount Desert and
Nan tucket, and the sweet natural-
ness of those two beautiful books
sank into our heart, touched, per-
haps, by the glorious yet sombre
scenery in which we moved. The
jar and discord of Thoreau's theo-
logical opinions melted away in the
harmony of the great music which
he made us hear among the hills
and scenes which he loved so well,
and of which he seemed a part.
Hawthorne's keen eye, sharpened,
we will not say purified, by high
aesthetic cultivation, detected in
Thoreau the latent qualities of the
Faun whose existence, by an ano-
maly, he has thrown into modem
Italy, and even intimates as wrought
on by the church. We love to
think of Thoreau, not as idealized

Thorcau and New England Transcendentalism. 299

by Emerson, C banning, or Page,
nor sballowly criticised as by Low-
ell, but as bright and winsome, afar
from the sensuous creation of Haw-
thorne, and full of that boyish love
of flood and field which has made
us all at one time Robinson Cru-
soes. This is a most undignified
descent from that ideal type of
character which Thoreau is sup-
posed to represent ; but we submit
to any reader of his books, if he
did not skip his foolish theories
about religion, friendship, society,
ethics, and other such themes on
which Emerson expatiates, and
about which dear old Thoreau ne-
ver knew anything at all practical,
and leap with him into the stream,
follow the trails lie knew so well,
learn the mysteries of angling and
hunting, and tramp with him
through the forests, read with him
his dearly-loved Homer, and, in
spite of our half-concealed laugh-
ter, listen to his wonderful expla-
nations of the Beghavat-Gheeva.

It is encouraging to notice how
bravely he shakes off half the non-
sense of Transcendentalism, though
bound by the wiles of Merlin, who
lived only two miles from Walden.
Transcendentalism gave no reli-
gion. It was even hollower than
Rousseau's Contrat Social and Emile,
in which writings the wicked old
Voltaire said that Jean Jacques was
so earnest in converting us back to
nature that he almost persuaded us
to go upon all fours. Even Emer-
son confesses to the failure of Tho-
reau's life. " Pounding beans,"
says that wise old man, with the
air of a Persian sage a character
which he frequently adopts, espe-
cially when he recommends some
thousand-dollar Persian book to us
as infinitely superior to the New
Testament, " Pounding beans,"
says he, referring to poor Thoreau's

attempt to carry out his Transcen-
dentalism, " may lead to pounding
thrones; but what if a man spends
all his life pounding beans ?"

And so, in the style of the tellers
of fairy stories, we say that poor
Thoreau continued all his life
pounding beans, but without car-
ing very much for the bearing of
beans upon the eternities, splendors,
and thrones, and that he lived a
cheerful and wholesome, natural
life, though rather an uncomforta-
ble one, in his woods and among
his beasts and flowers ; that he was
kind and gentle to beasts, but not
to God or to man, of whom he
seemed to be afraid, which was a
mistake ; and after he was dead he
was made out to be a great philo-
sopher, a golden poet, a great so-
cial theorist, and a Transcendental
saint, which is another mistake.

With Thoreau died the Transcen-
dental hermit, and, so far as hu-
man nature and a happy combina-
tion of character and circumstance
could permit, the only truly ideal
man that Transcendentalism has
produced. Yet how far he falls
below the most commonplace monk
in spiritual range and power and
aim ! No great spiritual fire burns
in his bosom ; nor will any Monta-
lembert be attracted to his memo-
ry. There was not the light of
Christian faith or love upon his
life, which is distinguished from
the savage's only by its superior
mental civilization and its relation
to that civilization which he so hu-
morously yet contradictorily de-
spised. With Emerson, who has
now convinced himself of the ab-
surdity of immortality, its greatest
writer will die. The Kulturkampf
of Germany, which New England
introduced into America, cannot
survive the literary changes which
take place every half-century. Em-

300 TJie Fountain s Song.

erson will fade into oblivion, and Maine will recall the memory of

even now he is no longer listened Thoreau, no longer, we hope, to be

to. But there is that in Thoreau's associated with the eclipse of his

books which gives vitality to old false philosophy, but seen bright

Walton's Angler, and the traveller and vivid in that sunshine and

on the Concord and through beauty he loved so well.

THE FOUNTAIN'S SONG.

INTO the narrow basin

Falleth the ceaseless rain,
Echo of sweet-voiced river

Singing through mountain glen,
Breaking amid the footfalls

Filling the city square,
Mingling with childhood's clamor

Piercing the heavy air :
Shrill-sounding, childish voices

Gathered from dust-grimed street,
Pale little wondering faces,

Swift little shoeless feet ;
Coral-stained cheeks of olive,

Lips where all roses melt,
Eyes like the heavens' zenith

Latin, Teuton, and Celt
Crowding with eager glances

Where the wide bowl lies spread,
Watching the gold-fish glimmer,

Giving the turtles bread :
Eyes that of mountain streamlet

Never the light have known,
Ears that of mountain music

Know not a single tone,
Feet that have never clambered

Clinging to mossy stone,
Hands that the palest harebell

Never have called their own.

Glittering in the sunshine

Droppeth the fountain's rain ;

Glistening in the moonlight,
Singing its mountain strain.

The Fountain's Song. 301

Twittering round the basins

Sparrows sit in a line,
Dip in the ruffled water,

Scatter its jewels fine.
Rests in the earth-bound basin

Depth of the starlit sky,
Shadows of noon and twilight

Soft on the waters lie.
Fresh on the clover circle

Falleth the wind-driven spray,
Keeping an April greenness

All through the August day.
Meet that St. Mary's gable,

Bearing the cross, should crown
This little glimpse of freshness

Set in the sun-parched town ;
Meet that St. Mary's altar

Rise with its Sacrifice
Here where the city's poor ones

Seek pure breath from the skies.

E'er in the dropping water

Filling the pool below
Voices I hear that never

Pure mountain-stream can know :
Singeth the city fountain

Songs that are all its own,
Though for its needs it borrow

Music the hills have known :
Sings it of sin forgiven,

Sorrow-tossed heart at rest,
Wearisome load soft lifted,

Soul of all bliss possessed.
Chanteth the silver murmur

Notes of the vesper hymn ;
Gleams in the moonlit showers

Twinkle of taper dim
Burning before God's altar

Faithful through day and night,
In its unbroken service

Token of holier light.
Bells rung at Benediction

Mingle their sacred chime
Clear in the solemn rhythm

Wherewith the fountain keeps time.

Gifts of our Blessed Mother,

Lady of God's dear Grace,
Fall with the falling waters

Heavenly dew of peace.

3O2 Hermitages in the Pyre'ne'es Orientales.

Wind-swept spray of the fountain

Keeping the clover green,
Telleth the grace of sorrow

Clothing a soul serene ;
Bubbles breaking in sunshine

Heaven-reflecting spheres
Shine like joy-freighted eyelids :

Heart finding speech in tears.
Quarrelsome little sparrows

Wear the white wings of dove,
Brooding o'er mystical waters,

Fusing the waves with love.
So doth the fountain whisper

Thoughts of all sorrow and joy,
Sparkle like blessed water

Cleansing from sin's alloy :
Voices of mountain and altar

Blend in its ceaseless rain,
Holding my soul that listens

Bound in a subtle chain.

HERMITAGES IN THE PYRENEES ORIENTALES.

" Let man return to God the same way in which he turned from him ; and as the love of created beauty
made him lose sight of the Creator, so let the beauty of the creature lead him back to the beauty of the
Creator." 6V. Isidore of Seville.

LET others who visit the magni- Inges of southwestern France owe

ficent range of the Pyrenees tell of their origin to some such cell. The

the grandeur of the scenery and hermit at first only built one large

the beneficence of the mineral wa- enough for himself, in which he set

ters ; let them recount the days of up a cross and rude statue of the

border warfare, when Christian and Virgin. Other souls, longing for

Saracen fought in the narrow passes, solitude, came to knock at his door,

and Charlemagne, and Roland, and The cell was enlarged. An oratory

all the mighty peers awoke the was erected. People came to pray

echoes of the mountains; we will therein and bring their offerings,

seek out the traces of those unlau- The oratory grew into a chapel,

relied and, for the most part, name- The hermitage became a monastery,

less heroes who overcame the around which . families gradually

world and ended their days in the took shelter, and the hamlet thus

lonely caves and cells that are to formed sometimes grew into a

be found all along the chain from town. Lombez, St. Papoul, St.

the Mediterranean Sea to the Bay Sever, and many other places owe

of Biscay. Many towns and vil- their origin to some poor hermit.

Hermitages in the Pyrtndes Orientates.

The names of a few of these holy
anchorites are still glorious in these
mountains, like those of St. Orens,
St. Savin, and St. Aventin, but
most of them are hidden as their
lives were, and as they desired
them to be. Many of the chapels
connected with their cells have ac-
quired a local celebrity and are
frequented by the people of the
neighboring villages. This is a
natural tribute to the memory of
the saintly men to whom their
fathers used to come when in need
of prayer or spiritual counsel. The
influence of such men on the rural
population around was incalculable,
with their lessons of the lowly vir-
tues enforced by constant exam-
ple. Sometimes not only the pea-
sant but the neighboring lord
would come with his Die mihi ver-
bum, and go away with new views
of life and its great aims. King
Perceforest, in his lessons to his
knights, said : " I have graven on
my memory what a hermit a long
time ago said to me by way of ad-
monition that should I possess as
much of the earth as Alexander, as
much wisdom as Solomon, and as
much valor as the brave Hector
of Troy, pride alone, if it reigned
in my bosom, would outweigh all
these advantages."

Many of these hermitages and
oratories are

" Umbrageous grots and caves
Of cool recess "

that have been consecrated to reli-
gious purposes from the first intro-
duction of Christianity. In the
valley of the Neste is one of these
grottoes, to which you ascend by
steps hewn in the cliff. The open-
ing is to the west, and the altar,
cut out of the live rock, is turned
duly to the east, where the perpe-
tual Oblation was first offered. The
sacred stone of sacrifice has been

303

carefully preserved. There is a
similar cave near Argeles also with
its altar to the east.

Whether cave or cell, these her-
mitages are nearly all remarkable
not only for their solitude but for
the beauty of their situation. Some-
times they are in a fertile valley
amid whispering leaves and wild
flowers that give out sweet thoughts
with their odors ; sometimes 'mid
the deep umbrage of the green hill-
side, vocal with birds, perchance
the nightingale that

" Shuns the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy " ;

or on the border of a mountain
stream with no noise there

" But that of falling water, friend to thought " ;

or some secluded tarn whose tide-
less waters, like the soul stilled to
all human passions, give back an
undisturbed image of the sky; but
oftener on some lofty crag, gray
and melancholy, with scarce a spray
for bird to light on, where amid
heat of summer and winter frosts
the hermit grew " content in heaven-
ward musings," like him, sung by
Dante, on that stony ridge of Ca-
tria

"Sacred to the lonely Eremite,
For worship set apart and holy things."

Every one in his hours of deep-
est feeling, whether of love, or
grief, or devotion, has longed for
some such retreat where he might
nurse it in solitude. To every
soul of any sensibility that has
lived and suffered and is it not all
one ? it appeals with a force pro-
portioned to the deep solitude he
has already passed through, and
his sense of that solitude he knows
must one day be encountered.
There is something healing and
sustaining in this contact with na-
ture, but it is only experienced by
him who has that " inward eye

304

Hermitages in the Pyrenees Orient ales.

which," says Cowley, " is the bliss
of solitude."

" The common air, the earth, th skies,
To him are opening Paradise."

" But solitude, when created by
God," says Lacordaire, " has a com-
panion from whom it is never separa-
ted : it is Poverty. To be solitary and
poor is the secret of the heroic in
soul. To live on a little, and with
few associates ; to maintain the in-
tegrity of the conscience by limit-
ing the wants of the body, and giv-
ing unlimited satisfaction to the
soul, is the means of developing
every manly virtue, and that which
in pagan antiquity was a rare and
noble exception has become under
the law of Christ an example given
by multitudes."

The cells of these mountain her-
mits are therefore invariably of ex-
treme simplicity. " Prayer all their
business, all their pleasure praise,"
the mere necessities of the body
only were yielded to.

u The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well."

There were once more than a
thousand hermitages on both sides
of the Pyrenees, most of which
have been swept away in the differ-
ent revolutions. Several of them,
however, have been restored, and a
great number of the chapels con-
nected with them have become
popular places of devotion. This
is especially the case in the Pyre-
nees Orientales. M. Just, who
was our guide to so many of them,
and on whom we draw freely in
our narration, gives nearly forty of
ancient origin that still exist in
Roussillon, the chapels of which are
open to the public and greatly fre-
quented, at least on certain festi-
vals of the year. The people love
the altars where erst their fathers
prayed, and have restored most of

those which fell into ruin at the
Revolution. One feels, in going
from one of these holy places to
another, as if in the true garden of
the Lord filled with flowers of
aromatic sweetness. The " balm-
breathing Orient " has nothing to
surpass them. Let us pass several
of them in review, and catch, if
possible, the secrets of their spicy
nests.

There is the hermitage of Notre
Dame de Pena Our Lady of the
Peak on a barren mountain, brist-
ling with needles, not far from the
source of the Aude. Nothing
grows on these rocky cliffs, except
here and there, in the crevices and
hollows, tufts of fragrant lavender,
thyme, and rosemary, and the box,
the odor of which, as Holmes says,
suggests eternity. A rough ascent,
cut in the rock, leads up to the
hermitage, with a little oratory here
and there by the wayside, and a
saint in the niche, reminding the
visitor to prepare his heart to draw
near the altar of the Mother of
God. There is a narrow terrace
before the chapel, from which you
look down on the wild Agly rush-
ing along at the foot of the moun-
tain over its rough bed of schist.
On the farther shore is the little
village of Cases-de-Peiia, surround-
ed by hills that in spite of the arid-
ness of the soil are covered with
vines, almond-trees, and the olive.
In the distance is Cape Leucate,
where the low range of the Cor-
bieres shoots forward into the very
sea. The hermitage is in a most
picturesque spot, and there is a
stern severity about the bare gray
cliffs not without its charm. An
unbroken silence reigns here, except
on certain festivals of the Virgin.
Directly behind, a sharp needle
springs up, called the Salt de la
Donzella, with ruins on the sum-

Hermitages in the PyrMes Orient ales.

305

mit, of which no history remains.*
These cliffs can be seen far out at
sea, and the mariner, when he
comes into the basin of St. Laurent,
looks up to invoke Our Lady of
the Peak :

" Beloved is the Virgin of us.
Every day we pray to her at the
sound of the Angelus bell. Her
image is the sail that impels our
bark toward the flowery shore. O
the Virgin ! the Virgin ! We need
her now ; we need her everywhere,
and at all times !" f

Notre Dame de Pena is one of
those Madonnas, so numerous in
the Pyrenees, that were 1 hidden in
the time of the Moors or Hugue-
nots, and, being forgotten, were
brought to light in some marvel-
lous manner. In this pastoral
region it was almost always by
means of the flocks or herds, where-
as in Spain such images were gene-
rally found surrounded by light,
music, and odors. In this case
the lowing of cattle around a cliff
of perilous height led to the dis-
covery of the statue in a cave.
When this took place, or when the
chapel was built to receive the holy
image, is not known. But the date
on the cistern hollowed in the rock
shows that it was already here at
the beginning of the fifteenth cen-
tury : "In the year 1414 this cis-
tern was made by Bn. Angles, a
mason of Perpignan, by the alms of
charitable people." The chapel
formerly had no doors; conse-
quently, any one could enter, day
or night. The peasants used to
say of the Madonna: "No quiere
estar cerrada esta imagen " This

* Perhaps this peak, encircled by other peaks, is
so styled from the curious dance of this region, call-
ed Lo Salt, performed by four men and four women.
At a certain part the former pass their hands un-
der the arms of the women, and raise them in the
air in the form of a pyramid, of which their white
caps form the summit.

t Jasmin.

VOL. XXVII. 20

image is not willing to be shut up.
But later, in order to keep animals
out, a wall was built around it,
with a gate that any one could un-
fasten. In old times there were
many ex-votos in the chapel, and
silver reliquaries, one of which con-
tained a fragment of the tomb at
which Christ wept, and another of
the pillar to which he was bound.
And the Virgin had thirteen veils
broidered with silk and garnished
with silver, and a still greater num-
ber of robes, it being the custom
here, as in Spain, to clothe the sa-
cred statues out of respect. The
chapel and hermit's cell fell to de-
cay at the Revolution, and the Ma-
donna was carried to a neighboring
parish church. But the people
continued to come here to pray
amid the ruins. When better days
arrived it was restored through the
zeal of M. Ferrer-Maurell, of the
neighboring village of Espira-de-
1'Agly. The statues of St. Vincent
and St. Catharine in the chapel are
said to be the likenesses of his chil-
dren of these names, who both
entered the order of La Trappe
and died in the odor of sanctity.
They are generally known, their
lives having been published, as
Pere Marie Ephrem and his sis-
ter.

The Madonna now in the chapel
is commonly called the Mara de
Deil Espagnola. The place was
once owned by the Knights Tem-
plars, but now belongs to the chap-
ter of Notre Dame de la Real at
Perpignan, and on certain festivals
the youngest canon comes here
with other priests to hear confes-
sions and say votive Masses. At
such times a great crowd ascends
the mountain. The pavement of
the chapel of the solid rock is
worn smooth by the pilgrims of so
many ages. At the foot of the

306

Hermitages in the Pyrtntes Orientales.

mountain is a road leading to the
Valley of the Aude.

The hermitage of Notre Dame
de Forca Real is on a mountain of
that name, so called from the royal
hold that once stood on the summit,
fifteen hundred feet above the level
of the sea. When the clouds gather
around it the people in the plain
below pray to the Madonna veiled
in the mist to be protected from
hail, so often disastrous to the crops
in this region. As the chapel is on
the culminating point of the moun-
tain, it is visible for miles around,
and seems to the sailor afar off on
the treacherous waves like a true
pharos of hope. M. Mechain, the
noted astronomer, established him-
self here when measuring the arc of
the meridian between Dunkirk and
Barcelona. All the villages around
have stated days in the year to come
here in procession. The people
of Corneille come on Trinity Sun-
day ; Millas, on Whitmonday, and
so on. It is very picturesque to
see them winding up the moun-
tain-side with their crosses and gay
banners, singing as they go. On
the way they stop to pray at the
little oratory of Notre Dame de
Naudi, or Snow. Mass is sung in
the chapel of Fonpa Real, and they
all receive the Holy Eucharist.
The chapel is dedicated to Notre
Dame de Pitie, and over the altar
is that group, always so affecting,
of Marie ^plor^e at the foot of the
cross receiving the body of her
crucified Son. Two doors behind
facilitate the approach of pilgrims
to kiss the holy image. To see
these pious mountaineers gathered
around the dead Christ and his
mourning Mother, singing the wild
GoigSj so expressive of grief, in the
native idiom, is very pathetic. Be-
fore the chapel is a large portico
that also leads to the hermitage,

and beyond is a small patch of land
for cultivation. From the terrace
before the chapel is a fine view over
the sun-bathed plains of Riversal,
and in the distance is the blue sea
which washes the shores of that
Eastern land where the angelic
greeting was first uttered, but is
now echoed for ever among these
mountains consecrated to Mary.
Not far off is an isolated peak, on
which are the ruins of an old mili-
tary post that had its origin in the
time of the Romans. Roussillon,
it must be remembered, has been
successively occupied by the Ro-
mans, Visigoths, Saracens, Span-
iards, and French. Separated from
France by the Corbieres, and from
Spain by the Pyrenees, it was a
border-land of perpetual warfare
for centuries, and this post was not-
ed in the contests, particularly in
the war between Don Pedro of
Aragon and King Jaime of Majorca,
and was the last place to hold out
against Don Pedro. Louis IX. had
resigned all claim on Roussillon to
Don Jaime el Conquistador, who,
on his part, withdrew his preten-
sions to' a portion of Languedoc.
After the death of Don Jaime the
province fell under the rule of the
kings of Majorca, till the bloody
wars of the fourteenth century gave
Don Pedro possession of it. He
made it the apanage of the crown
prince of Aragon. Louis XIII.
took Perpignan, and the treaty of
the Pyrenees confirmed France in
the possession of the whole pro-
vince.

The hermitage of Notre Dame de
Juegas is pleasantly situated in the
plain of Salanca beside the river
Agly, whence it derives its name a
corruption of Juxta aquas, near the
water. Here once stood a temple
to the false gods. It is a quiet
peaceful spot, a little from the

Hermitages in the_ Pyr dudes Orientates.

highway to St. Laurent, the centre
of the maritime business on this
coast, and the traveller often turns
aside to say a prayer in the ever-
open chapel. The sailors them-
selves come here, and there is a
constant succession ofvotive Masses
all the year for safe voyages and
happy ventures. It is especially
frequented in the summer. The
neighboring parish of Torreilles
comes here in procession four times
a year, one of which is on the fes-
tival of St. Eloi to perpetuate a
thanksgiving service at his altar
for the cessation of a pestilence
that raged ages ago in this vicinity.
How few of us, who perhaps consid-
er ourselves certain degrees higher
in the intellectual scale than these
good peasants, ever return to give
thanks for our own mercies, much
less for those of our forefathers !
On Good Friday a great number
come here from the surrounding
parishes to make the Way of the
Cross and pray at the altar of the
Christ. There is a large garden
walled in around the hermitage,
and adjoining is a field belonging
to it. Before the cell is a wide
porch and a court shaded by trees,
where the birds keep up their sweet
responses from one leafy cell to
another. Here the pilgrims assem-
ble to eat the lunch they bring with
them. The char el is known to
have existed in the thirteenth cen-
tury by a document of 1245, by
which Delmau de Castelnou trans-
ferred all his possessions in the
territory of Sancta Maria de Juse-
guis to Don Jaime, the Infante of
Majorca. It contains a statue of
Our Lady between St. Ferreol and
St. Lucy. Not far from the chapel
is the mound where tradition says
the Madonna was found. Out of
respect it has never been cultivated.
About a mile from the little vil-

307

lage of Corneilla-del-Vercol is the
hermitage of Notre Dame du Para-
dis in Latin, Regina Cxli. A fif-
teen minutes' walk across the sunny
plain brings you to it. It is in a
retired spot well calculated to dif-
fuse peace in the soul, and you pass
out of the air tremulous with heat
into the cool, solitary chapel with a
delightful feeling of repose. The
hermit, varying his duties by cul-
tivating the land adjoining, may
well find a calm happiness at the
feet of Our Lady of Paradise. The
very name brings joy to the gloomi-
est soul. The word Paradise, as
the Pere Bouhours says, "implies
the cessation of every ill, and the
fruition of all good." Fra Egidio,
one of the early Franciscans, used
to fall into ecstasy at the very name
of Paradise; for such holy souls
kindle into a glow at the least
spark, above all at the thought of
the eternal bliss that awaits the end
of their penitential life.

This chapel has recently been
restored by the villagers and very
prettily ornamented. One of the
side chapels is dedicated to St.
Acisclo, whom, with Santa Victo-
ria, we found honored on Mont-
serrat in Spain. Prudentius has
consecrated a hymn to these two
martyrs, who suffered at Cordova
in the reign of Diocletian. The
chapel is very ancient. In an old
will of 1215 Dame Ermessende
Raffarda bequeathed it half an
ay mine of barley, and not long af-
ter one Pons Martin, of Perpignan,
wishing to be buried here, left it
a whole load. High Mass is cele-
brated here on the Assumption, and
there are frequent votive Masses
throughout the year.

On the way from Candies to
Fenouillet is the hermitage of No-
tre Dame de la Vail, on a peak sur-
rounded by a great number of old

308

Hermitages in the FyrMes Orient ales.

graves that are shaded by sad cy-
presses and olives. Mention is
made of it in a privilege accorded
by Pope Sergius IV. in ion to the
monastery of St. Pierre de Fenouil-
let. Near the mount is the Ruis-
seau des Morts the Stream of the
Dead to which the priest in his
sable stole used to come down to
receive those brought here for bur-
ial. About a mile from Gaudies
you come to the oratory of St.
Ann, recently restored, with an
inscription in the Catalan tongue
stating that it was erected in 1483
that is, when the country was un-
der the rule of Aragon. It then
belonged to the domains of the
counts of Fe"nouillet. Just beyond
this oratory is a large cross at the
foot of a long ramp leading up to
the hermitage. The Madonna in
the chapel is held in great venera-
tion, as shown by the number of
ex-votos on every side. She stands
in a curious retablo of terra-cotta.
In one of the compartments the
demon is represented beneath the
bier of the Virgin, seemingly half
crushed by the weight, perhaps
significant of her power over the
Prince of Darkness. There is a
kind of belvedere, to which you
ascend by a flight of seventy-three
steps, where you have a fine view
over the valley of Candies and the
stern, barren mountains that sur-
round it. On one of these rocky
heights are to be seen the ruins of
Castel Sizel, and on another those
of the old chateau of Fenouillet,
which take quite a poetic tinge up
in that sunlit air. A great festi-
val is held at Notre Dame de la
Vail at the Assumption, when the
mountain is clothed with joy and
its summit crowned with light.
At other times it wears a solemn
aspect. To see it at night, especially,
with its chapel on the top among

lone graves and funereal cypresses,
with the Stream of the Dead wind-
ing along at the foot, is something
gloomy to behold. The monoto-
nous flow of the sullen stream, the
black shadows, the sighing of the
night winds, as of suffering souls,
strike a kind of terror into the
heart.

The hermitage of St. Catharine
nestles in the bottom of a charm-
ing valley about a mile and a half
from Baixas, among almond-trees
and luxuriant vines, the more plea-
sant from the contrast with the
barren cliffs that enclose it. Here
the titular saint has been venerated
from time immemorial, as well as
SS. Abdon and Sennen, who are
in special honor in this country.
They all have statues in the sanc-
tuary, and above them stands su-
preme Notre Dame de la Salud,
which is the Catalan for health
Salus Infirmorum. On St. Catha-
rine's day, as well as the feast of
Our Lady of Snow, the whole val-
ley is swarming with pilgrims and
resonant with their Goigs, as the
hymns in the native tongue are
called.

The valley of the Agly leads to
the hermitage of St. Antoine de
Galamus by a pleasant road along
the left bank of the river, shaded
by trees and shrubs that never lose
their verdure. On the other side
rise bold cliffs with astonishing
abruptness. At length you come
to an iron gate that opens into the
Bois de St. Antoine, where, along
the path bordered with odorous
plants, are the stations of the Via
Crucis, and beyond is a cave dedi-
cated to St. Magdalen, with her
statue over a. rude altar. Soon af-
ter you come to the hermitage at
the end of the valley, surrounded
by a wall, with a small belfry rising
above it. Here you are welcomed

Hermitages in the Pyrenees Or lent ales.

309

with cordial simplicity by a hermit
of saintly mien. A grotto, seventy
feet deep and twenty wide, serves
as a chapel. Eight steps lead to
the marble altar, on which is a
statue of the patron saint with the
mysterious Tau on his mantle, and
beside him the animal symbolic of
all tmcleanness. Every one who
has seen the picture of the Tempta-
tion of St. Anthony by Teniers
and who has not ? remembers un-
der how many aspects the great
adversary was allowed to tempt the
saint, and how, according to the
significant legend, the victorious
St. Anthony forced the malign
spirit to remain beside him under
the most suitable of forms.

This chapel has always enjoyed
great celebrity since the cessation
of an epidemic in 1782, in conse-
quence of a solemn procession here
by the neighboring people. Seve-
ral rooms are built into the side of
the cliff to accommodate those who
wish to spend some days in medi-
tating on the contemptu mundi. In
one room is a shelf in the rock that
used to serve as a bed for the her-
mit certainly one that would not
tempt him to remain too long inert.
Near by is a small cave where the
statue of St. Anthony was found.
Here is a little fountain fed by wa-
ter that comes trickling down the
side of the cave with a pleasant
murmur.

The place reminds one of Sir
Lancelot, who, "after riding all
night, became ware of a hermitage
and a chappel that stood between
two cliffs, and then he herd a lytel
bell rynge to Masse, and thyder he
rode, and alyghted and tyed hys
hors to the gate." But he that
said Mass in our case was not " the
byshop of Caunterburye," but a
poor friar of the Order of St. Fran-
cis. In 1482 this hermitage was

taken possession of by the Obser-
vantine fathers, who occupied it for
more than a century. They were
succeeded by lay hermits. For
several years past members of dif-
ferent religious orders have suc-
ceeded each other here, and by
their austere lives recalled the an-
cient solitaries of the desert. You
seem to see St. Pachomius in the
wilderness among the clefts of the
rocks. In 1843 Pere Marie, of
saintly memory, was the hermit
here, and might have been daily
seen hollowing out his tomb in the
rock. Beside the yawning mouth
lay a death's head with the scroll :
" Soon you will be what I am, all
of you who behold me. Pray for
the dead, and work out your own
salvation." Sometimes the hermit
would stop in his lugubrious em-
ployment to prolong the moral as
with the voice of one risen from
the dead. He was succeeded by
others who were desirous of paus-
ing in the midst of their apostolic
career and refreshing their weary
soulj by spending a season in re-
tirement and prayer among the
caves of this lonely mountain. One
of these caves is in the side of a
steep cliff difficult of access. On
the wall is rudely graven : " The
voice of him who crieth in the wil-
derness." The very stones here,
indeed, seem to cry out. The cave
recalls the Earl of Warwick who
became a hermit and scooped out
his own cell in a cliff, as he is made
to say :

" With my hands I hewed a house

Out of the craggy rock of stone,
And lived like a palmer poore
Within that cave myself alone."

The hermitage of St. Antoine is
certainly a charming solitude. The
cliffs are bare and stern, but the
eye looks down on the verdure of
trees and a meadow enamelled with

3 IO

Hermitages in the PyrMes Oricntalcs.

flowers. The songs of the birds
come up from their leafy nests, as
if in response to the hermit's psalm,
and the sunny air is full of insects
chirping in the bliss of their peaceful
existence,!only rivalled by his own.
Near the village of Pezilla de la
Riviere is the ancient hermitage of
St. Saturnin in a graveyard full of
trees, and flowers, and crosses,
showing the piety of the people
towards their dead. Before burial
their remains are taken into the
chapel, where the Miserere is sung
and absolution pronounced- Here
are the statues of St. Saturnin, St.
Blaise, St. Roch, and St. Sebastian,
all popular saints in this region.
On the wall is a tablet to the me-
mory of a noble Bearnaise who be-
came a canoness, and always used
to attend High Mass here on St.
Saturnin's day. A legend tells how
on one occasion, being overtaken
by a hard rain, she was not wet in
the least, while the servant who
reluctantly accompanied her was
drenched to the skin.

On the left bank of the Agly,
about a mile and a half west of
Claira, is the modest hermitage of
St. Pierre del Vilar, surrounded by
pale, trembling poplars, and tall
reeds that rustle drearily in the
wind, and orchards of olives sad-
dest, if most sacred, of trees. It
wears an aspect of utter solitude.
The chapel is so old that its origin
is unknown. But there is a tomb-
stone from a neighboring priory (now
gone) to which the chapel gave its
name, to the memory of Prior Be-
rengarius, who died in ii93 There
is an old statue of St. Peter here,
carved out of wood, dressed in an
alb, stole, and cope. This chapel
was in such veneration that after
the Revolution the people restored
it, added a belfry, and on St. Pe-
ter's day, as well as several other

festivals, they come here in proces-
sion, and Mass is solemnly sung.
At their departure they used to
gather around the graves of the old
hermits to chant the Requiem, but
these graves are now covered by
the cells built here in 1851 by some
pious cenobites of the Order of St.
Francis refugees from Spain, who
sought in prayer and solitude con-
solation for their exile.

The hermitage of St. Martin
stands on one of the highest peaks
around Camelas. It dates from a
remote epoch, as appears by a be-
quest dated the twelfth of the Ka-
lends of May, 1259. The seigneu-
rie of Camelas belonged to the ba-
rony of Castelnou, and when Lady
Anne de Fenouillet, the widow of
one of the barons, took the veil
" of her own free will," as the ac-
count says, " de sa propria y mera
voluntadj and not by force, or per-
suasion, or reward," she gave all
her rights over the domain of Ca-
melas, including the hermitage of
St. Martin, to the hospital of Ille,
to which she had retired in order
to serve the poor of Christ.

In the seventeenth century this
venerable sanctuary, having fallen
to partial ruin, was restored by the
exertions of M. Curio, a priest of
Camelas, who has left many de-
tails of its history in a manuscript
of touching interest. He tells us
how, when a mere escolanet dels rec-
tors a pupil of the cure" he used
to walk in the processions of Ro-
gation week, carrying the cross or
the holy water ; and when they
came to St. Martin's, and he saw its
ruined condition, his young heart
was deeply moved. The altar
was poor. The old statues of St.
George and St. Martin were de-
faced. The walls were crumbling
to pieces, and there were holes in
the vaulted roof; and the open

Hermitages in the Pyrtntes Orientates.

doors allowed the goats and other
animals to take shelter there. " Es-
tas cosas" says he, " eran pera mi
degran afflictio " These things were
to me a great affliction and he
longed to be able to repair the
chapel. He finally became a priest
and held a small benefice at Thuir,
but he never lost sight of the cha-
pel of St. Martin a saint to whom
he had special devotion and he
would have become a hermit here
had it not been for the opposition
of his superiors. On the i2th of
January, 1637, during a visit at
his brother's in Camelas, while
saying the rosary in the evening, he
felt suddenly inspired to take im-
mediate measures for the restora-
tion of the chapel. But there were
many obstacles. He was himself
very poor, as he tells us, and the
people around were equally so.
He knew he should incur the re-
proaches of his brother as well as
of the neighbors. And it would
be expensive to transport brick,
sand, and water to the mountain for
the repairs. By a few sous from
one, and a few francs from an-
other, he was enabled to begin the
work, but had to continue it at his
own expense. Six years after the
work was not completed. He now
removed to Camelas to devote him-
self to it, bringing with him a pious
old laborer to aid in the task, and
a hermit to whom the bishop had
given a license to collect alms with-
in the circuit of two miles a limi-
tation made at the special request

of the prudent M. Curio himself,
lest, as he said, the hermit might
have an excuse for "vagabondiz-
ing." The zealous priest gave all
his own income. He even made
himself the organist of a church to
add to his means. At length he
had the happiness of seeing it com-
pleted, and, going to Perpignan, a
painting of St. Martin was given
him for the altar of his patron, and
a retablo of sculptured wood for
that of Notre Dame des Anges.
The chapel was reopened Septem-
ber 25, 1644, an d M. Curio figur-
ed as chief musician at the High
Mass. His own inclination for
the solitary life made him long
to retire here hintself, but he was
again refused permission. At
length, in the time of some pes-
tilence, he made a vow to retire
here for the space of a year, should
he and his parish escape. He
entered upon the fulfilment of his
vow April 2, 1653.

The church consists of two aisles,
each with its altar : one of St.
Martin, with the old painting
above it presented to M. Curio;
and the other of Our Lady of the
Angels with its ancient statue of
coarse workmanship found in a
neighboring cave still known as the
Cova de la Mare de Deii.

In former times, after High Mass
on St. Martin's day, a small loaf, a
cup of wine, and a morsel of cheese
were given to all the people pre-
sent; and the custom is still kept
up, at least as to the bread.

312

Conrad and Walburga.

CONRAD AND WALBURGA.

CHAPTER II.

ON the way home Walburga step-
ped into the cathedral, the grand
old Frauen Kirche, and remained a
short while on her knees before the
high altar. There Conrad and
all that he had spoken passed out
of her mind ; she felt as if she were
in another world, so changed was
everything round about her, so
solemn and still. Before her hung
the ever-burning lamp, symbol of
the Eternal Presence; and as Wal-
burga 's eyes rested upon the sa-
cred flame, she wondered at her-
self for bearing with so little resig-
nation the troubles of this life.

" What I seek, what I yearn
for," she sighed, " is not to be found
liere below. Everything sooner or
later passes away; the happiest
home we may found on earth must
in the end know tears and desola-
tion. O eternity, eternity !"

Yet, strange to relate and yet,
no, not strange, but quite naturally
enough the moment Walburga
emerged from this peaceful sanctuary
and found herself once more in the
noisy, airy, life-throbbing street,
with the azure sky overhead and
gladsome faces flitting to and fro,
she felt very human again, ay,
very human; and her craving for
something human to love and be
loved by grew none the less intense
when presently she saw happyUlrich
and happy Moida advancing towards
her arm-in-arm. It was not neces-
sary for them to speak to tell that
their hearts were throbbing in
sweet harmony together, and that
for them at least this world was all
a paradise.

When Conrad and Ulrich found
themselves back at Loewenstein
again they talked of little else than
their pleasant trip to Munich.

" The only harm 'twill do me,"
said the artist, smiling, " is that
I'll lie awake a good while to-night
thinking of Moida. The more I
see of my betrothed, the more vir-
tues do I discover in her. She is
so full of common sense ; she keeps
store and keeps house too ; nobody
can make a better bargain when
she goes to market, and it is a
fortunate thing that Walburga has
such a friend."

"Miss Hofer is indeed a rare
girl," said Conrad, who was seated
beside him watching the moon rise
over the mountain; " and you have
proved your own good sense in
choosing her for your future
spouse." Then, assuming a graver
tone : " But now let me tell you
something which is of great concern
to me. You remember that I spoke
to you about a young lady whom I
met with in the Pinakothek, and
that it was in order to see her again
that I went to-day to Munich.
Well, she turns out to be your sis-
ter."

"My sister! Walburga! Really!"
exclaimed Ulrich, feigning surprise
at this piece of news.

" And, Ulrich" here Conrad
took his hand in his " I mean to
try my best to win her heart."

" And most sincerely do I hope
you may succeed," rejoined the
youth.

" Well, is she quite free ? Is any
gentleman courting her?"

Conrad and Walburga.

" Nobody, sir, is courting her."
"" It must be because she is poor,"
said Conrad inwardly, "and per-
haps, too, a little proud. Well, a
Loewenstein has a right to be
proud."

They remained thus conversing
together until a late hour, until all
the lights in the valley were out,
until the moon was sailing high in
the heavens, and every sound was
hushed except the voice of the wa-
terfall in the ravine back of the
castle.

And when at length they with-
drew to rest, Ulrich, instead of ly-
ing awake, as he had feared he
might, soon fell asleep, and till
cockcrow next morning did no-
thing but dream of his beloved
Moida. He dreamt O naughty
dreamer ! that he was tearing off
his buttons purposely, that he
might see her plump, ready hand
sew them on again ; and when he
opened his eyes and heard the
monastery bell ringing the Angelus,
Ulrich fell at once on his knees
and prayed with fervor, because he
knew that at that same hour in
Fingergasse Moida was saying the
Angelus too.

The day which now opened was
to be a busy one at Loewenstein.
Ulrich betimes set himself to work
renovating the half-destroyed fres-
cos ; and, to his great delight, sev-
eral beautiful and interesting pic-
tures came to view as he care-
fully scraped the whitewash off the
walls. They appeared in patches :
here an eye would peep out upon
him ; there a hand, a foot, a tress
of hair ; until by and by a lovely
damsel or a knight in armor would
stand full-length before his admir-
ing gaze. This whitewash had
been daubed over nearly the whole
interior of the tower by a simple-
minded cobbler, who had intended

313

to make the place his home after
Ulrich and Walburga went away,
but who only passed one night in
it; then was scared off by ghosts.

And when Conrad, who was su-
perintending a band of laborers
outside, came in and saw the art
treasures which had been brought
to light, he clapped his hands for
joy. But more even than with the
fair lady and mailed warrior was he
charmed with a wild, shaggy figure,
underneath which in quaint Gothic
letters was written the word " Attila."
" And now, as I behold anew
this fresco," remarked Ulrich, "my
childhood comes vividly back to me,
and I remember once hearing my
father tell my mother that the great-
grandsires of those who laid the
foundations of Loewenstein might
have known the king of the Huns."
In short, these unlooked-for dis-
coveries so excited Conrad that he
could hardly go back to the open
air, where the stones and earth
which covered the site of three
other towers were being cleared
away ; and ever and anon he would
run in again to show Ulrich an old
coin or other curious object which
the workmen had found amid the
rubbish. Whereupon the youth
would point to still another long-
concealed wall-picture gradually
coming to view, till finally Conrad
exclaimed : " God bless the stupid
cobbler! I'll not rail at him any
more. But for his vile whitewash
I should not have enjoyed all these
surprises."

Yes, it was a busy, happy day for
them both. When the sun dipped
behind the mountain in the west
Conrad called to Ulrich to cease his
labors and come out and watch the
path leading down into the valley.
" For I am expecting," said he, "all
the things I purchased of your be-
trothed to arrive this evening, and

Conrad and Walburga.

Miss Hofer is coming with them.
1 kept it secret, lest you might be
too distracted if you knew it."

" Really ! is Moida coming ?"
cried Ulrich.

Scarcely had the words escaped
his lips when they heard the bark
of a dog not a sharp, quick yelp,
but the thick, husky bark of a dog
that is aged and in another mo-
ment who should be seen emerging
from a clump of ha-zel bushes
through which the pathway led but
Caro and his mistress.

Down at a break-neck pace flew
Ulrich, and, ere the girl had ascend-
ed a dozen steps further, she found
herself clasped in his arms.

" My knight always takes me by
storm," said Moida, laughing mer-
rily as soon as she recovered her
breath.

"Nay, 'tis you who were taking
us by storm at the pace you were
mounting," answered Ulrich ; then,
catching her hand, he assisted her
up the rest of the way.

" Everything is coming, sir, every-
thing," were Moida's first words to
Conrad, who greeted her warmly
when she reached the spot where
he stood. " But the donkeys have
a heavy load a very heavy load
and so I determined to run ahead
and tell you they were coming."

"Bravo !" cried Conrad. Then,
patting Caro's woolly head: "And
is this the good old poodle that I
have heard so much of?"

" Yes, sir. And as my pet would
be killed by the horrid police if
they knew he was alive, I conclud-
ed to carry him away from Munich.
I hope you are not displeased at my
bringing him here ?"

" Displeased ? Why, nobody
likes dogs more than I; and this
one shall find a snug home in my
castle. But why didn't you bring
the other pet, too ?"

"What! the nightingale?" ex-
claimed Moida, with an air of sur-
prise. "Oh! Walburga would not
part with him for anything."

"Well, the young lady only yes-
terday spoke of giving him his
freedom."

"Did she? Well, I trust, sir,
you persuaded her not to do so,"
answered Moida, smiling inwardly;
for Walburga had related to her
the whole conversation which had
passed betwixt herself and Conrad
at the Pinakothek, and ever since
she had been full of hope that
great good would result from her
friend's acquaintance with the new
owner of Loewenstein. "And not
only will Walburga not let her bird
out," she thought to herself, "but
it may end by its joining Caro in
this peaceful retreat."

" But now, Moida, do come and
see what I have been about since
morning," spoke Ulrich, drawing
her gently along. With this all
three passed into the tower, where
verily a great change had been
wrought in a few hours.

Not only were many frescos
long invisible brought again to
view, but it was now manifest that
each figure and group of figures,
from the barbarian Attila down to
the most modern one of all, which
was scarce a century old, were
linked together and presented a
tolerably good pictorial history of
the house of Loewenstein ; and
Conrad observed to Moida with a
roguish smile : " Your betrothed,
miss, has for his remote ancestor a
Hun."

They were still examining these
wall-paintings when the donkeys
made their appearance, and, al-
though the hour was rather late,
Moida clapped her hands and said :
" Let us put everything to rights at
once. Do !" Accordingly, inspi-

Conrad and Walburga.

315

rited by her blithe voice, Conrad
and Ulrich, without summoning
others to help them, unpacked the
loads, and so zealously did they
work that in a very short while
everything was in its proper place
except the huge earthenware stove.

Then Conrad donned a suit of
armor (rusty and dented, but all
the better for being so), and, clutch-
ing firmly a heavy two-handed
sword, laid about him right and
left like mad for above a minute,
to Moida's great delight, and until
he was fain to pause for breath.

" I have a friend in Cologne,"
said he, " a republican like myself
in his opinions ; but I mean to
write and warn him never to buy a
castle never ; otherwise he'll be-
come a changed man. Oh ! there's
nothing like buying a castle to
make one an aristocrat."

After joining in the hearty laugh
with which he ended this speech,
Moida said to him in a whisper,
and as though she felt there vvas
something touching in what she was
about to communicate : " My friend
Walburga entered the curiosity-shop
to-day, sir, for the first time since
I have had anything in it belonging
to Loewenstein ; and ere I packed
up the various objects, she placed
her hand on each one and stroked
it, and even kissed yonder clock,
for she said : ' It stood in my
mother's chamber, it called many
a happy hour, and now 'tis going
back to the old home again.' ' :

"Well, now let me tell you a
secret," said Conrad, likewise in
an undertone, but with a bright
gleam in his eye : " I hope one of
these days to see the young lady
here herself."

" Oh ! wouldn't that be charming !
Wouldn't that be glorious !" replied
Moida, who understood what he
meant. "Why, in the whole of

Bavaria there is not her equal, and
I am sure you will make her an
excellent husband."

" I hope so, Miss Hofer, even
though I am no longer a believer
in Christianity."

' 'Twill give Walburga the great
happiness of making you a Chris-
tian again," she added, with an
arch smile. But Conrad's expres-
sion did not respond to hers, and
for a minute or two he was silent.
When again he opened his lips the
tone of his voice was changed, and,
in order to shake off the gloom
which he felt creeping upon him,
he asked her tossing him a song.

" Yes, yes, do !" exclaimed Ul-
rich, turning away from the grated
window through which he had been
gazing while the others were whis-
pering to each other. " Sing that
wild ballad called the ' Scream of
the Eagle.'" Moida sang. Never
before had Conrad Seinsheim heard
anything half so thrilling, and the
words were accompanied by such
graceful motions as proved the girl
to be no mean actress.

"Yes, it is a grand song," she
said when it was finished ; " and I
like to be in the country, where I
may give it with my whole heart.
In Munich our lodging is too
small and the air out-doors too
heavy with beer for such rousing,
inspiring words."

" Your grandfather composed it,
did he not ?" said Ulrich.

"Oh! no. Buthe and his rifle-
men used to chant it when they
went into battle. 'Tis as old as
the hills; perhaps it rang in the
ears of the Roman legions."

" Well, truly, you are a rare bird,"
thought Conrad Seinsheim as he
looked at Moida's bright-blue 'eyes
and cheeks glowing with health ;
"and if I had not already found
my ideal I'd wish to marry you."

3 i6

Conrad and Walburga.

Then, praying her to sit down in
one of the old family chairs : ".Now
please," he said, " tell me a little of
your history ; for " here Conrad
dropped his voice " I hope ere
long that you and Ulrich, and Wal-
burga and myself, as well as Caro
and the nightingale, will all form
one happy family together. There-
fore I am curious to know more
about you."

This was spoken in such a kind-
ly way that Moida could not refuse.
Accordingly, she began and told
him how she was descended from
a race of mountaineers who had
never been serfs, like the peasants
in other parts of Europe.

" We did not dwell in castles,"
said Moida, darting a sportive
glance at Ulrich, who was patting
her hand. " Still, for all that we
were nobles."

" Yes, yes, you were indeed,"
cried the youth.

" But after grandfather was put
to death our family quitted their
native place in South Tyfol 'twas
too full of painful memories and
came north to Innspruck ; and fin-
ally we drifted to Munich, where I
now live. My parents are dead,
but Walburga is like a sister to me ;
and as for this boy "

" He is a poor, dreamy fellow,
but, thanks to you, is turning over
a new leaf at last," interrupted Ul-
rich. "And I mean soon to have
a studio in Munich, where I'll paint
fine pictures, and my darling sha'n't
keep shop any longer."

"Ay, you must be weary of that
sort of life," observed Conrad.

" Well, if people would only buy
something when they pause to
look at my curiosities, 'twould not
be so trying to my feelings, sir.
But you can't imagine how it ex-
cites me when I see a gentleman
eyeing the things in the window,

even pressing his nose against the
glass to obtain a better view.
Sometimes he actually enters and
scrutinizes every article in the
store; asks the price of this and
that ; smiles approvingly ; in fact,
looks as if he were about to draw
forth his purse; then he coolly turns
and walks out. O sir ! I have
more than once cried for disap-
pointment."

"Well, except that I might never
have met. you," said Ulrich, "I'd
rather you had stayed hidden
among your native hills than lead
such a life."

" Ay, nothing is so mean and
slavish as trade," remarked Conrad,
" and I am very glad that I have
given it up."

" Ha ! but if you or your father,
sir, had not turned over a good
many banknotes and thalers, you
might never have become owner of
Loewenstein," said the wise Moida.
" And then dear Caro wouldn't
have had a home here, and all
these pikes and helmets and other
venerable relics would have been
for ever scattered to the winds.
Whereas now, thanks to your
wealth, there will soon be no castle
in all Tyrol like this one."

" Well, tell me, Miss Hofer, what
would you have me do now that I
am out of business?" asked Con-
rad. "A man ought not to be
idle."

"Do? Why, I'd hunt chamois,
and fish in the Inn, and climb the
glaciers, and I'd find happiness in
making others happy, for there are
many poor people in the Innthal."

"But would that suffice? Oh!
you do not know what a restless
mortal I am. I have always been
sighing for something, but no soon-
er do I attain my heart's desire
and thus far I have been very for-
tunate than straightway I begin to

Conrad and Walburga.

317

yearn for something else. Suppose
now I devote myself to science,
say to astronomy, and build a tele-
scope, a gigantic one, bigger than
the biggest, and sweep the heavens
millions of miles beyond the farth-
est star now seen ?"

" Well, I'd rather busy myself
with the things near me," returned
Moida. " However, if you like to
look through a telescope, why I'd
build one. But, telescope or no
telescope, I'd do nothing but laugh
from sunrise till sundown if this
castle belonged to me."

And this was true enough. Hers
was a happy nature ; nothing ever
disturbed her serenity. Although
poor, she did not envy the rich. Al-
though a very good girl, she was
never troubled by religious scruples;
the most fiery sermon on eternal
punishment could not keep Moida's
head from nodding after the preach-
er had been preaching more than
twenty minutes, and Walburga used
to envy her from the bottom of her
heart. And now Ulrich's betroth-
ed felt inclined to smile at Conrad,
who was so rich and free from care,
but whose visage had assumed a
grave look, and she thought to her-
self: "'Tis a pity he has moody
spells, for dear Walburga is prone
to them, too; she should have a
laughing, jovial husband."

Then, to cheer her host, Moida
sang another song, which presently
drove away the cloud from his
face. But the girl paused not with
one ; the music continued to flow in
an unbroken stream from her lips,
until the oil in the lamp burned
low and warned them that it was
time to seek repose.

" And now good-night," said
Conrad, after showing his fair guest
to a little room near the top of the
tower. " I hope the moonbeams
shining in through the chinks in

the wall will not keep you awake.
Good-night."

" Nothing ever keeps me awake ;
I'll soon shut out the moon. Good-
night, sir," she answered. And in
a very short while Moida was fast
asleep, with her rosary in her
hand for she always closed her
eyes before she had half finished,
and let her guardian angel say the
rest of the prayer.

" Why, what an early bird you
are !" exclaimed Walburga the fol-
lowing morning, as she was pre-
paring to set off for the Pinakothek.
" Back already ?"

"Yes," answered Moida. "I
took the first train. Not that I
didn't wish to stay longer, but "

".Ah! true, you have to look af-
ter the dinner my breakfast was
miserable without you and keep
store, and one night was quite as
long as you could be spared," add-
ed the other, smiling; and good-
natured Moida smiled too ; then
with an arch glance said : " By the
way, he came with me."

"He! Whom do you mean?"
asked Walburga, pretending not to
understand.

" Why, Conrad Seinsheim. And
really, I advise you to accept him
if he proposes. The short time I
passed in his company has con-
vinced me that he is a good man,
and I doubt not but you will bring
him back to the faith. Yes, love
and prayer will make a Christian
of him again sooner than anything
else."

" But what makes you think he
has any notion of courting me ?"

"Oh! I can tell by the way he
talks, and by what you yourself
told me about him the other day.
So you'll surely see him this fore-
noon ; he may be already at the
gallery awaiting you."

318

Conrad and Waiburga.

"Well, true, Mr. Seinsheim did
ask my leave to come and renew
our conversation. Therefore I
presume he w'ill be there."

" Yet a moment since you feign-
ed not to know that he cared for
you," continued Moida, twitching
her sleeve.

" Oh ! he merely wishes to con-
verse on art. Besides, some men
enjoy being near a woman, without
having any thought of matrimony.
There are full as many flirts in one
sex as in the other ; however, if Mr.
Seinsheim imagines he can throw
dust in my eyes, he'll be mistaken.
It shall be all art between us no-
thing but art; not a single silly
syllable."

" Well, he doesn't look like one
to pay foolish compliments ; you
have owned as much yourself,"
said Moida. " Now, remember his
words when you spoke of uncaging
your nightingale ; and if I can read
character, Mr. Seinsheim is just
the man to ask a girl to be his wife
at the second or third interview.
So, dear friend, you may return at
noon engaged."

" How can you dream of such a
thing!" said Waiburga, half re-
proachfully.

" Oh ! now don't be vexed. But
let me calmly inquire why I should
not dream of it ; for where could
he find a better helpmate ?"

" Because all men are alike.
Even the holy patriarchs were
guided by outward appearances in
choosing their wives. Scripture
tells us that Laban had two daugh-
ters, Leah and Rachel : ' Leah was
tender-eyed ; but Rachel was beau-
tiful, and Jacob loved Rachel.' '

This was more than Moida could
gainsay ; therefore she let the sub-
ject drop and asked about the bird.

" I have given him his liberty,"
said Waiburga.

" Have you truly ? Well, I de-
clare !"

This was all that Moida could
utter. Then, putting on her hat
and shawl, Waiburga quitted the
room, leaving her friend repeating
to herself:

"What a sentimental girl she is !
What a sentimental girl she is !"

We may be sure that while on
her way to the picture gallery
Waiburga thought only of the one
whom she expected to meet there,
and she quite agreed with Moida
that Conrad did not seem like a
man to play at courtship. Yet, ad-
mitting that he was in earnest,
would he not prove to be in the
end like the great majority of his
sex a blind follower only of what
his eyes revealed to him ? Would
he dive below the surface and
judge her by her inner self?

" I will try not to indulge any
hope," thought Waiburga. Yet, at
this very moment, down in her
heart's depths the flower of hope
was already beginning to bud, and
no doubt that was why her step
this morning was lighter than usual.
As for Conrad having lost his faith,
however much she regretted it, and
pious girl though she was, this did
not lead her to believe that he was
a bad man. Waiburga had sense
enough to discern the difficulties
which lie in the way of belief in
the revelation to those who have
wandered from, or never known,
the truth ; she knew, too, that
the universities were full of learned
professors who spoke of God as a.
myth. " And even some saints,"
she said, " have been racked by
doubt, and overcame this, the great-
est of all the temptations of the
arch-fiend, only by severe self-tor-
tures. Therefore I will continue
to pray for Conrad Seinsheim "
(Waiburga had remembered him in

Conrad and Walburga.

319

her prayers ever since she had
heard that he was an unbeliever).
" And I will pray also for dear Ul-
rich, who is young and confiding,
and is much in Conrad's power."

A quarter of an hour later and
the girl was busy at her easel, and
working swiftly too. " For I must
accomplish all I can before he ar-
rives," she murmured to herself.

But Conrad did not allow her
time to do much. Presently his
voice was heard bidding her good-
morning. Whereupon she returned
his greeting in a cheery tone, but
without looking round.

" Gracious lady," he began,
" doubtless Miss Hofer has already
told you of her pleasant visit to
Loewenstein. The weather was
delightful, the old place looked
charming, and I should not have
let her return so soon, nor come
myself either, only that I longed to
see you again."

" Dear Moida enjoyed it very
much, but she knows that 'tis im-
possible for me to get along with-
out her," answered Walburga, re-
vealing only by a faint flush the
emotion excited by Conrad's words.
Her hand, however, was steadier
than it had been the first time he
paid her a compliment. Then the
other, after observing her a mo-
ment in silence, went on :

" How rapidly you paint, Miss
Von Loewenstein ! And what life
you throw into your picture !"

" Well, yes, sir, I am a quick
worker. I hope my brother is not
disappointing you and dawdling
over his task."

" No, indeed ! And I consider
myself very fortunate in having
found such an artist. There he
was, seated amid the ruins of the
old castle, when I arrived, appa-
rently waiting for me to appear;
and if you saw the tower now you

would hardly recognize it. Why,
some of the frescos, since Ulrich
has restored them, are as fine as
anything in this gallery."

"Really!" exclaimed Walburga.

"Yes, really. And he declares
his skill and energy are all due to
Moida. Ulrich says she spurs him
on, and I believe it. Oh ! nothing
like a woman to put fire into a
man."

"Well, some gentlemen, sir, man-
age to live and prosper without
any such spurring," rejoined Wal-
burga, with a smile lurking on her
lips.

" I am exceedingly hard to please ;
that is why / am still a bachelor,"
said her admirer, wincing a little at
this remark.

" Well, believe me, sir, 'tis foolish
to be so fastidious. Why, in any
town of ten, nay, of even five thou-
sand inhabitants a good man may
find a good woman to be his wife."

" Do you think so?"

" 'Tis my conviction. This hunt-
ing up and down the world for an
ideal woman is nonsense." Then,
with a slight gesture of impatience :
" O these lips !" exclaimed Walbur-
ga " these lips ! when shall I get
them right ?"

" Well, you see, Miss Von Loew-
enstein, what a severe critic you
are of your exquisite copy of Carlo
Dolce ; whereas to me it seems al-
ready perfect."

" Oh ! but this is a picture, not a
living being. Here the eye is our
only guide. In the other case "

" Then a blind man might do as
well as one who had sight in
choosing a wife ?' interrupted Con-
rad, laughing.

Walburga laughed, too, then an-
swered :

" Verily, sir, there is more truth
in that than you imagine. He
knows little of a woman who knows

320

Conrad and Walburga.

only what his eyes tell him of
her."

" Well, you may be right," he
added musingly; "you may be
right. Yet I trust a good deal to
mine."

" If women did the same, might
there not be fewer weddings ?" said
Walburga. "Besides, I know I am
right. Why, the happiest lady in
Munich I know her intimately
is wedded to a little squab of a
man, who squints so badly that his
two eyes seem blended into one."

Here a pause ensued, during
which Conrad made up his mind
that Ulrich's sister was no ordinary
character. She had ideas of her
own, and was not afraid to express
them. Then, unable to resist the
temptation to speak something else
that was flattering, he said :

" I wonder how a person so gift-
ed as yourself should be content to
remain a mere copyist."

" 'Tis all one can be in our age,"
replied Walburga. " The days of
originality are gone by. We need
another deluge to blot out what-
ever mankind has wrought in lite-
rature and art ; then, after the flood
should have subsided, artists and
writers might begin anew."

" Oh ! but surely there are origi-
nal things painted and written now-
adays ?" said Conrad.

" It may appear so, sir. But 'tis
only because the ignorant public
does not know where lies hidden
the musty parchment or worm-eat-
en canvas whence the so-called ge-
nius has stolen his prize. No, no;
originality, in this age of the world,
is the art of knowing how to pilfer.
True originality is stark dead."
And the girl ended these words
with a sigh, which proved that she,
at least, believed what she said to
be true.

"Well, if all copyists did their

duty as faithfully as yourself," pur-
sued Conrad, " we might readily
forego any more originals." Then,
while the bright color which this
speech brought to her cheek was
still glowing upon it, he added:
"And now, gracious lady, let me
remind you that I once asked if
your picture was for sale, and you
told me 'yes.' But we came to no
bargain."

"Well, what will you give me for
it?" said Walburga, little dreaming
what a weighty response her ques-
tion would draw forth.

"A castle and my own poor self
with it," answered Conrad.

For full a minute the girl stayed
silent ; her brush fell to her lap, and,
without giving him a glance, she
bowed her head. Then presently,
resuming her work : "Come back,
sir," she said, "in three days and
you shall have my decision."

" Oh ! but why not to-day ? now ?
at this moment? Nobody is near to
hear what you say," pleaded Con-
rad, and so fervent was his tone
that Walburga's resolution was half
shaken. Then, while her right hand
hung quivering upon the canvas, he
seized it and pressed it to his lips.

The effect of this kiss was magi-
cal ; it thrilled like lightning through
every vein in her body, and from
that instant Walburga's heart was
won.

But presently, to Conrad's amaze-
ment, the glow faded from her cheek
and she heaved a sigh ; then came
a tear.

"What can it mean?" he asked
himself, strongly tempted to sweep
the bright jewel away with another
kiss. "What can it mean?" And
again he implored her to end his
suspense, to let him know his fate
at once.

"Please do not urge me; I
would rather not," said Walburga,

Hell and Science.

321

in a voice little above a whisper.
"I believe, sir, you love me; there-
fore wait and be patient."

These last words lent fire to Con-
rad's hopes, and scarcely doubting
that her response, when it came,
would be favorable, he allowed her
hand to go free.

But any more work was out of
the question for the fair artist ;
while the other, albeit longing to

linger in her company, judged it
would be best to withdraw. And
so Conrad went away, full cf glad-
ness, leaving Walburga cherishing,
too, the fond belief that here was a
man who was not like other men a
man who would take her for her
inner worth, who would give her
that home, that celestial harmony
of loving hearts, which had been
for years the craving of her soul.

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.

HELL AND SCIENCE.

THE editor of the Popular Science
Monthly gave us in one of his late
issues an article concerning the be-
lief in hell. The article begins by re-
ferring to the lively discussion which
has recently been carried on in the
pulpit and the press as to whether
there is a state of eternal torments.
According to Prof. Youmans, this
discussion shows that " there has
been, thanks to the influence of
science, a pretty rapid liberalizing
of theological opinion during the
past generation, and is an instruc-
tive indication of the advance that
has been made." After this ex-
pression of satisfaction he very
naturally remarks that the question
of the existence of a veritable hell
is a theological one, which he
cheerfully leaves " to tho'se inte-
rested," as if men of science, es-
pecially those of a certain school,
were not interested in the question
of knowing what is kept in store
for those who sin against truth and
against God. But " the topic," he
adds, " has also a scientific side.
The rise and course of the idea, or
VOL. xxvii. 21

what may be called the natural his-
tory of the belief in hell, is a sub-
ject quite within the sphere of
scientific inquiry. It is legitimate
to ask as to how the notion origi-
nated, as to its antiquity, the extent
to which it has been entertained,
the forms it has assumed, and the
changes it has undergone ; and
from this point of view it of coarse
involves the principle of evolution."
Whence he concludes that a few
suggestions concerning this view of
the subject may not be inappro-
priate.

This preamble, though the least
objectionable portion of Prof. You-
mans' article, is full of questionable
assertions. First, the discussion
about the existence of eternal pun-
ishment does not show any " rapid
liberalizing " of theological opin-
ion. For, on the one hand, the
doctrine of hell is not a theological
opinion but a revealed dogma ; and,
on the other, the foolish attempt of
discrediting it among the ignorant
did not proceed from theologians,
but from such men as have been,

322

Hell and Science.

and are, the worst enemies of theo-
logy. Theology is essentially based
on authority ; hence theology has
no existence in the Protestant sects,
whose very reason of being is a
contemptuous disregard of author-
ity and the assumed right of private
interpretation. Now, all those who
ventured to argue against the exist-
ence of eternal punishment be-
longed to Protestant sects. And,
therefore, their " liberal " view of
the subject does not constitute
" theological opinion." Protestants
may, indeed, assume the title of
" divines " ; but the title is not the
thing. There is no real theology
outside of the Catholic Church.
When Catholic divines shall dis-
cuss the existence of hell as a
free theological opinion which,
of course, will never happen then
only Prof. Youmans will be wel-
come to say that there has been
" a liberalizing of theological opin-
ion."

But, secondly, the very idea of
"liberalizing" Protestant thought
is supremely ludicrous. For who
has been tile forerunner, the inven-
tor, the father, and the fosterer of
liberalism but Protestant thought?
Whence did religious scepticism
spring but from. Protestant incon-
sistency ? Liberalism is nothing
but Protestantism applied to philo-
sophical, political, and social ques-
tions. It is Protestant thought,
therefore, that has liberalized a
portion of modern society, not
modern thought that has liberaliz-
ed Protestant opinion. To liberal-
ize Protestant thought is like carry-
ing coal to Newcastle.

Thirdly, it is not true that the
recent discussion of the doctrine
of hell shows " the influence of
science." It simply shows the ig-
norance of some Protestant divines
and the wickedness of perverted

human hearts. Science, as now un-
derstood, is exclusively concerned
with things that fall under observa-
tion and experiment, or that can be
logically inferred or mathematical-
ly deduced from experiment and
observation. Now, surely, the tor-
ments of hell are not a matter of
observation and experiment during
the present life, as even Prof. You-
mans will concede. And therefore
it is evident that the doctrine of
hell cannot be made the subject of
scientific reasoning. On the other
hand, how can science influence
the opinion of men as to believing
or not believing in a future state of
eternal punishment ? Our advanc-
ed thinkers assume that science
knows everything, and that what is
unknown to science has no exist-
ence. It is on this ground that
they ignore revelation, creation,
immortality, and a number of other
important truths. But the absur-
dity of such an assumption is so evi-
dent that there can be no mistake
about it. Science knows, or pre-
tends to know, matter and force ;
but it knows nothing about right
and wrong, nothing about virtue and
vice, nothing about religion and
moral law, nothing about the origin
and the finality of things, and it is
so ignorant (we speak of advanced
science) that it even fails to see the
absolute necessity of a Creator. Is
it not ridiculous, then, to assume
that there may be no hell because
modern science professes to kno\
nothing about its existence ?

But " the topic," continues Pro!
Youmans, "has also a scientific
side. The rise and course of the
idea, or what may be called the na-
tural history of the belief in hell, is
a subject quite within the sphere
of scientific inquiry. It is legiti-
mate to ask as to how the notion
originated, as to its antiquity, the

Hell and Science.

323

extent to which it has been enter-
tained, the forms it has assumed,
and the changes it has undergone,
and from this point of view it of
course involves the principle of
evolution." This reasoning, on
which the professor endeavors to
ground a scientific claim to meddle
with a revealed doctrine, is alto-
gether preposterous. For, although
it be legitimate to ask how the no-
tion of hell originated, and how an-
cient it is, and how ignorance and
vulgar prejudices may have dis-
torted it, nevertheless it is not from
natural science that an answer to
such questions can be expected.
The theologian, the historian, and
the moral philosopher are the only
competent authorities on the sub-
ject. The scientist, as such, is not
qualified to speak of the origin of
revealed doctrines ; for science,
especially advanced science, has
no knowledge of revelation. Hence,
when our scientists venture to pass
a judgment upon matters connect-
ed with revelation, they deserve to
be reminded of the good old pre-
cept : Let the cobbler stick to his
last.

The reader will have remarked
that Prof. Youmans proposes to
deal with the " forms " which the
doctrine of eternal punishment has
assumed, and with the " changes "
it has undergone. This, of course,
has no bearing on the question of
the existence of hell; for the ex-
istence of things does not depend
on the changeable views entertain-
ed as to their mode of existing.
But the professor, who is wise in
his generation, perceived that by
insisting on the changes undergone
by the doctrine two advantages
could be gained. On . the one
hand, a precious opportunity would
be offered of confounding our re-
vealed doctrine with the fabulous

conceptions of the pagan world';
on the other hand, the professor
would be enabled to treat our re-
vealed doctrine as a mere devel-
opment of old fables, according
to certain principles of evolution
which modern science has invent-
ed though never established. But
we would remark that, since the
professor meant to show, as we see
from the conclusion of his article,
that our Christian doctrine of hell
"should be eliminated from the
popular creed," the argument drawn
from the discordant views of hea-
then and barbarous nations should
have been considered preposterous.
For what does it matter if the
pagan fables took different forms
and underwent any number of
changes ? It is quite enough for
us that our own doctrine has been
invariably the same. It is a blun-
der, therefore, to condemn the lat-
ter for the variations of the for-
mer.

Prof. Youmans begins to devel-
op his subject in the following
manner : " In the first place, it is
necessary to rise above that nar-
rowness of view which regards the
doctrine of hell as especially a
Christian doctrine or as the mo-
nopoly of any particular religion.
On the contrary, it is as ancient
and universal as the systems of re-
ligious faith that have overspread
the world." In our opinion, this
pretended necessity of rising
"above the narrowness of view"
which regards the doctrine of hell
as especially Christian doctrine
is onry a futile pretext for putting
on the same level the Christian
dogma and the pagan inventions.
In the recent discussion of the
doctrine by the Protestant sects
there had been no question about
the existence of the imaginary he'.l
of the pagans ; the whole

324

Hell and Science.

tion regarded the Scriptural hell.
Hence a reference to pagan ideas
could not be necessary. Nor is it
true that the view which regards
the doctrine of hell as a specially
Christian doctrine is " narrow."
We see that different sects have
kept or borrowed some points of
doctrine from the Catholic Church,
and that they have perverted them
more or less, as was the case with
the doctrine of baptismal regenera-
tion, of the Eucharist, of justifi-
cation, and of other supernatural
truths ; and yet no one will say
that it is a "narrow view" to re-
gard these doctrines as essentially
and exclusively Catholic. For to
Whom were they originally reveal-
ed but to the Catholic' Church ?
and where are they to be found in
their primitive entirety but in the
Catholic Church? The vagaries
of sectarian thought are surely not
to be considered as a development
of doctrine ; they are only a traves-
ty and an adulteration of truth,
just in the same manner as the evo-
lution of species is no part of nat-
ural science, being only a mass of
absurdities, as we have abundant-
ly shown in some of our past num-
bers. To mix together doctrinal
truth and doctrinal error is not to
avoid narrowness but to produce
confusion. Were we to collect all
the errors of modern scientists about
force or about the constitution of
matter, we could easily prove, by
Prof. Youmans' method, that sci-
ence is a mere imposition and a
disgrace to the age. But our logic
differs from that of the professor ;
hence we do not consider it " nar-
rowness " to distinguish science
from the errors of scientists, that
truth and error may not be involv-
ed indiscriminately in the same
condemnation. But let us pro-
ceed :

"The oldest religions of which we
have any knowledge Hindoo, Egyptian
and the various Oriental systems of wor-
ship all affirm the doctrine of a future
life with accompanying hells for the tor-
ture of condemned souls. We certainly
cannot assume that all these systems are
true and of divine origin ; but, if not,
then the question forces itself upon us
how they came to this belief. The old
historic religious systems involved ad-
vanced and complicated creeds and ritu-
als, and if they were not real divine re-
velations in this elaborate shape, we are
compelled to regard them as having had
a natural development out of lower and
cruder forms of superstition. To explain
these religions we must go behind them.
There is a prehistoric, rudimentary
theology of the primitive man, the qual-
ity of which has to be deduced from his
low, infantine condition of mind, inter-
preted by what we observe among the in-
ferior types of mankind in the present
time."

This passage contains the main
argument of Prof. Youmans' article,
by which he intends to show that
the doctrine of hell has no ground
in divine revelation, but simply ori-
ginated in human ignorance. Un-
fortunately, Professor Youmans' in-
terpretation of history cannot be
depended upon. The fact that
Hindoos, Egyptians, and all other
nations admitted in some shape
the doctrine of hell is a very
good evidence that the doctrine
of the existence of hell was co
extensive with humanity, and there-
fore had its origin in a primitive
tradition of the race, and not i
the imagination of isolated individ
uals or families. This primitive
tradition, as. well as the primi-
tive religion, must be traced to
Noe and his family. It is Noe's
religion, not the Hindoo or the
Egyptian or any other Oriental re-
ligion, that has been " the oldest
religion of which we have any
knowledge " ; and this oldest reli-
gion had its secure foundation in

Hell and Science.

325

the knowledge of the true God and
of his supreme, omnipotent, provi-
dent will. Hence, when Prof. You-
mans, forsaking all mention of this
primitive religion derived from di-
rect divine revelation, resorts to
other systems of worship more or
less corrupt, and declares that "we
cannot assume that all these sys-
tems are true and of divine origin,"
he shows either a perverse desire
of deceiving his readers, or at least
a strange ignorance of ancient his-
tory.

The consequence he draws from
the preceding assertions is even
more unreasonable. If the reli-
gious systems of the ancient hea-
thens were not divine revelations,
"we are compelled," he says, "to
regard them as having a natural
development otit of lower and cru-
der forms of superstition." This
conclusion is so contrary to all we
know of mankind that it required
the inventive genius of an advanc-
ed scientist to formulate it. The
known truth is that the objection-
able systems of worship invented
among different nations were not
a progress of humanity from a low-
er form of superstition, but a de-
parture from the form of worship
originally practised according to
God's prescription, a fall from the
region of light into the darkness of
error. Noe's religion was no su-
perstition ; and it is from Noe's re-,
ligion that the pagan nations apos-
tatized by a gradual corruption of
revealed truth.

Our advanced scientist invents
also '" a prehistoric rudimentary
theology of the primitive man."
The invention is quite new and
deserves to be patented. And the
primitive man was still " in a low,
infantine condition of mind "; which
is another great discovery. The
pity is that it has no ground. The

Darwinian theory of evolution can-
not be appealed to; for it is phi-
losophically, historically, and even
scientifically exploded, so that only
" the inferior types of mankind "
that is, "the low and infantine
minds " can hear of it without
shaking their heads. The primi-
tive man knew his noble origin, con-
versed with his Creator, received
his orders, and learned from him
his own destiny. Adam was a great
deal sharper, wittier, and more in-
structed in all important things than
his modern scientific descendants ;
and Noe, the second father of our
race, the second propagator and
witness of divine revelation, was as
eminent a man at least as any of
our contemporaries ; for he it was
who transmitted to his descendants
that knowledge of astronomy, archi-
tecture, philosophy, history, agricul-
ture, and other arts and sciences
by .which the post-diluvian world, as
soon as sufficiently repeopled, dis-
played in. the wonderful magnifi-
cence of Babylonian and Egyptian
civilization the intellectual trea-
sures inherited from the antedilu-
vian culture. Such was the man
who handed down to us the funda-
mental truths of primitive religion.
If such a man is said to have been
" in a low and infantine condition
of mind," could we not say as much
of the average scientist of the time ?
The professor remarks that the
early men, inprofound ignorance of
the surrounding world and of their
own nature, must have grossly misin-
terpreted outward appearances and
their internal experiences, and this,
he says, " is certain." Indeed ?
How did the professor ascertain
this? Men whose lives were mea-
sured by centuries could not have
sufficient experience of things to
save them from gross mistakes !
They made no sufficient observa-

326

Hell and Science.

tions to enable them to interpret
exterior and interior phenomena !
They did not even know their own
natures ! Their ignorance was pro-
found ! Adam had the advantage
of nine hundred and thirty years of
experience, and yet " it is certain"
that he remained in profound ig-
norance of the surrounding world !
His descendants soon invented dif-
ferent useful arts, as metallurgy,
architecture, and music both vocal
and instrumental; they built cities,
and reached that high degree of
civilization and refinement without
which the subsequent universal cor-
ruption would have been impossi-
ble ; and yet, if we believe our pro-
fessor, they did not know their na-
tures nor what they were doing !

Then we are told that the analy-
sis of the conditions of early men
"has abundantly shown how these
primitive misunderstandings led
inevitably to manifold supersti-
tions." It is plain, however, that
the conditions of early men have
never been analyzed by those who
reject the Mosaic history, for the
first requisite for proceeding to such
an analysis is a knowledge of the
conditions themselves which are to
be analyzed ; and these conditions
are found nowhere but in the book
of Genesis. And as to " primitive
misunderstandings" and the "in-
evitable superstitions " to which
they have led, can Prof. You-
mans give us more detailed infor-
mation ? Did Adam, in his "pro-
found ignorance of the surrounding
world," imagine that the sun was a
god ? or the moon a goddess ? Or
was it possible for him to fall in-
to "inevitable superstition," seeing
that he had been in frequent di-
rect communication with his true
Creator and God ?

It is altogether ridiculous to pre-
tend that Herbert Spencer " has

carefully traced out this working of
the primitive mind, and explained
how the early men, by their crude
misconceptions of natural things^
were gradually led to the belief in
a ghost-realm of beings appended
to the existing order." Herbert
Spencer did nothing of the kind.
He analyzed fictions, not facts, and
his conclusions are worthless.

But, says Mr. Youmans, " the
idea of a life after death, so univer-
sally entertained among races of
the lowest grades of intelligence, is
accounted for, and is only to be ac-
counted for, in this way. Through
experiences of sleep, dreams, and
loss and return of consciousness at
irregular times, . . . there grew up
the idea of a double nature of a
part that goes away leaving the
body lifeless, and returns again to
revivify it ; and thus originated the
theory of immaterial ghosts or
spirits." This is just what we
could expect from an admirer of
Herbert Spencer's philosophical
method. Prof. Youmans does not
know, apparently, that the idea of
a life after death is a simple co-
rollary of a manifest truth viz., that
the reasoning principle which is in
man is neither matter, nor an affec-
tion or modification of matter, but
' a distinct substance, and one which
possesses powers and properties of
a much higher order than the
powers and properties of matter.
This truth, against which material-
ists can allege nothing which has
not been refuted a hundred times,
combined with another obvious
truth which even advanced science
admits viz., that no substance is or
can be naturally annihilated leads
directly to the consequence that
our reasoning principle, our soul,
will naturally survive the death of
our body. This mere hint con-
cerning the substantiality, spirit-

Hell and Science.

327

nality, and natural immortality of
the human soul may here suffice.
It shows that men had no need
of resorting to the experiences of
dreams, swoons, catalepsy, trance,
and other forms of insensibility to
be enabled to infer that the human
soul is a spiritual substance. Ev-
ery act of our intellectual faculties
proclaims that our soul is a self-
moving and self-possessing being.
Dreams and swoons and catalepsy,
being common to the lower ani-
mals, have never been considered
a proof of the spirituality and im-
mortality of the human soul. It is
childish, therefore, to derive the
idea of spirituality and immortality
from the experience of such phe-
nomena.

Mr. Youmans tells us also that
when the conception of a separate
and future life arose in men's minds,
such a life could not have been
supposed to differ much from that
of the present order of things.
This he takes for granted, owing
to the profound ignorance which,
according to advanced science,
characterized the primitive men ;
and he illustrates this view by some
examples of savages, who bury food,
weapons, implements, etc., with the
bodies of their dead friends. But,
"as knowledge accumulated, the
conception grew incongruous, and
underwent important modifications,
so that similarity gradually passed
into contrast. The intimacy of the
intercourse supposed to be carried
on between the two worlds decreas-
ed ; the future world was conceiv-
ed of as more remote, and as hav-
ing other occupations and gratifica-
tions more consonant with devel-
oping ideas of the present life."
Such is the professor's theory. We
need hardly say that, as a scientific
theory, it has no value. Science is
based on facts ; but here we have

nothing but dreams exploded by
history as well as by philosophy.
The origin of the belief in hell is
not to be traced to the profound
ignorance of the primitive man.
This profound ignorance is not a
fact but a fiction. The assump-
tion that man's intellect was origi-
nally in an undeveloped condition,
and that it has gone on improving
all along till it became able to dis-
cover the incongruousness of its
previous notions and to give them
up, is another fiction. That the
" accumulation of knowledge," such
as obtained among infidel nations,
could enlighten them on a question
as to which nothing can be defi-
nitely known on merely natural
grounds, is a third fiction ; whilst
the truth is that the pretended
knowledge of the heathens, like the
pretended science of our modern
sceptics, has been rather a source
of innumerable absurdities, by
which the primitive holy and
healthy traditions of the race have
been obscured, corrupted, and dis-
figured.

But the professor has more to
say in support of his " scientific "
view. " Rude conceptions regard-
ing good and evil could not fail to
be early involved with considera-
tions of man's futurity. Good and
evil are inextricably mixed up in
this world, which seems always to
have been regarded as a faulty ar-
rangement, and, as there was little
hope of rectifying it here, the fu-
ture life came to be regarded as
compensatory to the present. . . .
This idea of using the next world
to redress the imperfections and
wrongs of this grew up early and
survives still, and it has exerted a
prodigious influence in human af-
fairs." It is evident that the con-
sideration of man's futurity, to be
rational, must involve the conside-

328

Hell and Science.

ration of man's moral nature ; for
the futurity of a moral being is ne-
cessarily connected with the moral
order. It would be folly to deny
that virtue deserves reward, or that
vice deserves punishment ; and
even the most stupid understand
that the future of a scoundrel must
differ from the future of a saint.
This universal belief "survives
still," as Mr. Youmans himself
testifies, and is not "growing obso-
lete," as he pretends, but is still
universal in our civilized society.
Of course a dozen or two of ad-
vanced thinkers may be found who
reject this universal belief; for, as
they suppress God and worship
Nature, they would be embarrassed
to explain how the good can be
rewarded and the wicked punished
by their blind goddess that has no
knowledge of the moral law. But
this shows only the "profound ig-
norance " of such advanced think-
ers regarding things supersensible,
and proves to demonstration that,
in spite of all their pretensions,
they do not belong to the civilized
world. The early men, whose
conceptions our professor denounc-
es as " rude," were better and deep-
er philosophers than he is. They
recognized a personal God, the
eternal source of morality, the
judge of his creatures, the reward-
er of justice, and the punisher of
crime. They knew, therefore, that
the problem of good and evil was
to be solved " not by the absorption
and disappearance of evil," but by
separating the good from the bad,
" the good being all collected in a
good place, and the bad ones all
turned into a bad place." Mr.
Youmans does not like this solu-
tion. He seems to insinuate that
the true solution implies the ab-
sorption and disappearance of evil.
He seems to say : Let virtue be re-

warded, but let not wickedness be
punished. He may have his rea-
sons for preferring this solution,
but we have none for accepting it.
Reason as well as revelation de-
clare it to be unacceptable.

What follows is a vulgar tirade
against priesthood. All priests
indiscriminately are denounced by
our liberal professor for having
taught the existence of heaven and
hell. He says :

11 As the grosser superstitions were
gradually developed into systematic re-
ligions, a priestly class arose, and reli-
gious beliefs were embodied in definite
creeds. Fundamental among these was
the belief in heaven as a place of happi-
ness, and of hell as a place of torment
for the wicked. To one or other of
these places, it was held, all men are
bound to go after death ; but to which
depended and here the office of the
priesthood assumed a terrible impor-
tance, for they knew all about it and had
the keys. It is impossible to conceive
any other idea of such tremendous pow-
er for dominating mankind as this ! It
raised the priesthood and the ecclesiasti-
cal institutions into despotic ascendency,
brought it into unholy alliance with
civil despotism, and became the mighty
means of plundering the people, crush-
ing out their liberties, darkening their
hopes, and cursing their lives."

This bit of declamation might
safely be left without answer. But
to clear up the confusion made by
the scientific writer, we will ask
him to explain what he understands
by the word " priesthood." Does
he mean the ministers of all reli-
gions without exception, or the
ministers of false religions only?
Does he involve in the same sen-
tence the priest of God and of
Christ with the priest of Baal and
of Moloch? or does he admit that
a distinction should be made ?
Perhaps he will smile at our sim-
plicity in asking a question about
which his habitual readers can enter-
tain no doubt, it being evident that

Hell and Science.

329

a man who worships nothing but
matter and force is a natural ene-
my of Christ and of his ministers.
Nevertheless, as no one must be al-
lowed to snarl and bite without
motive, we insist on an explana-
tion. If the Christian priesthood
is not involved in his denunciations,
then Mr. Youmans' eloquence is
all thrown away ; for it is by the
Christian priesthood that the doc-
trine of hell has been most efficient-
ly taught and inculcated all the
world over. If, on the contrary, as
it is logical to assume, the Christian
priesthood is involved in his denun-
ciations, then Mr. Youmans' brain
is surely not in a sound condition.
A man in full possession of his
reasoning power would never have
thought of connecting the Chris-
tian priesthood with despotism, or
of charging them with plundering
the people, crushing their liberties,
darkening their hopes, or cursing
their lives. No; the professor is not
in full possession of his faculties
in this matter. Were it otherwise,
he would be guilty of the most odi-
ous slander. In some of his articles,
which we have analyzed not long
ago, we had already found what
might be taken as unmistakable
signs of scientific aberration. The
reader may still remember how the
professor countenanced the con-
ception of the unthinkable, how
he advocated continuous evolution
without any actual link of conti-
nuity, and how he made life spring
from dead, inert matter. But now
it is the Christian priesthood that
makes an unholy alliance with civil
despotism and crushes the liber-
ties of the people ! This assertion
cannot be excused by the plea of
bad logic ; for it regards a matter
of fact, not of speculation, and
logic, whether good or bad, has no-
thing to do with it. Only a natu-

ral or preternatural derangement
in a man's brain can account for
the oddity of such a charge. We
say natural or preternatural, be-
cause it sometimes happens, even
in this age of advanced civiliza-
tion, that a man who makes pro-
fession of militant infidelity is tak-
en possession of, either conscious-
ly or unconsciously, by " the father
of lies," who makes a fool of him
in this world the better to secure
his everlasting ruin in the other.
We repeat that a man of sound
mind, and free from satanic influ-
ence, would never make such a sil-
ly and unhistorical denunciation of
the priesthood as Prof. Youmans
has ventured to make. He would
rather say that the Christian priest-
hood has been the most earnest
champion of popular liberties in
all times and in all countries, as
all ecclesiastical and secular his-
tory testifies. He would say that
their ascendency, far from being
despotic, was kind and paternal,
and calculated to win, as it did, the
love of the people without ceasing
to command their respect. He
would say that this ascendency
was not derived from their threats
of the torments of hell, but was
the reward of their virtuous life,
ardent charity, singular prudence,
and superior education ; and was
used, not to plunder the people,
but to protect them against baro-
nial, royal, and imperial plunder-
ers.

Plundering is a masonic virtue ;
witness the great French Revolu-
tion in the last century, and the
policy of Italy, Germany, and
Switzerland in the present. And
who are the men that plunder the
American people but the infidel
politicians who do not believe in
hell ? Mr. Youmans may depend
upon it, no judicial, legislative, or

330

Hell and Science.

executive power will ever put a
stop to such a wholesale plunder-
ing until they humbly kneel be-
fore the priest, and conjure him to
take in hand the education of our
citizens and to revive in them a
salutary fear of hell. It is not the
fear of hell that " curses the lives "
or "darkens the hopes" of men.
All the world knows, on the con-
trary, that there has never been on
the face of the earth a thriftier and
happier people than the Christian
has been. Of course criminals
are troubled by the remembrance
of hell, their lives are galled, and
their hopes are darkened ; but we
presume that Mr. Youmans does
not mean to patronize them. Af-
ter all it is not the priests that
have created hell; they merely
warn the sinner of its existence,
that he may mend his ways and be
saved. Indeed, it is sin, not hell,
that darkens the hopes and curses
the life of man.

From the bitter tone of the pas-
sage we have been refuting it
would appear that Mr. Youmans is
extremely jealous of the authority
and ascendency of the priesthood.
The jealousy is very natural. The
priest, who teaches the Gospel
backed by the authority of the
universal church, is a very serious
obstacle to the propagation of false
scientific or unscientific belief.
Therefore it is that Mr. Youmans
cannot bear to see the Christian
priesthood revered and esteemed
by the people, and does his best
to destroy their reputation and au-
thority. At this we are not aston-
ished; for modern unbelief is so
destitute of intrinsic grounds and
so incapable of defending itself
that it is constrained to go out of
its lines and try a diversion. Ac-
cordingly, it takes the offensive.
But when the offensive is carried

on with no other weapons than
those recommended by Voltaire,
" Mentez, mentez toujours ; il faut
mentir comme des diables" then tran-
quillus judicat or bis terraru?n, the
world, though wicked, will be
heard to pronounce its sentence
against the offender.
The professor adds :

" So productive an agency of unscru-
pulous ambition could not fail to be as-
siduously cultivated, and the conception
of hell, the most potent element in the
case by its appeal to fear, was elaborat-
ed with the utmost ingenuity. Language
was exhausted in depicting the terrors
of the infernal regions and the agonies
of the damned. We by no means say
that these ideas were mere priestly in-
ventions, but only that they grew up un-
der the powerful guidance of a class
consecrated to their exposition and in-
cited by the most powerful worldly mo-
tives to strengthen their influence. In
order to enforce belief, to compel obedi-
ence to ecclesiastical requirements, to
coerce civil submission, and to extort
money, people were threatened with the
horrors of hell, which were pictured with
all the vividness of rhetorical and poetic
fanaticism. As the hierarchical spirit
grew in strength and became a tyranni-
cal rule, obedience to its minutest rites
was enforced by the most appalling in-
timidations."

We did not know, before we read
this passage, that preaching the
Christian doctrine of hell was pro-
ductive *of " unscrupulous ambi-
tion " ; we rather thought that it
was productive of deep and sin-
cere humility. The preacher of
the Gospel believes in the Gospel,
and knows that hell is awaiting the
bad and "unscrupulous " priest no,
less than the bad and unscrupulous
layman. Hence, if the priest assi-
duously cultivated the thought and
elaborated the doctrine of hell, it
would appear that the priest could
not be " unscrupulous " at least,
not so unscrupulous as those pro-
fessors who get rid of hell by the

Hell and Science.

331

final " absorption of evil." Nor do terrors of hell were not mere priest-

we understand why a wise man
should complain that the priests

ly. inventions, but grew up under
their powerful guidance," will re-

assiduously cultivated and elabo- ceive more light from the passage

rated the doctrine of hell, and that
"language was exhausted in de-
picting the terrors of the infernal
regions." This fact should be a
matter of congratulation, not of
blame ; for the terrors of hell " ex-
ert a prodigious influence," as the
professor acknowledges, in human

which follows :

"We must not forget that the future
life, being beyond experience and inac-
cessible to reason, offers an attractive
playground for the unbridled imagina-
tion. It opens an infinite realm for sen-
suous imagery and creative invention,
stirs the deepest feelings, and concerns

It accordingly

poetic treatment, and this is more espe-
cially true of the darker aspect of the
future world, poets having taken with
avidity to delineations of hell. . . . Ho-
mer, Virgil, Dante, and Milton, working
through poems of immortal genius that

affairs ; they discourage crime, for- \\ S * l *^^, e m sterv f human destiny.

tify virtue, and contribute to the

maintenance of those conditions

without which human society would

be transformed into a lair of fero-
cious beasts. A professor who

pretends to a high place among

the friends of civilization should
/ have seen this.

As to the motives which induced

the priesthood to dilate so assiduous-
ly on the torments of hell, we ad-
mit that they were "powerful"; but

that they were

not admit, for

worldly they would have lost all

their power. In like manner we

admit that the hierarchical spirit

may have grown in strength ; but

that it became a " tyrannical rule,"

enforcing the minutest rites " by

appalling intimidations," we most
confidently deny. These malicious
assertions cannot be substantiated.
And again, we understand how the
fear of the eternal torments may
have helped to secure obedience
to the lawful authorities, whether
civil or ecclesiastical; but we do
not see how this fear could be used
" to extort money " from the peo-
ple. The thing is absurd, as it
involves the assumption that the
most virtuous, venerable, and self-
sacrificing friends of the people,
the Christian priesthood, were a
set of knaves.
,,-The professor's remark that " the

through thousands of years and others
through centuries, have thus combined
to familiarize countless millions of peo-
ple with the conception, and to stamp it
deep in the literature of all countries."

There is some truth in this ; for
worldly " we do it is true that all our pictures of
had they been hell are drawn more or less from
our imagination. However, we do
not mistake our pictures for the
reality. No effort to depict what
we have never seen can be a suc-
cess. But what of that ? The be-
lief in the existence of hell is not
derived from, or subordinated to, our
mode of representing its torments,
just as the belief in the existence
of heaven is not derived from our
wild theories of celestial spaces or
from our poor notions of happiness.
The future life is indeed "beyond
experience," as Mr. Youmans says,
but its existence is not " inaccessi-
ble to reason," as he sophistically
assumes ; for it is by reasoning that
both the ancient and the modern
philosophers established the truth
of the conception. On the other
hand, our pictures of hell are not
drawn exclusively from our imagi-
nation. The lake of fire and brim-

332

Hell and Science.

stone, the undying worm, the weep-
ing and gnashing of teeth, the sem-
piternal horror, the company of
devils, etc., are mentioned in the
Bible. Hence, when we use such
words as these for describing the
state of eternal damnation, we use
images authorized by Him who
knows what he has prepared for
the unrepentant transgressor of his
commandments.

From these remarks it clearly
follows that if the poet can find in
the notion of hell " an attractive
playground for the unbridled ima-
gination," such is not the case with
the priest. The imagination of the
priest is not " unbridled " ; it is
ruled by the Scriptural language.
The preacher who would counte-
nance Dante's Inferno from the
pulpit would be accounted a traitor
or a fool. The hell of the poets
may be highly amusing in spite of
its terrors, but it makes no conver-
sions, whilst the hell of the Bible
has converted millions upon millions
of sinful souls. Prof. Youmans
strives to confound the hell of the
Christians with the hell of the po-
ets. It is lost labor. Fecundity
and sterility demand different sub-
jects. It is truth that fructifies.
Fiction is barren.

And again, to say that the poetic
inventions of Homer, Virgil, Dante,
and Milton " combined to fami-
liarize countless millions of people "
with the conception of hell, is to
utter a paradox which has no foun-
dation. Prof. Youmans mistakes
the effect for the cause. There
has been no need of poesy to fami-
liarize the countless millions with
the conception. The millions were
familiar with it before they ever
read the poets; nay, more, it is from
the popular conception that the
poets collected the first materials
for their descriptions of hell. The

multitude, the millions, do not
read poets. On the other hand,
before the invention of typography
that is, for long centuries books
were extremely rare, and the
"countless millions " did not even
know how to read. Hence Mr.
Youmans' attempt to trace the gen-
eral belief in hell to poetical inven-
tions is a manifest fallacy.

The professor now comes to our
time, and with an air of great satis-
faction makes the following asser-
tions :

" Yet the doctrine of hell is now grow-
ing obsolete. Originating in ages of
savagery and low barbarism, and devel-
oped in periods of fierce intolerance,
sanguinary persecutions, cruel civil
codes, and vindictive punishments, it
harmonized with the severities and vio-
lence of society, and undoubtedly had
use as a means of the harsh discipline of
men, when they were moved only by the
lowest motives. But with the advance
of knowledge, and the cultivation of hu-
maner sentiments, the doctrine has be-
come anomalous and out of harmony
with the advance of human nature.
Hence, though still a cardinal tenet of
orthodoxy, it is now generally enter-
tained in a vague and loose way, and
with reservations and protests that vir-
tually destroy it. Only revival preach-
ers of the Moody stamp still affirm the
literal lake of fire and brimstone, and it
is certain that the doctrine in any shape
recurs much less prominently in current
preaching than it did a generation or
two ago. Sober-minded clergymen have
got in the way of neglecting it, except
now and then when rehearsing the creed,
or, as at present, under the spur of con-
troversy, or when rallied about the de-
cay of the old theology."

Here Mr. Youmans surpasses
himself; for, though he has given
us already other proofs of his reck-
lessness, yet here he displays his
power of misrepresentation with an
effrontery that beggars description.
"The doctrine of hell is now grow-
ing obsolete "! Is this a fact? No.
It is only a desire and a delusion

Hell and Science.

333

The doctrine of hell "originated
in ages of savagery and barbarism " !
The sapient writer who makes this
assertion should be asked to point
out a definite age in which the

of the anti-Christian sects. Were

it a fact, the church, too, would be

growing obsolete; for the doctrine

of hell is one of the "cardinal"

tenets of the church, as Mr. Yoti-

mans himself testifies. But we see, doctrine originated, and to give

on the contrary, that the church is some proof of the savagery and

barbarism of such an age. Will
Mr. Youmans give us any evidence
on these two points ? No; he can-
not. He will merely appeal to
prehistoric time that is, to the un-
known and unknowable. This is
now the style of many scientific

everywhere gaining new ground and
extending her conquests. We are
not ignorant that a spirit of apos-
tasy has pervaded a portion of the
ruling classes, and that Freema-
sonry makes daily some converts
to Satan ; but, while we are sorry

to see this ruin of souls, we are far jugglers; they draw their conclu-

from regarding it as a loss to the
militant church. The church can-
not but thrive better when coward-
ice and hypocrisy cease to conceal
themselves under her glorious ban-
ner. Can the apostasy of her un-
worthy sons cause her faith to grow
obsolete ? No. The third part of

sions from unknown premises !
We have already shown, by refer-
ence to the Bible, how the doc-
trine of hell originated. Let Mr.
Youmans examine our statement
of facts, and we do not doubt but
that, in a lucid interval, he will see
the absurdity of his assertion, and

the angels, according to a received the futility of his struggle against
view, refused obedience to God and historical truth,
became his enemies ; yet obedience
to God did not grow obsolete. At

the time of the Lutheran Reforma-

The doctrine of hell " was de-
veloped in periods of fierce intol-
erance, sanguinary persecutions,

tion the authority of the popes was cruel codes, and vindictive pun-

fiercely denounced, vilified, and re-
jected throughout all Germany,
Switzerland, and other countries;
yet the pope's authority did not
grow obsolete. What does it mat-
ter, then, if a set of fools who have
no God but the " unthinkable " agree
to reject the doctrine of hell? So
long as two hundred millions of
Catholics believe the doctrine as a
" cardinal tenet " of the church,
and so long as the rest of the
world, Protestants, Jews, and pa-
gans, believe either the same or an
analogous doctrine, it is absurd to
call it obsolete. Opinions may
grow obsolete, dogmatic truths ne-
ver; for the church and her doc-
trine, whether respected or disre-
garded by our modern wiseacres,
will last to the end of time.

ishments " ! Much might be said
about this bold untruth. Per-
haps we might reverse the whole
phrase, and say that it is the hos-
tility to the doctrine of hell that
was developed in a period of fierce
intolerance, sanguinary persecu-
tion, cruel codes, and vindictive
punishments. Unbelief had a pe-
riod of triumph in the great French
Revolution. Its intolerance was so
fierce that it brought about "the
Reign of Terror " ; its persecution
was decidedly sanguinary ; its code
the will of a drunken mob or the
caprice of a profligate dictator.
That period is past, but another,
and not a better one, is approach-
ing. Freemasonry is maturing new
diabolic plans, and, if allowed
to conquer, when the time comes

334

Hell and Science.

will not stop midway in their exe-
cution. Meanwhile these enemies
of " fierce intolerance " are satisfied
with a Bismarckian humanity, and
these denouncers of " sanguinary
persecutions " wash their innocent
hands in the blood of Colombian
and Ecuadorian citizens, priests,
and bishops who have had man-
hood enough to oppose the tyran-
ny of the sect. We might add
much more, of course, to unmask
these virtuous Pharisees, who are
so scandalized at the intolerance
of Christianity ; but we must return
to our subject.

The assertion that the doctrine
of hell " was developed in periods
of fierce intolerance," etc., is really
nonsensical. For the truth is that
this doctrine was never developed.
The doctrine, as now held in the
universal church, does not contain
anything besides what it contained
at the time of the apostles. Hence
the development of the doctrine of
hell is a " scientific " invention of
Mr. Youmans' brain. Nor can he
exculpate himself by pretending
that his phrase refers to the bar-
barous inhabitants of the primitive
world. For civil codes had then
no existence, and nothing allows
the assumption that the early men
passed through periods of fierce
intolerance and sanguinary perse-
cution. These words are meant to
stigmatize Christianity and the mid-
dle ages as contrasted with the
scepticism of the present age. If
our professor had a correct idea of
what the middle ages really were,
we fancy that, though a man of
progress, he would admire their
culture, wisdom, and humanity.

The doctrine of hell was used as
" a means of harsh discipline when
men were moved only by the low-
est motives " ! Be humble, Mr.
Youmans ; you are not a competent

judge in matters of this sort. First,
you know not the facts. Second-
ly, you know not the nature and
value of supernatural motives.
Thirdly, you know not that a
" harsh discipline " is as much
needed to-day to curb the unruly
passions as it was a thousand years
ago. Fourthly, you do not know
that the lowest motives do not ex-
clude the highest. Fifthly, you do
not know that no motive is low
which is suggested and inculcated
by God. Sixthly, you do not know
that your words are a crushing
condemnation of modern liberal-
ism, whose god is the almighty Dol*
lar, and whose best motives are
infinitely lower than those which
animated the chivalric and high-
spirited Christians of the mediaeval
time.

" With the advance of knowledge
and the cultivation of humaner sen-
timents the doctrine of hell has
become anomalous"! What does
this mean ? Did the advance of
geography, physics, mechanics, cos-
mogony, chemistry, or other branch-
es of science alter the conception
or diminish the certainty of the
doctrine of hell ? Common sense
says no. And yet these are the
only branches of knowledge that
claim to have advanced. But we
must notice that " knowledge," ac-
cording to Prof. Youmans' phrase-
ology, comprises all the wild hypo-
theses of our modern speculators,
and that among these there is a
theory which has charmed our pro-
fessor, and to which he certainly
alludes when he reminds us of the
advance of knowledge. This is
Darwin's theory of the descent
of man. If man is a modified
ape, it is quite plain that the
doctrine of hell becomes ''ano-
malous " ; for apes do not go to
hell. But, if such be the case,

Hell and Science.

335

then "the advance of human na-
ture " is retrogressive, and we can-
not boast of " humaner sentiments "
without inconsistency. The truth
is that we have advanced a little in
the knowledge of matter ; but our
moral advance has been, and still

form and spirit, from any source that
commands respect. The doctrine of
hell is still conserved in popular creeds,
but, if not eliminated, it will be pretty
certain to carry the creeds with it into
the limbo of abandoned superstitions."

This conclusion would be unan-

is, badly cramped by false ideas of swerable, if the Protestant pulpit
civilization. The very effort of were tne standard of religious doc-
advanced thinkers to suppress hell tr i" e - But why did not Mr. You-
reveals the hollowness of their hu- man s reflect that his clergymen are

mane sentiments, and proves that
their philanthropy is a sham.

The doctrine of hell " is now
generally entertained with reserva-
tions and protests that virtually
destroy it." By whom? perhaps
by the professor's friends,
the doctrine is entertained
vague and loose manner." Again
by whom? by sceptics, we suppose.
But scepticism is ignorance ; it de-
serves pity, not approval. Yet
"only revival preachers of the
Moody stamp still affirm the literal
lake of fire and brimstone " ! Per-
haps Prof. Youmans will be glad
to be informed that the literal lake

leaders of sects whose Chris-
tianity is nearly extinct, and whose
words have no authority ? Is it
not plain that, if the blind lead the
blind, both will fall into a ditch ?
But we must conclude without

And entering into further developments.

j n a The Christian doctrine of hell is
incontrovertible. It is universal,
it is reasonable, and it is revealed
in unequivocal terms. Advanced
scientists may not like it; yet, in-
stead of sowing malicious doubts
about it, they should bear in mind
that they themselves are of all men
the most likely to fall into the lake
of fire in which they disbelieve.

of fire and brimstone is preached To Prof - Youman s we offer a text
even now all over the earth, and in from St - J ohn ' s Apocalypse, chap-
the very centres of civilization, by ter fourt een :
men of a far higher stamp of intel-
lect than Moody and Sankey. The
" sober-mindedness " of the Pro-
testant clergymen who " have got in

"And the third angel followed them,
saying with a loud voice: If any man
shall adore the beast and his image, and
receive his mark in his forehead or in

his hand, he also shall drink of the wine

tV, Q ro r i ..- *.i -T nis nana, ne aiso snail arink 01 tne wine
the way of neglecting the Scrip- of the wmth of God> whlch is mingled

tural hell is nothing but scepti
cism, or, worse still, cowardice.
But the silence of these men proves
nothing. They have no mission to
teach. They are not "the salt of
the earth " ; and their defection
does no harm to the dogmas of
Christianity.

Mr. Youmans concludes thus :

" In the recent pulpit utterance there
is a perfect chaos of discordant specula-
tion, open repudiation, tacit disavowal,
and ingenious refining away, but no
stern and sturdy defence of it, in the old

with pure wine in the cup of his wrath,
and he shall be tormented with fire and
brimstone in the sight of the holy angels,
and in the sight of the Latnb ; and the smoke
of their torments shall ascend ^^p for ever
and ever."

Professor Youmans need not be
informed that this great beast with
its adorers and followers is a sym-
bolic representation of anti-Chris-
tianism. Its soul is 'the spirit of
apostasy ; its heads and horns are
governments and kings; its body
is an organic confederation of all

336

Sorrow.

secret societies, comprising diplo-
matists, statesmen, politicians, god-
less newspaper editors, authors of
infamous books, writers of " scien-
tific " articles against revelation,
and the whole army of the enemies
of Christ. The beast will have
great power, God so permitting;
but its reign will be short. Jesus
Christ will defeat it, and its follow-
ers will find no mercy. Their por-
tion shall be " in the lake of fire
and brimstone," and their punish-
ment shall last " for ever and ever."
We think that no sensible man can
deceive himself so as to undervalue
this solemn prophecy. The great
beast, which is now walking upon
the earth, has been minutely de-
scribed by the evangelist and by
Daniel ; and it would be odd to

pretend that they could, without a
revelation from God, foresee, thou-
sands of years ago, what was to
happen in this time of ours. But
if their words have come from God,
then the lake of fire and brimstone
and the eternity of the torments
deserve the most serious conside-
ration, especially on the part of
our professors of anti-Christianity.
Materialism will not help them in
the day of wrath. Friends will not
save them. Faith, repentance, and
a timely satisfaction for past delin-
quencies are the sole chance of
salvation.

We earnestly entreat Prof. You-
mans to ponder over this momen-
tous truth. It may be unattractive,
but it has the merit of being abso-
lutely certain.

SORROW.

SORROW and I so long have lived together

How would it seem now if we had to part ?
So many storms we two have had to weather,

Such thunders heard ! following the lightning's dart !
Come, Sorrow, now what say you to a truce ?

Wilt lift the cloudy curtain so long hung
Around our fates, those heavy rings unloose,

Let fly the fetters that have made us one ?

And yet it might be / should miss thee, Sorrow !

Thy constancy to me has been so great,
Thy shadow banished from my life to-morrow,

What earthly lover on me thus would wait ?
For thou art sent from heaven, a sacred guest.

And though, sweet Sorrow, I'll not bid thee stay,
Yet to those sins I bear one more confest

Were this : that I turned Heaven's guest away.

A. T. L.

Kitty Darcy.

337

KITTY DARCY.

**You have overdone it, Ber-
tram."

" Not a bit of it, father."

" You must get away."

" Can't afford expensive luxu-
ries."

" Do you consider health a
luxury?"

" A necessity.^'

'" And yet, for the sake of piling
up a few hundred dollars, you fling,
yes, actually fling, it from you as
though you were tired of it.*'

" I love my profession too much
not to make some little concession
to #."

" Come, now, Bertram, this won't
do. You have overworked yourself,
and off you must go. This is the
right time to start"

"Whither?"

" To Paris."

" Paris ! Why not say Timbuo
too?"

" I say Paris,"

"You are surely jesting."

" I do not jest on so serious a
subject as your health, my boy."

" It can't be done, father,"

" It must be done, Bertram.
Your Uncle Kirwan starts on Wed-
nesday, and with him you shall go.
He hopes to be in time for the
opening of the Exhibition."

" My Uncle Kirwan goes on
business."

"His nephew shall go on plea-
sure. Why, what's the matter with
you ? Half the young fellows in
New York would be half-mad with
delight to be in your place." Doc-
tor Bertram Martin laughs. The
idea is ridiculous, absurd. He
cannot, he dare not leave his pa-

VOL. XXVII. 22

tients. That delightful case of
tetanus, that splendid fracture of
the hip, that exquisite tumor yield-
ing to a new treatment, that inte-
resting consumption, that curious
cardiac dropsy, that superb typhus !

Bertram Martin, although but
twenty-four years of age, is regard-
ed by the profession as the coming
man. His work on aneurism is
considered the ablest essay yet
written upon the subject, and his
reputation with the " knife " is sec-
ond to none. He is highly cul-
tured, earnest, a calm intelligence,
with the fires of enthusiasm well
banked up ; but he is full of latent
purpose, an energy that is ever on
the spring, and of lava that even-
tually cools into solid success. He
has a great future before him, and
^ feels it.

His father, in whose Turkey-rug-
ged, book-lined office he reclines
in a low chair one of those delight-
ful chairs that fondle and caress
the weary occupant is also a phy-
sician, and who, having amassed a
considerable fortune, now that lie
has safely launched the good ship
that bears his name, is about to
enjoy a well-earned otium cum dig-
nitate.

Bertram's mother has noted the
increasing pallor in the young phy-
sician's face, the drag under the
eye, the hard, dark lines, and the
weariness of tone, that denote an
active brain heated to a white heat,
and has determined, cofite que cofite,
that her eldest-born shall "drop
both spade and plough for a revel
amongst the daisies."

" Exhibitions are played out,

338

Kitty Darcy.

father," exclaims Bertram. "The
last and best was at Philadelphia,
and no show on the earth could
beat that."

He is intensely American, re-
garding Europe as effete, old-world,
used up.

" Paris is not played out."

" I should much prefer seeing
Paris at any other time."

" That's what everybody will say
wh can't go. I may as well tell
you, Bertram, that there's a little
conspiracy got up against you, and
at the head of it is your mother."

"Yes, Bertie," exclaims Mrs.
Martin, who enters, " we have un-
dermined you. Your Uncle Kir-
wan starts on Wednesday by the
Scythia, and here's the ticket for
your state-rooms," handing him the
article in question.

" Why, mother-"

" My darling child, you look
dreadfully ill, and it is fretting my
heart out. I spoke to Doctor
Lynch, and he orders change of air
and total cessation from work.
You never opposed me in your
young life; you are not going to
commence now''

"But"

" But me no buts, Bertie."

" This trip would take two
months."

"Three."

" I should be out of the race in
three months."

"You'll return fresh and vigo-
rous, and to win."

"This is sheer folly. I never
felt better in my life."

" Next Wednesday, Bertie."

"I could not, even if I listened
to this absurd proposal, be ready
before two weeks."

" Next Wednesday, Bertie."

In vain does the young doctor
expostulate, contesting the ground
inch by inch. In vain does he

plead for time. His pickets are
driven in, the enemy is upon him
in force, and, ere lie can well real-
ize the exact posture of affairs, his
mother has obtained his solemn
promise that he will leave for Eu-
rope by the Scythia upon the fol-
lowing Wednesday in company
with his uncle, Walter Kinvan.

A bright and joyous group was
assembled at the Cunard wharf to
see him off, and to bid him God-
speed across the waste of waters.
Mr. Kirwan, a fine, handsome man
of five-and-thirty, over six feet
high, with a winning eye and a
wooing voice, stood "one bumper
at parting " in his state-room, which
was decorated with a profusion of
glorious flowers, the offerings of
very near and very dear friends.
One bouquet, composed exclusively
of forget-me-nots and mignonette,
caused any number of " Oh ! my's,"
"How beautiful !" " Isn't it love-
ly!" from pouting female lips.

" Who sent it to you, Bertram ?"
asked Mrs. Martin.

" It may not be for me, mother."

" Oh ! yes, it is ; here is the card
with your name upon it."

"I have no idea. 1 '

"No idea?"

" None in the world."

A tall, lithe, graceful girl stands
a little aside, trifling with the fringe
of her parasol, as these questions are
being put, her embarrassed looks
and blushing cheeks denoting fierce
and scarce controlled agitation.

" Did you send me this bouquet,
Miss Reed?" asks Bertram in a
low tone.

" I I that is I hope you will
that they will look pretty," is
the murmured response.

"Did Carrie Reed send those
flowers to Bertram ?" asks Mrs.
Martin of her sister, Mrs. Kinvan,
in freezing tones. '

Kitty Darcy.

" Yes; I heard her admit it just
now."

"What a forward minx! I've a
great mind to tell her so."

How severe these mothers are
when " my son " is approached by
youth and beauty ! The idea of
marriage is a horror.

"And this is Liverpool!" ex-
claims Bertie, as the good ship
steams up the Mersey. " I'm
awfully sorry to have been asleep
when we were at Queenstown; why
didn't you shake me up, uncle ?"

"Because you want all the sleep
you can get. You were nearly in
for a dose of insomnia, and that
would have pretty soon squared
your account, my boy."

*' Pshaw ! you all made me out
worse than I really was."

" Not a bit of it. You allowed
a nice lot of sand to run out of
your glass. But isn't that a sight,
Bertie ? There are masts a forest.
There are docks the docks of the
world."

"What docks we '11 have in twen-
ty years at New York!"

"You don't believe in anything
outside of the stars and stripes."

" Not much," with a laugh ; add-
ing, "Shall we make any stay in
Liverpool ?"

Mr. Kirwan consults his watch.

"We shall only just catch that
train due in London at 6.40. The
Dover express starts at 7 . 35.
This will decant us in Paris to-
morrow morning at six. We shall
have nice time for a big wash, a
big breakfast, and then for the
opening of the Exhibition."

" This is close shaving."

" That's my principle. Narrow
margins. They pay best all
round."

Mr. Kirwan's calculations, based
upon professional experience, prov-

339

ed correct. A vague soup and an
ill-dressed cutlet at Charing Cross,
a thick omelette and a thin wine
at Amiens, did duty for refreshment.
In the sheen of dazzling early sun-
light Bertram Martin first saw Paris,
the bright, the joyous, the glitter-
ing, the beautiful. A dream of his
life was about to be realized.

Mr. Kirwan having telegraphed
for apartments, he with our hero
was " skied " at the Hotel dit
Louvre, and after a breakfast which
would have done honor to a navvy
had been disposed of by Bertie,
who in New York would flirt with
a slice of toast and coquette with a
fresh egg, cigars were lighted and
the two gentlemen set forth in the
direction of the Champ de Mars.

" This is the best sight I have
ever seen," cried the young physi-
cian, as they strolled along the
Rue de Rivoli. " Why, it's nearly
as bright as Broadway."

" What a thorough Yank you are,
Bertie! Come here, now; just take
a look around you, and confess that
you are fairly dumbfounded."

They stood at the Place de la
Concorde. The fountains were
throwing feathery sprays high in
air; the flowers were blooming in a
myriad hues. Thousands of vehi-
cles were flashing past, tens of thou-
sands of pedestrians. The great
tide of human life had set in to-
wards the Trocadero. Regiments
in gorgeous uniforms, headed by
bands playing superbly, marched
onwards, quaint costumes of every
nationality under the sun flitted
by bizarre groups chatting and
laughing and gesticulating!

Behind them the blackened
walls of the Tuileries, in front
the Champs Elysees and the Arc de
Triomphe, on the left the Chamber
of Deputies, on the right the glori-
ous Madeleine.

340

Kitty Darcy.

" It is magnificent," exclaimed
Bertie at length, in a subdued tone
of emotion.

"Nearly as bright as Broadway,"
laughed Kirwan.

" Wait ! Twenty years, and our
tip-town will be as gorgeous as this.
We have the taste, we have the
money, all we want is the time ;
that we have not."

"And never will have. We rush
too much. "But come along ; we
must be at the Exhibition building
early or our chances of getting in
will be a little thin. We shall have,
as we say in New York, to take a
back seat, doctor."

"I should prefer to stop here.
What a sight this is ! What con-
trasts ; how vivid ! Look at that
grim sergent-de-ville, and beside
him that piquante girl in the Nor-
mandy cap as high as his cocked
hat, and earrings as long as his
sword. See that ouvrier in the
blouse ; how cheerfully he smokes
his cigar, carrying his two children !
I do believe he would carry his
wife into the bargain. How co-
quettishly she is attired, and how
cheaply ! See the artistic manner
that two-dollar shawl is draped
over her shoulder, and how that
five-cent ribbon hangs. I'll wager
that these fellows coming along as
if walking on air are of the Quar-
tier Latin, the students' quarter.
They, poor fellows ! have come to
see the crowd. I suppose their
united wealth at this moment will
scarcely do more than omelette and
tyeer them. What flashing equi-
pages! How beautifully finished!
We do want these liveries in Cen-
tral Park. Imagine those yellows,
and purples, and blues, and saf-
frons, and whites glancing amongst
our green trees or up Fifth Avenue.
What cavalry ! How superbly those
dragoons sit their horses Cen-

taurs every man of them. It must
have been by sheer force of num-
bers that they bit the dust in the
late war. What fountains I what
flowers ! what trees four rows of
them up to that magnificent arch
and what residences !" gushed Ber-
tram Martin.

" These gilded pagodas, and
Swiss chalets, and marble palaces,
and fairy bowers are for open-air
concerts. Wait till you see them
lighted up, and I tell you what it
is, Bertie, you'll go into raptures.
Why, no tale in the Arabian Nights
equals them for glitter. And the
music, my boy, sparkles like cham-
pagne," cried Kirwan enthusiasti-
cally.

Arrived at the Champ de Mars,
the crowd gradually filtered into
the Exhibition building. At the
turnstile Bertie was separated from
his uncle, who made a rush for
another entrance. Immediately in
front of him was a young girl, lis-
some and lithe of figure, attired in
a raiment of soft, filmy, cloudy,
floating white. He could detect a
delicate little ear, and a white neck
from which the hair was scrupu-
lously lifted and arranged she
had removed her hat dark and
lustrous, tight and trim, in a fash-
ion exceedingly becoming to the
beautiful, but trying to the more
ordinary of womankind.

Have we not all at some time or
another felt that something strange
was going to happen to us ? that
steps were coming nearer and near-
er ? that a voice was calling to us at
a great way off that would presently
become more distinct?

A something urged Bertram Mar-
tin to see this girl's face. Was it
mere curiosity? No. The im-
pulse was indefinable as a subtle
perfume, indefinable as a sweet
sound in music. A shapely head,

Kitty Darcy.

and lustrous hair, and a lissome
form this was a very ordinary
scaffolding whereon to build a ro-
mance, and, although the young
doctor would have laughed any-
body to scorn who would have
taxed him with being romantic,
there was no boy of half his age
and quarter his experience more
likely to make a fool of himself
about a woman than Be'rtie Martin.
He had led his life amongst his
books, his profession his mistress.
Too much absorbed in the engross-
ing duties attendant upon the allevi-
ation of the ills the flesh is heir to,
he was in the world and yet not of
it, beholding it as through a polish-
ed sheet of plate-glass. His mo-
ther, a woman of the highest cul-
ture, refinement, taste, and ability,
had vainly urged upon him the ne-
cessity of taking part in the gayeties
of a very extended and highly
fashionable circle vainly, indeed ;
for having on a few occasions attend-
ed " swell " receptions and upper-
crust entertainments, he squarely
pilloried himself in a cui bono?
and from that hour the butterfly
world knew him no more.

He is tall, lightly built, graceful.
His eyes are dark gray, full of
earnestness, and blazing with intel-
ligence. His mouth is absolutely
faultless, having at command a
smile, a veritable ray of sunshine.
His light-brown moustache and
beard have never known the razor.
He dresses well, and is a dandy in
gloves and boots.

He must see that girl's face, and
he plunged forward despite the
sacr-r-re of an infuriated French-
man and the full-flavored exclama-
tion of a London cockney, into
whose ribs he had plunged his
right elbow. At this moment she
turned her head a little to address
a portly gentleman behind, who,

341

with a flushed face and a general
appearance of acute physical and
mental suffering, through heat,
crush, and excitement, had been
urging her to push onwards.

Her profile was simply lovely :
one inch of forehead ; a nose a.
trifle out of the regular line of
beauty; eyelashes that swept her
cheeks ; a short upper lip with a
tremulous curl in it, a rich red
under one, and a chin worthy the
chisel of Phidias. And yet, de-
spite its classical contour^ her face
was Irish yea, that delicious en-
semble which Erin bestows upon
her daughters, placing them above
all in beauty, in archness, and in
purity of expression.

" She is lovely," murmured Ber-
tie, gazing at her with all his eyes.
A rush came, a great pressure
from behind, and the wave flung
him beyond the turnstile.

"Well done, old fellow!" cried
Kirwan, clapping him on the
back.

" Where is she?" demanded the
young physician, gazing round him
on every side, as though his head
were rotary.

" Just gone up this way with her
son."

"Who? What son?"
"Why, the Duchess of Lachau-
nay. That's what caused the rush ;
her toilet is by Worth, and cost
twenty thousand francs."

"Hang the duchess!" groaned
Bertie. " I have lost sight of the
loveliest girl I ever laid eyes
on."

" Where was she ?"
" There, right in front of me."
" Never mind. Take heart of
grace. We'll pick her up by and
by. Let's get our seats or we'll
forfeit them."

" You go, uncle. I'll do as I am.
I think I'll walk about."

342

Kitty Darcy.

Kinvan looked at Ins nephew
with a merry glance.

" So badly hit as that, Ber-
tie?"

" Pshaw !" cried the doctor, turn-
ing on his heel.

And they did not find her. Not
a bit of it. Bertram walked, and
stalked, and darted hither and
thither, until Kirwan fairly let him
have his own way. giving him a
rendezvous at the hotel for seven
o'clock.

What cared Bertram Martin for
the gorgeous array of foreign prin-
ces, ambassadors, commissioners,
presidents, ministers, deputations,
senators, or deputies? What cared
he for the address to Marshal Mac-
Mahon, or the one-hundred-and-
one gun salute, or the military mu-
sic, or the hoisting of flags, or the
playing of fountains ? What cared
he for the procession, with all its
glittering magnificence, or for all
the treasures of the earth dug up
by man and nurtured by art? He
sought the four-leaved shamrock
in the bright young girl whose
beauty had flashed upon him as a
revelation, and although he posted
himself at the chief exit until he
came to be regarded with suspicion
by a grim sergent-de-ville, in the
hope of obtaining another glimpse
of her, he was doomed to disap-
pointment, and he returned to the
hotel, and to a petit diner ordered
for the occasion by his uncle, in
the worst possible spirits.

" Did you find her, Bertie ?"

" No."

" If she's French she won't go to
the Exhibition again for some time.
She has done the opening, and will
take it now, as the Crushed Trage-
dian says, * in sections.' But come,
Bertie, love or no love, try this Soupe
a la Bonne Fenune ; it will ring up
the curtain to a menu that even

Delmonico never dreamt of in his
wildest imaginings."

For the two weeks that Bertie re-
mained in Paris he sought the fair
unknown sought her in the Expo-
sition, in the galleries of the Louvre,
at Versailles, amongst the ruins of
the palace of St. Cloud, in churches,
on the boulevards, in cafe's every-
where. Once he thought he caught
a glimpse of her passing along the
Rue de Rome, and, plunging from
the top of the omnibus at the im-
minent risk of breaking his neck,
came up with a very pretty young
girl who turned into the residence
of the ex-Queen of Spain.

"It is a perfect infatuation,"
wrote home Kirwan. "Bertie is
crazed about some girl he saw on
the opening day of the Exhibition.
I can get no good of him. I
scarcely ever see him, and when he
is with me he is continually darting
from me in pursuit of this will-o'-
the-wisp, or craning his neck in
search of her. And only to think
of grave Doctor Bertram Martin
being in this horrid state !"

It had been announced that the
tour was to include London, the
English lakes, Scotland, and Ire-
land. Bertie voted London a bore,
the lakes a nuisance, the land of
cakes nowhere, and declared in
favor of a few days in Ireland.
With a sigh, as though tearing up
his heart by the roots, he took his
departure from Paris.

"I shall never, never see her
again," he groaned, and was silent
the whole way to Calais.

Kirwan fondly imagined that
London would shake off this gla-
mour, and did his uttermost to
bring all the attractions of the
modern Babylon into bold relief;
but four days seemed so tho-
roughly to weary his nephew that

Kitty Darcy.

343

it was resolved to start for Ireland
without any further delay.

A glorious evening found them
pacing the deck of the mail steamer
Connaugfrf) en route from Holy head
to Kingstown. Before them lay
the Dublin mountains, bathed in
glorious greens, yellows, and pur-
ples. Away to the left stretched
the Wicklow hills, guarded by the
twin sugar-loaves and backed by
lordly Djouce. To the right the
Hill of Howth, the famous battlefield
of Clontarf, and in the smoky distance
the city of Dublin. Kingstown, its
white terraces sloping to the sea;
Dalkey, its villas peeping timidly
forth from the fairest verdure-clad
groves ; Killiney, lying in the lap of
a heather-caressed mountain ; Bray,
like a string of pearls on the ocean's
edge; the dark-blue waters of the
bay, dotted here and there with
snowy yachts, or with the russet
brown of the Skerries fishing-
smacks what a coup-d'ml!

" It is glorious,"murmured Bertie,
as, leaning on the railing of the
bridge, he drained this cup of love-
liness to the very dregs.

Arrived at Dublin, they put up
at the Shelborne Hotel, in Stephen's
Green, whither they were borne
from the dingy station at Westland
Row on an outside car that jingled,
rattled, creaked, and groaned at
every revolution of its rickety
wheels.

" What's this fur ?" demanded the
tatterdemalion driver, got up in a
cast-off suit of Con the Shaughraun,
as he glanced from half a crown ly-
ing upon the palm of his horny
hand to Kirwan and Bertie.
" What's this fur at all, at all ?"

" It's your fare, my man," said
Kirwan.

" Me fare ? An yez come from
Amerikey ?"
"Yes."

"The cunthry that me sisther.
and me aunt, an' me cousin Tim,
an' me cousin Phil is always braggin
about ? Wisha, wisha, but it's lies
they're tellin' me, sorra a haporth
else. The people over there must
be regular naygurs afther all," re-
luctantly preparing to pocket the
coin.

" It will never do to let the
American flag go by the board,"
whispered Bertie. " Here, my man,
here is half a crown for the' stars,
and here's half a crown for the
stripes."

"An' won't yer honor stand
somethin' for the flagstaff?" with a
grin of such unspeakable drollery
that both the Americans burst into
a fit of laughter.

Mr. Kirwan had been provided
with a letter of introduction to a
family residing in Merrion Square.
"Shall we look up the Darcys,
Bertie ?" he asked one morning
shortly after their arrival.
" Cut bono ?"

" The Joyces were so anxious
about it. It would never do to go
back to New York without calling,
at all events."

" At it, then. Let's get it over,
and on to Killarney."

The Darcy mansion in Merrion
Square was muffled in its summer
wraps. The shutters were closed,
the windows barricaded with news-
papers, the knocker removed, while
a profound air of dust and melan-
choly hung over it like a pall this
though the scarlet and white haw-
thorn, the lilac and laburnum,
were shedding their delicious odors
from the enclosure of the square
opposite.

" The famly is out av town," re-
sponded a very dilapidated-looking
old woman to Kirwan's query.
" Indeed ! I shall leave a card."
" Av ye plaze ; but shure where's

344-

Kitty Darcy.

the use? They'll not get it this
three months."

" Where are they travelling ?"

" In furrin parts."

" I shall write a line."

" Step in, sir, and welkim."

This elderly damsel ushered
them into an apartment from
which the carpet had been remov-
ed, the curtains taken down, the
gasalier and pictures muffled, and
the furniture piled up and partly
concealed by matting. Kinvan took
out his letter of introduction, and,
opening it, proceeded to write a
line of regret upon missing Mr. Dar-
cy. The young doctor moved
about the room, amusing himself
by listlessly gazing out through
the half-opened shutter. Present-
ly he approached a massive book-
case, and endeavored to peer
through the interstices afforded by
the gaping of the brown paper that
concealed the books.

Little did he imagine what an
influence this simple action was
destined to bear upon his near fu-
ture ! His wandering gaze sud-
denly merged into earnestness, then
it became fascinated, then fixed.

"Come here!" he said to the
attendant, his voice hoarse from
suppressed emotion.

The woman came to his side.

" Do you see that carte de vis-
ite r

"Cart o' what?"

"That photograph there, lying
on its side," the words coming in
hot gasps.

"Yes, sir."

"Whose is it?"

" Misther Darcy's, I suppose."

" Whose likeness is it ?" clutch-
ing her by the wrist.

" I dunno, sir."

" You dotit know ! Is it one of
the family?"

" I dunno, sir."

" Is is there a Miss Darcy ?
Has Mr. Darcy a daughter ?" his
impatience wrestling with a desire
to throttle the caretaker.

" I heerd that he has wan."

" Heard ! Don't you know it ?"

"I do not, sir. I'm a sthranger.
I come from Stoneybatther, beyant
the wather, but I heerd that Mis-
ther Darcy has a daughter, and that
she is married "

"Married !" reeling as if he had
been struck a heavy blow.

"What's all this, Bertie?" asked
Kirwan uneasily.

"That photo there."

"Yes, I see it."

"It's the photo of the girl I saw
at the opening of the Paris Exhibi-
tion."

" And a pretty girl she is !" ex-
claimed Kirwan, indulging in a pro-
longed whistle as he gazed at it
sideways like a bird.

" I must have it," said Bertram,
a dogged resolution in his tone.

" How is that to be done ? You
can't steal it, Bertie."

"It shall be done fairly and
squarely if possible ; if not, I shall
smash the glass."

" Tut ! tut ! man, you're not
thinking/'

The wound had been nearly
healed, the memory of that girlish
face was fast becoming a sweet
treasure of a by-gone time, to be
lingered over at fitful intervals,
and always with rapture, when this
unlooked-for freak of destiny caus-
ed the wound to bleed afresh, and
memory to burst into rich and fra-
grant blossom.

During each of the three days
that he remained in Dublin Ber-
tram Martin visited the deserted
mansion in Merrion Square, to
gaze at that photograph, all so
near and yet so far. Could he
have but obtained a solitary clue

Kttty Darcy.

345

to the whereabouts of the Dar-
cys no earthly power would have
prevented his following them; but
clue there was none.

The train clanked into the sta-
tion at Killarney in a mist as thick
as a ladies' tulle-illusion veil.

" If this sort of thing is going to
last we sha'n't see much of Kate
Kearney," laughed Kirwan.

" I wish I had never left New
York," said Bertie. "I did my
very uttermost not to come, but
you set your trap, all of you, and
I go back what ?"

" You can run over again."

"Never! Once back, my profes-
sion shall have all my energy, all
my hope my life."

They put up at the Railway Ho-
tel, and after dinner strolled out as
far as Ross Castle. The mist had
cleared away, and the view of In-
nisfallen sleeping in the moonlight,
of the cluster of dreamy islands, the
soft outlines of the Mangerton, the
purple mountain and the Toomies
bathed in liquid pearl, the twink-
ling lights along the shore, the mir-
rored waters of the lake shimmer-
ing in silver glory, sent a wave of
delicious reverie over the hearts of
the two men, as, seated in silence on
a ruined wall of the ivy-covered
keep, they gazed in solemn rapture
upon a scene exquisite, soothing,
sublime.

" I wish to heaven your aunt was
here to see this," said Kirwan,
lighting a fresh cigar.

" I wish " but Bertie did not
utter another word.

The following morning was one
in ten thousand fresh, sunny,
breezy, inspiriting, laden with the
languor of summer, rippling with'
the coquetry of spring; a prim-
rose light, a violet shade. Our
two friends joined a party bound

for the Gap of Dunloe. The pc-
nies were sent on, and a boat
ordered to meet them at the
upper lake with luncheon. Bertie
was unusually depressed, and,
despite the vigorous efforts of his
uncle to pull him together, he
clung, as it were, to himself, avoid-
ing all intercourse with his fellow-
man, and especially his fellow-wo-
.man, a buxom, blithe, hearty Eng-
lish lady, who laughed with any-
body and at everything, and whose
whole trouble lay in a morbid terror
lest any accident should happen to
the bitter beer. After a two hours'
drive through lovely and matchless
scenery the carriage arrived at the
entrance to the Gap, and here the
party dismounted.

" Where do we meet the ponies ?"
asked Kirwan.

" A little bit up the Gap, sir."

" Any bitter beer up there ?"
laughed the English lady.

"Troth, thin, there's not, but
Kate Kearney '11 give ye a dhrop
o' the mountain dew, me lady,"
replied the driver.

Bertie strode on before. There
was a something exhilarating in
speeding up the craggy pass, in
bounding from rock to rock like a
mountain deer, in plunging through
the purple heather, and in leaping
saucy brooklets flashing their glitter-
ing waters in the glorious sunlight.
In vain did Kate Kearney assail
him with blarney, blandishments,
and bog oak, with "a dhrop o 7 the
craythur " under the thin disguise
of goat's milk. In vain did arbutus-
wood venders, and mendicants, and
wild-flower girls trudge by his side
and cling to his heels. He dis-
tanced them all, leaving them stand-
ing at different places in the mid-
dle of the road, baffled and worsted
in the encounter. Up against the
sky line stood the ponies. Up

346

Kitty Darcy.

against a sheer wall of dull gray
rock covered with ferns, and
mosses, and lichens leant a wooden
shanty, and for this shanty Ber-
tram Martin made.

A party had ascended before
him ; they were from the Victoria
Hotel two gentlemen and two
ladies. One gentleman was seated
on a granite boulder as Bertie
reached this coigne of vantage.

" Glorious day, sir," exclaimed
the tweed-covered excursionist.

"Superb," replied Bertie, fling-
ing himself on the purple heather
to await the arrival of Kirwan.

"You're from the other side of
the pond. Have a cigar," fling-
ing over his case in a right royal
manner.

Bertie selected a weed.

" Have a light," shying a silver
fusee-box which the doctor dexter-
ously caught.

"From New York?"

"Yes."

" Do you know any people of the
name of Joyce ?"

"Daniel Blake Joyce, of Gra-
mercy Park ?" asked Bertie.

"Yes."

" I know him and his family in-
timately."

The tweed-arrayed stranger jump-
ed to his feet.

" I call this jolly. My name is
O'Hara."

"Not Tim O'Hara?"

"Yes, Tim."

" Why, my dear sir," cried Ber-
tie, " I've heard the Joyces speak
of you fifty times."

" This is first-class. Have a
card. You'll come and stop with
me a week, a month six. I live in
the County Wicklow."

" I most seriously wish I could,"
said the physician, exchanging
cards, "but I leave by the Asia on
Friday."

"Not a bit of it. Hi, Dick!
Dick ! I say," calling to a fat, jo-
vial-faced, red-nosed elderly gen-
tleman who had just emerged from
the shanty. " Here's a friend of
Dan Joyce's, of New York, who
says he's going to leave by the Asia
on Friday. Will that fit?"

" I should say not," said the
other, approaching.

Where had Bertram Martin seen
that face ?

" Any friend of Dan Joyce's is
our friend, and shame be upon us
if we let you leave Ireland without
at least giving us the opportunity
of having a gossip and a bottle over
Dan."

Where had Bertram Martin seen
that face ?

In a few words, even while this
perplexing thought was whirling
through his brain, Bertie informed
the new-comer for O'Hara had
disappeared into the shanty in
search of the ladies with his news
of his doings since he landed at
Liverpool.

" At what time were you in Pa-
ris ?" asked the stranger.

" On the opening day of the Ex-
hibition," replied the doctor with a
deep sigh, as his thoughts flew back
to the lovely girl he was destined
never, oh ! never, to behold again.

" I was in Paris on that day,"
said the stranger.

Bertie seized him by the wrist.

" You were ? I have it all now.
Now I know where I saw you,"
speaking with fearful rapidity. " It

was at the entrance C . There

was a fearful crush. You were not
alone. You were with a young
lady. Who is that girl? Where is
she ?" And he stopped, a world
of excited earnestness in his eyes.

" That young lady is my daugh-
ter."

"Where is she?"

Kitty Darcy.

347

" She is here."

"ffere?" a mad throb at his
heart.

At this moment O'Hara emerged
from the shanty, accompanied by
two ladies, one of them, young
and fresh and lovely, hanging fond-
ly on his arm.

Bertie saw it all now. One wild
glance told him that she was as far
from him as the fleecy cloud sailing
above his head that she was the
wife of Tim O'Hara.

" I don't think, Dick, that I in-
troduced you to my young friend,
Dr. Martin. Doctor, this is Dick
Darcy, one of the gayest fellows in
all Ireland. Get your legs under
his mahogany in Merrion Square
and"

" I have been in your house in
Merrion Square. I have a letter
of introduction to you from Mr.
Joyce," burst in Bertie.

" And you shall be again, my
young friend," wringing his hand
warmly. " Mary," to the elder
lady, " this is Dr. Martin, a friend
of Dan Joyce's. Doctor, this is
my wife. And this," turning to
the girl, " is my daughter."

Bertie took her courteously-prof-
fered hand, and held it for one
instant in his. He looked down,
down into 'those Irish gray eyes,
where truth and innocence and pu-
rity lay like gems beneath crystal
waters ; he gazed with a wild rap-
ture upon the beauteous face that
had haunted him day and night in
its rosy radiance, and then with
a muttered exclamation was about
to turn away when O'Hara ex-
claimed :

" Miss Darcy looks as if she had
seen you before."

" Miss Darcy ?" cried Bertie.

"Yes; you wouldn't have her
Mrs. Darcy, would you?"

Oh ! the weight lifted off his heart.

Oh ! how gloriously shone out the
sun, how blue was the sky, how
radiant the flowers, how sweet the
song of the mountain thrush, how
delightful everything. The great
black shadow which had hung over
him like a pall had passed away
before the dayshine of her pre-
sence, and, borne on that sunlight,
came the message to his heart that
Kitty Darcy was to be wooed, and
possibly to be won.

Kirwan's pleasure knew no
bounds as he clasped the hand of
Dick Darcy.

" What a sorry opinion you
would have had of the old country
if you had only known its hos-
pitality through the medium of a
hotel, Mr. Kir wan !" laughed Darcy
as the party mounted their shaggy
mountain ponies.

Of course Bertie rods beside
Miss Darcy, and descanted not as
eloquently as he could have wished
upon the glorious bits of scenery
that revealed themselves at every
turn in the Gap. He spoke glow-
ingly of home, of the lordly Hud-
son, the dreamy Catskills,the White
Mountains, and the Yosemite.

" Oh ! isn't that gloriously
gloomy," cried Miss Darcy, as
they emerged from the granite-
walled Gap to the ridge overlook-
ing the Black Valley to the right,
stretching away in gray sadness,
locked in the embraces of moun-
tains standing in ebon relief against
the blue yet lustreless sky.

"Not unlike my own reflections
for the last six weeks," laughed
the doctor ; " they were gloriously
gloomy."

" See the sunshine over the up-
per lake."

"I accept the omen."
" And the Eagle's Nest, how su-
perbly it towers over the water!
What greens! from white to russet.

348

Kitty Darcy.

How charmingly the foliage of the
arbutus seems to suit this lovely
scenery !"

And what a scene in its bril-
liance, its repose, its poetry ! Ver-
dure-clad mountains dreaming in
the haze of summer, lifting them-
selves to the blue vault of heaven,
the tender green mixing with the
cerulean, as a spring leaf with the
forget-me-not ; mirror-like lakes
reflecting every crag, every tree,
every bud with that fidelity only
known to nature's mirrors; the
path winding tortuously down to
the lake, now disappearing in a
patch of wood, now meandering
through a waving meadow as yet
uninvaded by the ruthless scythe.
Away stretched the lakes, away the
old Weir Bridge away in shimmer-
ing loveliness all too lovely to de-
scribe, all too lovely save to gaze
and gaze upon, until heart and
goul absorbed it in a thirsty greed.

Three days spent in Kitty Dar-
cy 's society three days in wander-
ing through the ruins of Muckross
Abbey, that home of silent prayer,
that " congealed Pater Noster" by
the low, dulcet murmur of O'Sul-
livan's Cascade, amid the leafy
dells of "Sweet Innisfallen," up
the steep ascent of Mangerton, on
the fern-caressed road to the po-
lice barracks, stopping at the ex-
quisite little chapel perched like
an eerie* up in its wooded nest and
uttering an Ave, always by Kitty's

side, always inhaling the subtle per-
fume of her presence three centu-
ries compressed into three days.

The Darcys were en route to a
fishing-lodge at Valentia, out where
the cable flashes into the wide At-
lantic, and the day arrived when
farewell a word that must be, and
hath been, a sound that makes us
linger must be said.

" Are you going by the Asia on
Friday, uncle ?" asked Bertie.

"Why, of course."

" I am not."

"No!"

" I go on to Carrick-na-cushla
with the Darcys."

" I thought as much, Bertie.
What shall I tell them in New
York ?"

" That I shall bring home a
young, lovely, pure, and charming
wife, if I can. I have two letters
for you, one for my mother and
one for my father. If things turn
out all right, I'll return ; if " here
he paused with a writhe " all
wrong, you won't hear of me for
some time."

Dr. Bertram Martin's three
months' vacation is not yet over.
It threatens to lengthen into six,
possibly into nine months ; and
when he returns he wiH not return
alone. His uncle Kinvan has had
a sad time of it ever since ; and
Dr. Martin's fair patients are in-
consolable.

Rosary Stanzas. 349

ROSARY STANZAS.

PROLOGUE.
Multer amicta sole, et luna sub pedibus ejus, et in capita ejus corona stellarum duodecim. APOC. xii. i.

CLOUDLESS her early dawn, more pure, more bright
Than the blue sapphire of the eastern sky
Above her head. To the prophetic eye
All the long future lay in folds of light.

Her noontide sun thick darkness veiled from sight.
Prelude of rushing storms that moan and sigh
Among the forest-leaves, then fiercely fly
In wrath and ruin, burying all in night

To die in silence. See ! the light returns,
A gathering splendor in its peaceful ray,
And all the western heaven at sunset burns

And kindles to a golden after-glow,
Bidding the tender hearts that love her know
The fuller glory of her perfect day.

JOYFUL MYSTERIES.

LUKE i. 38.

And does the crowned one ever look back
On her long sojourn in the vale of tears ?
Whate'er of earth her simple home might lack,
Her blissful Fiat filled those far-off years,
Doubling their joys and calming all- their fears.
Her faithfulness to grace divine how great !
In the early time as when the goal she nears,
As the Lord's handmaid, or in queenly state,
Content on his command expectantly to wait.

Bride of the Holy One ! of all his grace,
At the beginning, full ! God's Mother blest !
Hope of the world, the glory of her race !
When Be it done was said, awhile to rest
Within her quiet home were it not best ?

35O Rosary Stanzas.

She her aged kinswoman a kindness owes ;
Nor daunted by the desolate mountain-crest,
To sanctify the unborn infant goes :
Better to love and serve than holiest repose.

in.

16.

Long ago full of grace, what is she now?
Her time has come, her God upon her knee
Reward how rich for her all-perfect vow !
Fountain of grace unlimited to be ;
Every heart-pulse an act of worship free
To Him who visited his world forlorn.
Mother of his divinest infancy,
Bid our dull souls be as the Newly-Born,
Living henceforth his life who came that Christmas morn.

IV.
HEBR. x. 7.

With lowly willingness and simple awe
The sinless Mother and her sinless Child
Offered themselves at bidding of the law :
She to be purified, the Undefiled !
While he on his redemption-offering smiled.
Obedience ! never did thy secret power
Brood calmer o'er a world of passions wild
Than to God's temple, in that silent hour,
When Son and Mother came, wearing thy lowly flower

LUKE ii. 48.

Three days and nights the Mother for her Son
In sorrow sought and self-upbraidings meek;
The joy of finding him her patience won :
She sought, and he was found. But for the weak,
The wandering, his patient love must seek
'Mong thorny by-ways of the world to find.
Deign to the King for them a word to speak,
Pray something for them of thy constant mind,
For ever to his Heart all wayward souls to bind.

Relations of Jiuiaism to Christianity.

351

RELATIONS OF JUDAISM TO CHRISTIANITY.

THE Catholic Church, founded by
Christ to be the depositary, the
guardian, and the interpreter of his
word, was from all eternity in the
mind of God, not in the same man-
ner as the other things that were
made by him, and which consti-
tute the visible universe, but as a
creation apart, far superior to the
world that we see, the completion
of the designs of love which he en-
tertained for men, and the reason
of the existence of everything else
inferior to it. It is the sublime
theology of St. Paul : " All things
are yours," he writes to the Corinth-
ians "the world, life, death, things
present and things to come. And
you are Christ's, and Christ is
God's." From this it is easy to
See the rank which the church
holds in the divine plan. Christ
stands first in the scale; he is the
link, the Supreme Pontiff by whom
all creatures are united with God ;
the church, his spouse, is for him
and forms one with him, and has
been ordained for the good of the
elect and the sanctification of souls ;
she is the mother of the living. As
Christ is first in the intention of
God, the church, which is so inti-
mately connected with him, is con-
ceived along with him in the Divine
mind, and has in it the precedence
over all other things. Thus she
can apply to herself the words of
the inspired writer: "The Lord
possessed me at the beginning of
his ways. I was set up from eter-
nity, and of old before the earth
was made. When he established
the sky above, and poised the foun-

tains of waters; when he compassed
the sea with its bounds, and set a
law to the waters that they should
not pass their limits, I was with him
forming all things."

Such being the case, it is not as-
tonishing to see the whole drama
of human history turned towards a
central figure, Christ and his church,
which are the grand objects con-
templated by God in the universe.
Nations rise and fall, empires are
founded which are succeeded by
other empires, each having a special
mission, that of preparing the way
for the kingdom of God ; and
when that mission is accomplished
they disappear from the scene.
The barriers set up to divide na-
tionalities are forcibly broken down ;
conquest, commerce, the sciences
and arts form a link between them ;
languages are modified, ideas are
interchanged, intellectual systems
are brought in contact ; efforts are
made sometimes in the right, some-
times in the wrong, direction ; men
grope in the dark, but some ray of
light, however faint it may have
been, is still there to urge them in
their researches after truth ; views
are conflicting, but their very con-
flict paves the way to a broader
spirit and more universal concep-
tions. When we glance at the
state of the human mind before the
coming of Christ, it seems that all
is confusion and a perfect chaos
from which there is no possible is-
sue ; but an attentive observer will
easily discern, even when obscurity
is most intense, the Spirit of God,
as of old, brooding over the vast

352

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

abyss and ordering all things so as
to make light finally shine out of
darkness.

The providential action of God
manifested in the gradual prepara-
tion of the world for the accept-
ance of Christianity has always
been considered one of the most
striking proofs of its supernatural
character, and modern rational-
ism has completely failed in its at-
tempt to destroy it. To confine
ourselves to the theories invented
for that purpose, and bearing on
the subject which we have under-
taken to treat in the present article,
the relation of Judaism to Christi-
anity, they may be briefly summed
up as follows : tley peremptorily
deny all supernatural agency in the
march of events recorded in the
sacred writings ; they equally deny
the divine mission of Jesus Christ ;
the apostles were, it is affirmed,
men of their age, and did not es-
cape the influence of popular opin-
ions, which they knew how to use
for their own ends ; as to Christian
^dogmas, they followed in their
'formation the law of progressive
development and growth ; Chris-
tianity is nothing else but an evo-
lution of Judaism or its various
sects by a natural process and un-
der the pressure of circumstances
and prevailing ideas. Now, every
page of the Jewish history contains
a refutation of these doctrines.
There we see a people especially
chosen by God, among all others,
to be the authentic and accredited
witness of the truth among the na-
tions ; to keep alive in the world
the belief in one true God and the
hope of a future Redeemer already
promised to our first parents after
the fall ; to be the depositary of
that promise and the organ of its
promulgation. Judaism, therefore,
Is related to Christianity, not as the

seed to the plant, but as the well-
prepared soil to the harvest ; as the
figure to the reality, as the pro-
phecy to its accomplishment; as
the harbinger to the King whose
coming he announces to the popu-
lations that are to receive him.
It is, as Isaias expresses it, "the
voice of one crying in the de-
sert : Prepare ye the way of the
Lord, make straight in the wilder-
ness the paths of our God" (Isaias
xl. 3).

From the early dawn of their
history the destiny of the Hebrews
is clearly defined. . They are a na-
tion set apart to be a living pro-
test against the prevailing idolatry
of the times. From the vocation
of Abraham to the promulgation
of the law on Mount Sinai, and
throughout the succeeding periods
of their existence, the fundamen-
tal dogma of their religion is mono-
theism : " I am the Lord thy God ;
thou shalt not have strange gods
in my sight. Thou shalt not make
to thyself a graven thing, nor the
likeness of any thing that is in hea-
ven above, or in the earth beneath,
nor of those things that are in the
waters under the earth. Thou shalt
not adore them, nor serve them."
Another article of their creed equal-
ly pre-eminent as their belief in one
God is their expectation of One who
was to be sent for the restoration '
of mankind. To Abraham, the
progenitor of that race, it was re-
vealed that " his posterity should
be as the stars for multitude, and
that from them a blessing should
go forth to all other nations." La-
ter God had said to Isaac : " I will
multiply thy seed as the stars of
heaven, and I will give to thy pos-
terity all these countries (that is,
the land of Chanaan), and in thy
seed shall all the nations of the
earth be blessed." Jacob had

Relations of Jiidaism to Christianity.

353

heard a voice from heaven, saying :
" I am the most mighty God of
thy father : fear not, go down into
Egypt, for I will make a great na-
tion of thee there. I will go down
with thee thither, and will bring
thee back again from thence"; and
when the aged patriarch is on the
point of death, God bids him fix
his eyes upon the lion of Juda, and
shows him all the nations blessed
in a prince who is to come out
from his lineage. Moses, raised by
the Almighty to deliver the nume-
rous posterity of Jacob from the
bondage of Egypt, had led to the
threshold of the promised land
that nation which God had chos-
en to give birth to the Redeemer,
and to maintain upon earth faith-
ful worshippers of his name. He
also was divinely apprised that a
prophet would rise from his nation
md from among his brethren whose
voice all should hear. Hence it is
that the Old Testament religion
was prophetic in its whole nature.
" The guides of the Hebrew peo-
ple," says Dr. Fisher,* " were ever
pointing to the future. There,
and not in the past, lay the golden
age. The Jew might revert with
pride to the victories of David and
the splendor of Solomon, but these
vanished glories only served to re-
mind him of the lofty destiny in
store for his nation, and to in-
spire his imagination to picture
the day when the ideal of the
kingdom should be realized and
the whole earth be submissive to
the monarch of Sion. The hopes
of all patriotic Jews centred upon
a personage who was to appear up-
on the earth and take in his hands
universal dominion." It is a most
interesting study to follow the He-
brew prophets in delineating so
many centuries in advance the his-

* Beginnings of Christianity.
VOL. XXVII. 23

tory of the Messias, and the prin-
cipal features of that kingdom
which is to embrace the earth un-
der its sway. The time and place
of his birth, the circumstances by
which it is accompanied, his char-
acter, life, sufferings, and humilia-
tions, his death and final triumph
all is described with astonishing
precision. They openly speak of
the object of the kingdom he is to
establish, which is the regenera-
tion of man, of his mind as
well as of his heart, the destruc-
tion of idol worship, the adoration
of the true God, and the reign of
holiness; and this at a time when
all was God except God himself,
when Greece deified nature and
Egypt changed gods into beasts,
whilst Babylon, more corrupt, fab-
ricated impure monsters which
they adored, and Gaul, more igno-
rant, saw the Deity on the summits
of mountains and in the depths of
forests. It was in this age of dark-
ness that Isaias sang the glory of
the new Jerusalem, the church like
to a mountain on which will be
broken the chain of iniquity that
bound all nations and the web that
had been woven around them.
The universal diffusion of the
Messianic kingdom is also foretold
by the prophets. There is nothing
more clearly expressed in the
prophecies and so much insisted
upon as this : that the new alliance
is not to be local and limited to
one nation, but that it will be ex-
tended to all nations. We have
already alluded to the prophecy of
Abraham and to that of Jacob.
Later David proclaims all nations
of the earth to be the inheritance
of Christ. Isaias contemplates
from afar a new sign, the standard
of the cross raised before the eyes
of all nations ; he sees them bring-
ing their children in their armc

354

Relations of Judaism to CJiristianity.

that is, those barbarian tribes that
come to prostrate themselves at
the foot of the cross and present
their sons to the baptism of the
church ; he announces the conver-
sion of the kings of the earth and
their submission to the spouse of
Christ ; he follows the apostles
carrying the good tidings to the
farthest ends of the world. "Who
are those," he exclaims, " who fly
like clouds? The far distant isl-
ands are in expectation, and ships
are waiting to carry them. I shall
choose from among my people
men whom I shall send to the Gen-
tiles that are beyond the seas, in
Africa, in Lydia, in Italy, in
Greece, to the islands afar off, to
them that have not heard of me
and have not seen my glory."
Again, the reign of the Messias is
everywhere represented as having
no end ; it is to endure for ever.
We shall only mention the prediction
of the Messianic kingdom contain-
ed in the book of Daniel, which
was familiar to the Jews, and one
in which they trusted. After a
description of the four kingdoms,
the last of which the Roman, as
iron, breaketh in pieces and sub-
dueth all things, the writer says
that in the days of these kings
shall the God of heaven set up a
kingdom which shall never be de-
stroyed.

These doctrines were not to re-
main the exclusive appanage of the
Hebrews. Divine Providence will-
ed that they should be diffused
among the nations, and moulded
the destinies of the chosen people
for the furtherance of this design.
It is a remark of Ritter that the
Supreme Wisdom has allotted to
nations their place on the globe in
view of their destination. It was
by such a providential disposition
that Palestine was singled out as

the habitation of God's chosen peo-
ple. Assyria, Babylonia, and Per-
sia on the east and north ; Egypt
and Ethiopia on the south ; Greece
and Rome on the west all the
great empires of antiquity will suc-
cessively come in contact with it.
It is there, at the confluence of
human affairs, in the centre of
ancient civilization, that the sacer-
dotal race is placed, called to
spread everywhere the true religion,
the knowledge of God and of
Christ the Redeemer. From that
central point it will be easy to
send messengers of the eternal
truth to the most flourishing cities,
establish prosperous colonies in
the important states by which it is
surrounded, and thus accomplish
its mission to be " a light for the
Gentiles."

The prodigies which, under Jo-
sue, Heaven had wrought in favor
of the children of Jacob, had al-
ready fixed the attention of the
other nations upon Israel, and had
predisposed them to adore the God
whom that people worshipped.
Bossuet, speaking of those miracles,
which were occasionally renewed,
and of the effect they produced
among the heathens, says that they
undoubtedly brought about nu-
merous conversions; so that the
number of individuals who wor-
shipped the true God among the
Gentiles is perhaps much greater
than is generally supposed. In
the times of the Judges the fre-
quent incursions of the neighbor-
ing tribes, their partial occupation
of Judea, their repeated strifes
with the Hebrews on the one
hand, and on the other intervals
of peace, commercial relations, the
advantages offered to those who
were willing to embrace the Jewish
religion, contributed to propagate
with that religion" the expectation

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

355

of a Messias. Under the Kings,
the wars of Saul, the conquests of
David reaching as far as the Eu-
phrates, his domination over the
country of the Moabites, of the
Ammonites, the Philistines, spread
among those nations the know-
ledge and fear of the true God.
From the prosperous reign of
Solomon to the glorious days of
the Machabees, the alliances con-
tracted with Egypt, Phoenicia, and
the neighboring kingdoms, the
great number of workmen whom
those states placed at the disposal
of Israel for the cultivation of the
soil, the construction of its cities
and fortresses all contributes to
the propagation of the sacred
truth. The Israelites who repair
to other countries for the sake of
commerce speak of their traditions
and leave after them the notion of
their worship. Whilst the ships of
Israel go and deposit on far dis-
tant shores its consoling hopes,
travellers, attracted by the beauty
of the country, the richness of its
vegetation, the mildness of its cli-
mate come to visit the hospitable
people by whom it is inhabited,
and return initiated in the true
faith. They recount to other na-
tions the magnificence of the mon-
archs of Juda, the justice of their
laws, the splendor of the solemni-
ties of Jerusalem. Kings, legisla-
tors, philosophers come to the holy
city from all parts ; and Solomon,
in the census he took of foreign
proselytes, found that their number
amounted to more than a hundred
and fifty thousand.

But it is not enough that the
name of the Lord should be known
by the nations in the vicinity of
Judea; the most distant tribes
must be brought to adore him. To
this efftct Assyria, whose domina-
tion extends to the remotest regions

of Asia, successively subjugates the
kingdoms of Israel and of Juda, and
disperses their inhabitants over the
whole of its vast provinces. It is
expressly forbidden to the captives
of Israel to concentrate themselves
on one point; for Providence intends
that they should spread all over the
East the light of truth and the
earnest of salvation. Hala, Habor,
Rages in Media, Ara on the river
Gozan, are made the residence of
the Jews of the ten tribes. They
advance beyond the Tigris and the
Euphrates, through Armenia as far
as Colchis and Georgia, where they
continue to dwell after the captivi-
ty, unwilling to abandon their new
home. Numerous families fix their
abode in Khaboul, in the most im-
portant cities of Chorasan and in
Herat. Others established at first
at the sources of the Indus, de-
scending that river, reach India,
and give rise to the tribe of the Af-
ghans. Somte even will cross the
mountains of Central Asia, and will
found establishments in Tartary,
and chiefly in China, where later
their descendants, raised to the first
dignities of the empire, will teach
the Chinese the Jewish religion.
Some fragments of the books of
Genesis and of Kings, passages of
the prophets, written in the charac-
ters of that remote epoch, sufficien -
ly indicate that those exiles trans-
mitted to their children and propa-
iB.ted the revealed truth in that
country. Confucius, the legislator
of China, in his travels towards the
west, derived from one of those
colonies his ideas on the Supreme
Being, whom he designates by the
Hebrew name of Jehovah, scarcely-
altered, as Abel Remusat tells us.
At a later period the Persian re-
former Zoroaster derived from the
same source those flashes of truth
which shine in the Zend-Avesta by

356

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

the side of glimpses of primitive
revelation. The Jews of the king-
dom of Juda, grouped, on the con-
trary, in the centre of Chaldea, es-
tablish colonies at Sova, at Nahar,
and in other places as far as the
confines of the desert ; and likewise
at Teredon, at the confluence of the
Tigris and the Euphrates ; at Ma-
chusa, Annebar, Nisibis, and on
the spot where later Bagdad shall
rise. All these colonies, and ma-
ny others, which after the restora-
tion will still remain in those coun-
tries, will open schools to become
centres of light to the heathens.
That permanent contact with the
Chaldeans shall allow the latter to
recover a portion of the treasure of
primitive truths which they had lost.
Also do all agree in considering the
Chaldeans as the men of antiquity
the most conversant with theolo-
gical science. Whilst the Jews of
Israel are carrying their faith to the
extremities of the vast empire, those
of Juda, assisted by the translation
of their sacred books into Chaldaic,
diffuse it abundantly in the thickly-
populated provinces of the centre.
Assyria had fallen before the supe-
rior valor and military skill of the
Persians. It was the time of the
deliverance of the Jews. The most
zealous among them availed them-
selves of the edict of Cyrus to re-
turn to Palestine and to rebuild
the sacred places. But their des-
tiny was not altered ; they still we^t
on fulfilling their sacred mission
among the Gentiles. Under the
Persian domination Hebrew prin-
ces tell the monarchs of Persia of
the future divine Liberator, and
these have sacrifices and prayers
offered in the Temple at Jerusalem
for the prosperity of their reign.
Providence makes use of the high
functions they exercise at the im-
perial court to lead those princes

of Juda to Ecbatana, to Persepol/s
and Suza, that they might initiate
the nobility of those important
cities in the knowledge of the true
God, to speak to them of the Mes-
sias whom the Magi shall from that
time expect. Distinguished Jews
are entrusted with the archives of
Ecbatana. A great number of
priests continue after the restora-
tion to live among the Persians, and
are disseminated all over the em-
pire. They spread their traditions
and their dogmas among the hea-
then populations. That sojourn
of Jewish priests in the land of
exile, after liberty had been restor-
ed to them, and when honors await-
ed them in their own country, evi-
dently shows that it is the effect of
amerciful design on the part of God,
who devises means for those popu-
lations to receive the light of truth.
Ochus, one of the last Persian mon-
archs, irritated against the children
of Israel, sends a certain number
of them in exile into Hyrcania and
on to the shores of the Caspian Sea,
and by this he unwittingly helps in
spreading among those abandoned
tribes the consoling promises of
salvation; for those violent mea-
sures, as Hecatseus remarks in
Joseph us Against Apion, far from
discouraging the Jews, serve to re
vive their patriotism, their attach-
ment to the faith of their fathers
and their religious zeal.

If Asia, the land of great empire
was favored in a special manner
Africa was not forgotten. Th
Hebrews had long before initiated
Egypt in the knowledge of the one
true God and of a Redeemer whose
birth in future ages had been re-
vealed to it by Jacob in his last
moments. This first initiation had
produced its fruits ; we know by
the testimony of Holy vfrit that
when the Hebrews went out of

;

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

357

Egypt a considerable number of
Egyptians followed them in the
desert. In the reign of Solomon a
small Jewish colony followed the
Queen of Saba to Abyssinia. Ac-
cording to Bruce, in his travels,
not only do the kings of that country
claim to descend from Solomon,
but, furthermore, the annals of
Abyssinia are full of details about
the voyage which the Queen of
Saba made to Judea. Ethiopia thus
received the sacred books and the
religion of the Israelites a reli-
gion which they kept afterwards, as
the Jewish Ethiopian treasurer of
the Queen of Candace, whom St.
Philip found reading Isaias and
whom he converted to Christianity,
seems to prove. At the time of
the Assyrian wars and of the great
captivity a number of Jews took
refuge in Egypt. Some went to
Abyssinia and other parts of Ethio-
pia, where they established powerful
colonies by the side of those which
already existed. At a later period
Ptolemaeus I. brought two hundred
thousand Jews into Egypt, where
they established in all directions
olonies which soon became pros-
erous under the protection of his
uccessors. Numerous schools for
the propagation of sound doctrine;
houses of prayer in cities ; a Sanhe-
drim at Alexandria, the residence of
learned Greeks ; a temple near Bu-
baste, in which the ordinary sacri-
fices prescribed by the Mosaic law
were offered all contributed to
make of Egypt a second native land
for the Jews- The name of the
Lord was publicly revered and the
worship of the true God practised
everywhere. The infidels had con-
sequently full opportunity afforded
them of knowing him and serving
him ; and Isaias affirms that, in fact,
a great number embraced the true
religion.

As the times approach for the
coming of the Messias, the nation
chosen to announce him to the
world and to prepare his way mul-
tiplies its colonies and its schools.
During the whole period of the
Greek domination the Hebrews
avail themselves of the protection
accorded them by Alexander and
his successors to extend in the
east and west their beneficial influ-
ence, and spread their salutary
doctrines, which shall predispose
the Grecian mind to receive the
light of the Gospel. We find them
in Seleucia, at Ctesiphon, and at
Chalcis, where St. Jerome subse-
quently repaired to take lessons in
the Hebrew language ; at Berea,
where he met with Jews converted
to Christianity. We find them at
Antioch, where they shall soon suf-
fer martyrdom for their faith ; at
Damascus, a city in which they are
in continual intercourse with the
Greeks who flock around the cele-
brated teachers of its schools; at
Emesus, Nisibis, and Edessa. In
the principal cities of Asia Minor :
Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamus, Sar-
dis, Philadelphia, Laodicea possess
Jewish colonies. Delos, Miletus,
Halicarnassus, Iconium have their
synagogues. At Philippi, in Mace-
donia, there are houses of prayer
for the Israelites. Athens, Corinth,
Salamis, Paphos count such a con-
siderable number of Jews mixed
with their populations that, as it is
stated in the Acts of the Apostles,
synagogues are to be found in those
places. Now, synagogues were net
only used for prayer but also for
the interpretation of the sacred
books, and consequently as public
chairs from which the revelation
and hope of a divine Redeemer
were announced to the inhabitants.
The prophet Abdias tells us that
after the destruction of Jerusalem

358

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

by the Chaldeans Jews had sought
refuge in Sparta; and Arius, King
of the Spartans, writes to the pon-
tiff Onias that " it was found in
writing concerning the Spartans
and the Jews that they are breth-
ren, and that they are of the stock
of Abraham."

During the period of the Roman
domination Judea had colonies in
all countries in Parthia, among the
Medes and Elainites, in Mesopota-
mia, Cappadocia, Pontus, Phrygia,
Pamphylia, Egypt, Libya, Arabia,
in the island of Crete, and at
Rome. It is an opinion which
found credit with several learned
men that some Hebrews, at the
time of the Assyrian invasions,
came to Rome in the reign of
Nnma and suggested to him what
is best in his laws; and, in fact,
several of them seem to be model-
led upon the Hebrew legislation.
But it is certain that one hundred
and forty years before Christ the
Jews had erected public altars in
Rome, and that a decree banished
them from Italy ; which is an in-
dication that they must have been
there in great numbers for a long
time previous. In the days of the
Machabees, when the Jewish na-
tion, to use the expression of the
Scriptures and of Cicero, was the
friend of the Romans, the senate,
at the solicitation of Jewish am-
bassadors, wrote letters in favor of
the Jews of Lampsacus, Sparta,
Delos, Myndos, Sicyonia; of those
who inhabited Gortyna, Cnidis,
Caria, Pamphylia, Lycia, Samos,
Cos, Sidon, Rhodes, Avadon, the
island of Cyprus, and Cyrene. No
nation escaped the action of their
zeal ; and the Acts of the Apostles,
enumerating the Hebrews assem-
bled at Jerusalem on the occasion
of the solemnity of Pentecost, tell
us that " there were Jews, devout

men, out of every nation under
heaven."

Such, then, was the mission of
the Jews; they constitute the true
church before Christ for the
preaching of God's future kingdom
that shall have no end. We see
them dispersed throughout the
world; we meet them on all the
highroads of humanity, confessing
the only Lord of heaven and earth,
and holding in their hands their
sacred writings, showing to all that
a peaceful Ruler would rise from
the land of Juda and would re-
store all things. And when the
times were accomplished, and the
earth was to behold its Saviour, all
nations were held in expectation
of the mighty event.

We have here endeavored to give
a brief sketch of the Jewish history.
No one can deny that the very
raison d'etre of the Hebrew nation
was the hope of a Messias who was
to restore all things and establish
upon earth the kingdom of God.
The prophets speak of him and of
his glorious reign ; they predict his
universal dominion ; it will have
no end in time, and its boundaries
will be those of the universe. The
destiny of the Jews is unique. Af-
ter a comparatively short period of
splendor which the conquests of
David and Solomon shed upon Pal-
estine, they lose their political in-
dependence, and henceforth they
shall be forced to mingle with the
Gentiles, whose social habits they
will adopt, but at the same time
unflinchingly adhering to their own
religious tenets. The result is also
an historical fact : a Liberator of
the human race is expected by all
nations, et erit expectatio gentium.
Is it possible for an unprejudic-
ed mind, for one who does not read
history in the light of preconceived
systems, not to see in that well-

The Lessons of the Cfixton Celebration of 1877. 359

connected whole a design of Provi-
dence which ordains means to the
obtaining of a clearly-defined end ?
Historical atheism refuses to recog-
nize any such design, as atheism, in
the conception of nature, refuses to
recognize an intelligent Creator.
It gives us, instead of life, dry
bones and ashes, barren and un-
meaning facts in history, and in na-
ture phenomena with no intelligi-
ble cause for their production, and
tending to no assignable end. In
every sphere of knowledge atheism
does nothing else but spread dark-
ness and desolation all around.
But as one who is not wilfully
blinded will always discern by a
kind of rational instinct the action
of an infinitely wise and omnipo-

tent Being in the order displayed
in the world, so will he admit the
action of God in the direction of
huAian events in which a divine in-
telligence is no less clearly mani-
fested- The ever popular argu-
ment of St. Paul with its conse-
quence, against those men that de-
tain the truth of God in injustice,
holds good in both cases : " That
which is known of God is manifest
in them ; for God hath manifested
it unto them. For the invisible
things of him, from the creation of
the world, are clearly seen, being
understood by the things that are
made : his eternal power also and
divinity : so that they are inexcusa-
ble " (Rom. L 18-20).

THE LESSONS OF THE CAXTON CELEBRATION OF 1877.*

ENGLAND'S first printer was a
Catholic. He lived and died in
communion with the Holy See.
He established his press in Eng-
land beneath the shadow and on
the grounds of the Abbey of West-
minster, protected and encouraged
by its monks. He translated and
printed books of Catholic piety,
and seems especially given to devo-
tions for a happy death. He made

*Caxton Celebration, 1877. Catalogue of the
Loan Collection of Antiquities, Curiosities, and Ap-
pliances connected with the art of Printing, South
Kensington. Edited by George Bullen, Esq., F.
S.A., Keeper of the Printed Books, British Muse-
um. London, Triibner ; xix.-^-z pp.

The Bibles in the Caxton Exhibition. MDC-
CCLXXVII.; or, A Bibliographical Description of
nearly one thousand representative Bibles in vari-
ous languages chronologically from, the first Bible
printed by Gutenberg in 1450-1456 to the last Bible
printed at the Oxford University Press the soth
June, 1877. By Henry Stevens G.M. B., F.S.A,,
M.A., etc. London: H. Stevens. 1877. 8vo, pp.
Sfc

bequests to the church, and the Re-
quiem was said at his death.

Among all incunabula Caxton's
issues rank among 4he scarcest.
Why ? The Reformation made
war upon them, so that many have
perished utterly ; six are known
only by some scanty fragment pre-
served by being used to form part
of a book-cover ; of thirty-two more
only a single copy has been pre-
served to our day. How many
have perished and left no trace
whatever, no man can tell.

" Be it therefore enacted by the king,
our sovereign lord, the lords spiritual
and temporal, and the commons in this
present parliament assembled, that all
books called antiphoners, missals, grailes
(graduals), processionals, manuals, le-
gends, pies, portuasses (breviaries),

360

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877.

primers in Latin and English,* couchers,
journals (diurnals), ordinals, or other
books or writings whatsoever, heretofore
used for service of the church, written
or printed, in the English or Latin
tongue, other than such as shall be set
forth by the king's majesty, shall be by
authority of his present act clearly and
utterly abolished, extinguished and for-
bidden for ever to be used or kept in
this realm, or elsewhere within any of
the king's dominions.

"And be it further enacted by the au-
thority aforesaid that if any person or
persons, of what estate, degree, or condi-
tion soever he, she, or they be, bodies
politic or corporate, that now have, or
hereafter shall have, in his, her, or their
custody any the books or writings of
the sorts aforesaid, or any images of
stone, timber, alabaster, or earth, graven,
carved, or painted, which heretofore
have been taken out of any church or
chapel, or yet stand in any church or
chapel, and do not, before the last day
of June next ensuing, deface and de-
stroy or cause tobe defaced and destroyed,
the same images and every of them, and
deliver or c*use to be delivered all and
every the same books to the mayor,
bailiff, constable, or church wardens of
the town where such books then shall
be, to be by them delivered over openly,
within three months next following af-
ter the said delivery, to the archbishop,
bishop, chancellor, or commissary of the
same diocese (to the intent the said
archbishop, bishop, chancellor, or com-
missary, and every of them, cause them,
immediately after, either to be openly
burnt or otherwise defaced and destroy-
ed), shall for every such book or books
willingly retained . . . forfeit for the first
offence ten shillings, and for the second
offence shall forfeit and lose four pounds,
and for the third offence shall suffer im-
prisonment at the king's will " (Statute
3 and 4 Edward VI. c. x.)

Neglect on the part of the arch-
bishops and the others named to
burn the books involved a penalty
of forty pounds.

Thus Protestantism destroyed
Caxtons. " A glance at the titles
of the uniques will show that the
books most liable to destruction,

* Office of the Blessed Virgin, with other prayers.

probably owing in part to their be-
ing much used, and in part to the
destructiveness of religious secta-
rianism," * says Blades, " are those
directly or indirectly of an ecclesi-
astical character such as ' Ho-
rse,' ' Psalters,' * Meditacions,' etc."

Last year, 1877, being, it was be-
lieved, the fourth centenary of the
first book printed by Caxton at
Westminster, a Caxton celebration,
proposed by Mr. Hodson, was car-
ried out in London with no little
pomp and display. Caxton im-
prints were brought together from
many choice collections, with in-
cunabula of all countries, and es-
pecially editions of the Bible, from
Gutenberg's to one printed for the
occasion at Oxford.

The celebration was curious in the
utter exclusion of any Catholic ele-
ment, and in the machinery brought
to bear to make the whole affair
a glorification of the Reformation
and of the stale prejudices against
Catholicity. In the face of the
books brought together and the
lessons they told, this use of the
first English printer, a Catholic,
whose Catholic books the gentle-
men of the Reformation had under
severe penalties consigned to the
flames, required in the managers
no little assurance, or perhaps a
well-founded knowledge of the vol-
untary blindness of the masses.
They seem to have felt some sense
of difficulty, or English exclusive-
ness never would have called in the
Yankee adroitness of one of our
countrymen rather inclined to play
the buffoon in bibliography.

*The clown appears early in "What you Will."
It has become the fashion to call our Catholic institu-
tions, schools, etc., sectarian, because apparently
the sects are bitterly opposed to them; and institu-
tions in which the Protestant sects have complete
control and enforce their views are called -non-secta-
rian. No one would imagine that "religious
sectarianism " here is a euphemism for " Protestaat
intolerance. 1 '

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877. 361

The English Catholic body seems
to have felt some compassion for
their Protestant fellow-countrymen
in the strange attempt on which the
latter were engaged. They did not
seek to force themselves into the
affair, nor greet them with merited
ridicule. We do not know whether
they acted under a sense of pity or
were merely apathetic. Yet we wish
they had celebrated the anniver-
sary of Caxton's death or deposition,
or some day selected, by a solemn
Mass of Requiem in the ancient
church of St. Etheldreda, now hap-
pily restored to Catholic worship.
The Holy See would perhaps have
sanctioned pro hac vice the use on
that occasion of the Mass for the
Dead in the ancient Sarum Missal,
such as was used at the obsequies
of the good printer, whose transla-
tion of the Lives of the Fathers of
the Desert was completed on the
day of his death.* We do not
know but that we should have ap-
plied to Parliament for permission
to celebrate a Mass of Requiem for
Caxton in Westminster Abbey
church, such as was said at his
death. The proposition would
probably have struck some dumb
from sheer amazement ; but Par-
liament would either have granted
it, and permitted the funeral ser-
vice of 1491 to be repeated just as
it was said after his death, or they
would have refused the request of
the Catholic body, and made their
bigotry one of the memorabilia of
the Caxton celebration.

No such step was taken ; and
the managers of the Caxton anni-
versary were left at full liberty to
give all the false color they could,

We have always indulged the hope that the
use of the Sarum Missal on some patronal feast
will be permitted in the primatial church of Eng-
land, as the Ambrosian and Mozarabic are in Italy
and Spain, to show conclusively that we are the iden-
tical body who used that liturgy before the Refor-
mation.

to combine, suppress, distort as
they chose, in order to give the
public an impression that printing
was one of the boons conferred on
mankind by the Reformation. This
was actually done directly and in-
directly ; and as Kaulbach, the
painter, in his great canvas of the
heroes of the Reformation, intro-
duces Gutenberg and Christopher
Columbus, so these gentlemen in
England used the good, pious Ca-
tholic Caxton as the central figure
in their tableau of the apotheosis of
Protestantism.

Caxton left no dubious evidence
of his practical faith as a Catholic.
His Four Last Things, in French,
ends with an exhortation to good
works, " by which we attain to
eternal life." * The English Cord-
yale, or The Four Last Things, ends :
" Which Werke present I began
the morn after the saide Purifica-
cion of our blissid Lady, Whiche
was the daye of Seint Blase, Bis-
shop and Martir. And fiinisshed
on the even of thannunciacion of
our said bilissid Lady fallyng on
the Wednesday the xxiiij daye of
Marche. In the xix yeer of Kyng
Edwarde the fourthe." The Fes-

* While writing we read the following from Blades'
Life of Caxton to a Catholic girl in her teens:
"No. 57. Death-Bed Prayers. A Folio Broadside :

u From the language of these prayers it is evi-
dent that they were intended for use by the death-
bed. They were probably printed in this portable
form for priests and others to carry about with
them. Although short, their interest is great, and
the reader may not be displeased to read them in
the following more modern dress than that of the
original :

*"O glorious Jesu ! O meekest Jesu ! O most
sweetest Jesu ! I pray thee that I may have true
confession, contrition, and satisfaction ere I die ;
and that I may see and receive thy holy body, God
and man, Saviour of all mankind, Christ Jesu with-
out sin ; and that thou wilt, my Lord God, forgive
me all my sins, for thy glorious wounds and Passion ;
and that I may end my life in the true faith of all
holy church.' "

44 What a stupid man !" exclaimed my young hear-
er. " That is not any prayer for a priest to say by a
dying person ; it's a prayer for a happy death, and
is it not a beautiful one ?' " She was certainly right,
and a Catholic child could teach many of these
people.

362

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877.

tial opens : " The helpe and grace
of almyghty god thrugh the be-
seechynge of his blessed moder
saynt mary." It ends thus: "By
the helpe of his blessid moder
mary and his holy spowsesse saynt
brygytte and all sayntes. Amen.
Caxton me fieri fecit." Then there
is " the lyf of the holy and blessed
vyrgyn saynt Wenefryde . . .
reduced in to Englysshe by me,
William Caxton." " A short trea-
tyce of the hyhest and most worthy
sacramente of crystes blessid body
and the merueylles therof" cer-
tainly sounds orthodox. And the
picture of the Crucifixion, inscrib-
ed : " To them that before this
ymage of pyte deuoutly saye v Pr
nr v Aues & a Credo pyteuously
beholdyng these ar of Xps passio
ar granted xxxij M. vii. C. & Iv
yeres of pardon," shows a belief in
the power of the church to grant
indulgences.

We know that the attempt has
been made to persuade those ea-
ger to be deceived that Caxton
must have had Lollard sympathies.
Thus, the editor of the reprint of
the Fifteen Os says : " This col-
lection is noticed by Dr. Thomas
Fuller as being the first book of
prayers tending to promote the
Reformation." And again : " It
is more than probable that this is
the first book of prayers in English
issued by the followers of Wickliffe,
and cannot but be interesting as
having prepared the way for the
great moral and spiritual changes
that ended in the Reformation."
Now, the volume closes thus :
" Thiese prayers tofore wreton ben
enprited bi the comaudementes of
the moste hye & vertuous pryn-
cesse our liege ladi Elizabeth, by
the grace of god Quene of Eng-
londe and of Frauce & also of
the right hye & most noble pryn-

cesse Margarete, moder unto our
soverayn lorde the kyng, &c. By
their most humble subget and ser-
uaut, William Caxton."

There is certainly no suspicion
of Lollardism attaching to these
ladies. Now let us examine the
prayers. The title Fifteen Os
will not suggest to Catholics now
any familiar devotion ; but when
we state that they are nothing
more nor less than St. Bridget's
Prayers or Meditations on the Pas-
sion of our Lord, which have re-
tained their place in our Catholic
prayer-books to this day, they will
utter at least fifteen " ohs " and be
certainly hyely amused at the idea
of their savoring of Wickliffe.

CAXTON.

GARDEN OF THE
SOUL.

" O most sweet Lord
Jesus Christ, eternal
sweetness of those who
love thee, joy above all de-
sire, firm hope of the hope-
less, sol ace of the sorrow-
ful, and most merciful lov-
er of all penitent sinners,
who hast said thy delight
is to be with the children
of men, for the love of
whom thou didst assume
human nature in the
fulness of time. Remem-
ber, most sweet Jesus,
all those sharp sorrows
which then pierced thy
sacred soul from the first
instant of thy incarnation
until the time of thy
solitary passion,' 1 etc.

Among the prayers following
those of St. Bridget is this :

" O blessid lady, moder of Jhesu and
virgyne immaculate, that art wel of com-
forte and moder of mercy, singuler helpe
to all that trust to the, be now, gracyous
lady, medyatryce and meane unto thy
blessid sone our sauyour Jhesu for me,
that by thy intercessions I may opteyne
my desires, ever to be your seruaunt in
all humylite. And by the helpe and soc-
our of al holy sayntes herafter in perpet-
uell ioye euer to Hue with the. Amen."

Evidently Caxton would have

"O Jhesu, endless swet-
nes of louyng soules. O
Jhesu, gostly ioye pass-
ing & excedyng all
gladnes and desires. O
Jhesu, helth and tendre
louer of al repentaut
sinners that likest to
dwelle, as thou saydest
thy selfe, with the chil-
dren of men. For that
was the cause why thou
were incarnate and made
man in the ende of the
worlde. Haue mynde,
blessed Jhesu, of all the
sorrowes that thou suf-
feredest in thy mahode,
drawing nyhe to thy
blessed passion."

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877. 363

had no difficulty in submitting to
Pope Pius IX. 's definition of the
Immaculate Conception.

The next prayer is one " To the
propre angell " guardian angel, as
we now say. Further on we find a
prayer to which indulgences for the
souls in purgatory are attached.
These prayers certainly show no
trace of Wickliffe's doctrines. The
little book is one that any Catholic
would use now, and which no Pro-
testant would or could use.

Protestantism can lay no claim
to the worthy, upright, laborious,
and learned Catholic merchant who
introduced printing into England,
and chose the precincts of her fin-
est abbey for his labors. His sur-
viving friends shared his faith, as
witness this note in a very old hand
on a copy of the Fructus Temporal* :

" Of your charitee pray for the soul of
Mayster Wyllyam Caxton, that in hys
time was a man of moche ornate and
moche renommed wysdome and connyng,
and decessed ful crystenly the yere of
cur Lord MCCCCLXXXXJ.

" Moder of Merci, shyld him frothorribul fynd,
And bryng hym to lyff eternall that neuyr hath
ynd> *

On the lyth of February, 1877,
a meeting was held in the
Jerusalem Chamber of the old
Catholic abbey, not far from the
presumed printing-office occupied
by Caxton in the Almonry. Dean
Stanley presided, and preparations
were made for the exhibition. The
Stationers' Company offered their
hall, but it was deemed too small,
and a request was made for the
Western Galleries at South Ken-
sington. These were granted, and

* To the same purport is this colophon on Bar-
tholomaeus' De Proprietatibus Reruin, issued by
Wynken de Worde about 1495 :
" And also cf your charyte call to remembraunce
Thesouleof William Caxton, first prynter of this

boke,

In laten tongue at Coleyn, hymself to auance
That every wel disposyd man may theron loke."

every facility given to arrange and
display properly the works collect-
ed. One great object was to
bring together and exhibit to the
public as many copies as possible
of works from Caxton's press as
could be obtained for the brief pe-
riod from the public and private
libraries, with such other books, es-
pecially of early date, as would tend
to show the progress of printing
from its discovery. The appeal
was generously answered. No less
than one hundred and ninety cop-
ies of books printed by the good
Catholic William Caxton were con-
tributed to the exhibition a great-
er number, probably, than have ever
been seen together since the Re-
formers made war on them, and
greater than are at all likely to be
again collected. They represented
one hundred and four distinct
works.

Lord Spencer sent fifty-seven
Caxtons, early Block Books, a Gut-
enberg Bible, a Mentz Psalter ;
the Duke of Devonshire eighteen
Caxtons ; the Earl of Jersey and
tli e Bodleian Library each seven;
Sion College six, and the Universi-
ty of Gottingen six ; Queen Vic-
toria sent four and a Mentz Psal-
ter.

The books were arranged in
classes : (a) William Caxton and
the Development of the Art of
Printing in England and Scotland.
(b) The Development of the Art of
Printing in other Countries, (c) The
Comparative Development of the
Art in England and Foreign Coun-
tries, illustrated by specimens of
the Holy Scripture and Liturgies.
(d) Specimens noticeable for Rarity
or for Beauty and Excellence of Ty-
pography, (e) Specimens of Printing.
(/) Printed Music, (g) Book Illus-
trations, (h) Portraits and Auto-
graphs of Distinguished Authors,

3^4

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877.

etc. (i) Books relating to Printing.
(/<) Curiosities and Miscellanies.
(/) Type and Printing Materials.
(m) Stereotyping and Electrotyping.
(n) Copper-plate Printing, Litho-
graphy, etc. (o) Paper and Paper-
making.

The great effort of the exhibition
seems to have been directed to
Class C. Noble collectors and com-
moners, universities and libra-
ries, the British and Foreign Bible
Society, archbishops and bish-
ops, all contributed, and it was this
department above the others that
was to invest Protestantism with a
peculiar halo. Yet the case pre-
sented difficulties of no ordinary
character. Men like Stevens rant
about *' priestly dross and gloss "
and similar claptrap expressions to
keep alive old myths, but it requir-
ed enormous assurance to advance
these myths in the face of the col-
lection gathered at London in 1877.
They may talk of monkish legends
and fables, but Protestantism rests
on legends and fables which men
who know better still continue to
circulate in defiance of bibliography
and common sense.

In the present case they desired
to present to the public a glowing
picture. There is a foreground in
every picture, and there is a back-
ground also ; there are clear lights
which bring out the chief figures
into bold relief, and there are
shadows where figures lie almost
unnoticed. The artists here knew
well what to throw into the back-
ground and the shade.

Fable the first was that the Ca-
tholic Church had ever been the
enemy of the Bible, opposed to its
circulation. How is it, then, that
when printing was invented the
first book printed was the Bible?
The church must have made the
Bible known, or the early printers,

who were not priests or monks,
would have known nothing of such
a book, would not have known
where to get copies to print from,
would not have known that any-
body would know enough about the
work to buy it if they printed it.
But the fact is that people knew
about the Bible, manuscripts were
easily obtained, and many wanted
them who could not afford to buy
them. The fact that the Bible was
selected to print shows that there
was no impediment to its circula-
tion, that there existed a well-known
demand for it, and a call for cheap-
er copies.

Stevens reluctantly gives us aid
to demolish this fable of Catholic
darkness as to the Bible : " The
Bible was the first book printed."
" Biblical bibliography proves that
during the first forty years, at least,
the Bible exceeded in amount of
printing all other books put to-
gether; nor were its quality, style,
and variety a whit behind its
quantity." And be it remembered
that these forty years do not cover
the whole period from the invention
of printing to the commencement
oT the Reformation.

Bibles preceded all the Latin and
Greek classic authors and all verna-
cular works, not in one place but
in almost every place where a
printing-press was set up.

" In a word," says Stevens, " up to the
discovery of America in 1492 Columbus
might have counted upon his fingers
all the old classic authors (including
Ptolemy and Strabo in their unbecoming
Latin dress) who could throw any geo-
graphical light on the questions which
the great discoverer was discussing with
the theologians of Spain ; while, covering
the same period, the editions of the Bible
alone, and the parts thereof, in many
languages and countries, will sum up
not far less than one thousand, and the
most of these of the largest and costliest
kind."

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877. 365

This, it must be remembered, is
no rash assertion, but the truth
wrung from this writer by the fact
that the collection exhibited before
his eyes at least three hundred out
of the thousand to which he refers ;
and this thousand not thousand
copies of the Bible, but thousand
editions of the Bible, or parts such
as New Testament, Psalms, etc. in-
cludes only to 1492, thirty years be-
fore Luther issued his Bible. Yet
the monstrous figment is kept up to
this day that in those dark and be-
nighted ages the people were kept
in ignorance of the Bible, that the
Catholic Church suppressed it and
kept it hid away, and that it was
only the " glorious Reformation "
which brought it from its obscurity.
Stevens, with all his assurance, must
have blushed as he wrote the words :
" The church managed to have
small call for the Scriptures in the
vulgar tongues which the people
could read and comprehend." He
does not cite, and knew that he
could not cite, any authority to
show that the church did anything
that could be construed into any
such management. The Bible had
come down in her keeping ; she pre-
served it, diffused it, and handed it
down from generation to genera-
tion, jealous of its purity and its
traditional interpretation.

Next to the fable of the hostility
of the church to the Bible, and con-
nected with it, is the myth of
Luther's discovering an old copy
of the Bible when he was a priest
and a monk, that he thereupon set
to work to translate it, and that he
first gave the Scriptures to the peo-
ple in the vernacular. It was a
very pretty story, told down to our
day by authors like D'Aubigne.
The Caxton celebration, though it
did not contain specimens of all the
editions of the Scriptures printed

before the Reformation, had enough
to show how shamefully the Pro-
testant public had been deceived
and imposed upon by this fable.

Mr. Stevens' list begins with the
Gutenberg Bible, printed at Mentz
between 1450 and 1455 f r a copy
of that magnificent work was there,
lent by Earl Spencer, perfect, en T
tire, with its six hundred and for-
ty-one leaves, double column, " the
earliest book known printed with
movable metal type'." Then fol-
lows the Psalms, printed by Fust
and Schoffer at Mentz in 1457,
Queen Victoria lending a copy.
Next comes the 1459 Psalter, the
second, third, and fourth Latin
Bibles, another Psalter, and then a
complete Bible in German, printed,
Mr. Stevens assumes, at Strassburg,
by Mendelin, in 1466. Queen Victo-
ria's magnificent copy, richly illumi-
nated in gold and colors, was there
for all to admire, and beside it
Earl Spencer'?, nearly as beautiful.
Either by accident or design
Caxton 's Psalter was not obtained,
and this first known separate book
of Holy Scripture issued in England
between 1480 and 1483 was repre-
sented only by a fac-simile of a
page of the copy in the British Mu-
seum. The various Books of Hours
printed by Caxton were similarly
unrepresented.* Then with other
Latin editions came the second
German Bible, also in 1466; the
third, Augsburg, 1470 ; and so on
through the list, fourth, fifth, -sixth,
to the twelfth German, f printed
at Augspurg in 1490 by Henry
Schonsperger ; and two editions in

* Stevens admits that there was no necessity for
actually doing the printing of Bibles in England.
' The educated of England, however, were not ig-
norant of the Scriptures, for Coburger, of Nuremr
berg, and probably other Continental printers, had
established warehouses in London for the sale of
Latin Bibles as early as 1480, and perhaps earlier."

t The Paulist Library in New York might have
sent a fine copy of the ninth edition, printed in
1482, the very year Luther was born.

366

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877.

Low German, Cologne, 1480, Lubec,
1491. There was also a German
Psalter printed in 1492, described
by Stevens as " a fine specimen of
an early pocket edition of the
Psalms in the language of the peo-
pie."

Thus the Caxton collection pre-
sented no less than sixteen Catho-
lic Bibles and Psalters in German
printed before Luther's time ; and
as translations were not made on
the spur of the moment, there must
have been in existence many trans-
lations in manuscript, some of
which never found their way into
print at all. These sixteen volumes,
publicly exhibited at once and to-
gether in London, are as many refu-
tations of the Protestant fables and
legends.

" Prior to the discovery of America,"
says Stevens, " no less than twelve grand
patriarchal editions of the entire Bible,
being of several different translations,
appeared from time to, time in the Ger-
man language ; to which add the two edi-
tions by the Otmars of Augsburg, of 1507
and 1518, and we have the total number
of no less than fourteen distinct large
folio pre- Reformation or ante-Lutheran
Bibles. No other language except the
Latin can boast of anything like this
number."

The collection shows, too, that
Bibles in the vernacular were not
confined to Germany. It could
show some in other languages :

628, Bible, Italian, 316, 331 folios. Ven-
ice, N. Jenson, 1471.
649, Bible, Italian. Venice, Bolognese,

1477-
652, New Testament, French. Lyons,

Buyer, 1477.
053-4? Old Testament, Dutch. Delf,

Zoen, 1477.

669, Psalms, Dutch, Delf. 1480.
688, Bible, Italian. Venice, 1487.
690, Bible, Bohemian. 1488.
706, Psalms, French (Polyglot). Paris,

1509.
725, Bible, French. Paris, Petit, 1520.

The language of Sir Thomas

More leads us to believe that some
one of the Catholic versions of the
New Testament at least was print-
ed ; but if so, the copies were sup-
pressed so completely that none
has reached our times. The mere
fact that no copy is now known
does not prove that none ever ex-
isted, when we consider the whole-
sale destruction by law of all Ca-
tholic books of devotion.

These are not all the vernacular
Bibles issued in that period, but, as
they stood there in the South Ken-
sington Loan Collection, they fur-
nished an irrefragable proof that
printing originated in Catholic
times; that the church was the first
to use and encourage it ; that she
multiplied editions of the Bible in
Latin, the habitual language of the
church, then the language of learn-
ing and science, as well as in Ger-
man, Italian, Dutch, French, and
Bohemian ; she printed, too, as a
copy here showed, the Bible, Pen-
tateuch, and Psalms in Hebrew,
the Bible and Psalter in Greek and
Chaldee, and an Arabic Psalter.
(See 682, 691, 706, 711, 718, 720,
721.) Catholic writers have fre-
quently referred to these early-
printed Bibles and portions of
Scripture in the vernacular ; but to
cite Panzer or some other bibli-
ographer is far different from refer-
ring to a copy of the book. Here
in the Caxton collection the very
volumes stood to speak for them-
selves, and the catalogue attests
the fact that they were there, tells
us who owns each copy, its condi-
tion and state. What as a Catholic
argument seemed vague and hazy
thus took solid form, and became
too substantial to doubt.

Now, how does Mr. Stevens en-
deavor to elude the force of this
array of solid proofs ? It is abso-
lutely comical to see to what straits

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877. 367

be is put. The following platitude,
false statement, and false deduc-
tion is about as curious as the Cax-
ton celebration itself:

" As the discovery of America was the
greatest of all discoveries, so the inven-
tion of the art of printing may be called
the greatest of all inventions. But no
sooner had Columbus reported his grand
discovery through the press than the
pope assumed the whole property in the
unknown parts of the earth, and divided
it (sic] all at once between the two little
powers in the Peninsula, wholly disre-
garding the rights and titles of the other
nations of Europe. The same little
game of assumption has been tried, from
time to time, with regard to this great
invention, but the press has a protective
power within itself which the church
can smother only with ignorance and
mental darkness."

The figttres are somewhat con-
fused, and we cannot exactly pic-
ture to our minds the church, with
the two pillows of ignorance and
mental darkness which Mr. Stevens
can doubtless supply from his well-
furnished store, trying to smother
a protective power. The smother-
ing of the children in the Tower
was nothing compared to it. As
for the "little game of assump-
tion," we think the gentlemen of
the Reformation have played it
long and successfully. But we ad-
mit that we do not see what right
and title the nations of Europe had
in the unknown parts of the earth,
or whence they derived any right
and title. So far as we have read,
no right or title was claimed except
when based on discovery, and then
it was in the known and not in the
unknown. Spain and Portugal car-
ried their rival claims to the Holy
See as a recognized tribunal, and
the line of demarkation in their at-
tempts at exploration was a wise
and peace-establishing provision.
It did not operate, and was not in-
tended, to exclude the subjects of

the pope, France, Germany, Den-
mark, or England from exploring.

The whole question is foreign to
the subject of printing so foreign
that none of the Columbus letters,
or the bull of Alexander VI., was
thought worth obtaining for the
Caxton exhibition. We have look-
ed carefully through the catalogue,
and, if they are there, they have
certainly escaped us.

The array of books presented
here shows that Luther could not
ha^ve received the education he
really did in his monastery, making
him conversant with Latin, Greek,
and Hebrew, without being aware
of the existence in print of many
of the more than a thousand edi-
tions in all languages that had al-
ready issued from the press. It is
not pretended that Luther obtained
his knowledge of languages by a
miraculous gift ; he acquired them
in the monastic schools, and his
attainments are a proof of the ex-
tent of their curriculum.

One of the great objects of the
exhibition was to show the earliest
English Protestant editions. Tyn-
dale's New Testament, supposed to
have been printed at Worms by
Peter Schoffer in 1526, was repre-
sented by the very imperfect copy
owned by the dean and chapter of
St. Paul's Cathedral, and by the
Antwerp edition of 1534 ; by the
London edition of 1536, which had
also at the end the " Epystles taken
out of the Olde Testament what are
red in the church after the use of
Salsburye upon certen dayes of the
year."

But the great pride of the exhi-
bition was a series of Coverdale's
Bibles and Testaments, over which
Mr. Stevens indulges in most rhap-
sodical eulogy. " Let no English-
man or American," he exclaims,
" view this (765) and the six fol-

368 The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877.

lowing Bibles without first lifting
his hat, for they are seven extraor-
dinary copies of the Coverdale
Bible, containing, with one impor-
tant exception (the Marquis of
Northampton's copy), all the varia-
tions known of the most precious
volume in our language." We can-
not altogether share his raptures
over this Bible, "faithfully and
truly translated out of Douche and
Latyn into English." Stevens
sneers at the Rhemish Testament
as "a secondary translation from
the Vulgate," but Coverdale's, trans-
lated out of " Douche and Latyn "
into English, elicits no such sneer.
According to his-theory, set forth at
great length, this edition is due to
" Jacob van Meteren, of Antwerp,
printer and proprietor, and proba-
bly the translator, by whom Cover-
dale was employed to edit and see
the work through the press," and
he gives Antwerp as the place of
publication. The edition was
bought by James Nicolson, of South-
wark. Though Mr. Stevens else-
where represents the English peo-
ple at this time as hungering and
famished for an English Bible, he
admits "that the English printer
and publisher seems to have had
as much trouble in working off his
books as Simmons had in selling
Milton's Paradise Lost, if we may
judge by the number of new titles
and preliminary leaves found in
different copies." It contains a
long and fulsome dedication to
Henry VIII. and his dearest just-
wife, in some copies " Anne " (Bo-
leyn),in others " Jane" (Seymour).
The Bible bearing the name of
Thomas Mathew as translator (Lon-
don : Grafton & Whitchurch, 1537)
he ascribes to the famous Jdhn
Rogers, and maintains that it too
was printed by Van Meteren at
Antwerp.

The Latin-English Testament
bearing Coverdale's name (London
1538), which he repudiated on ac-
count of its errors, or perhaps the
correction of some of his errors,
and that really issued by him at
Paris in the same year, were both in
the exhibition, as well as that is-
sued also in 1538 at London bear-
ing the name of Johan Hollybushe
as translator. These are very cu-
rious as being, we think, the only
Latin-English Testaments ever is-
sued, giving the Vulgate and a
translation based upon it. No
other lias, to our knowledge, ever
appeared in the lapse of more than
three centuries since that year, 1538.
As Caxton's Psalter was perhaps the
first book of the Vulgate printed in
England, these Testarrttnts of Ni-
colson were the last portion of the
Vulgate printed there for more
than two hundred and fifty years,
when the edition printed for the
exiled clergy of France made its
appearance. Unfortunately we do
not find a copy of that edition in
the list of those included in the
exhibition.*

The first Testament professing
to be translated directly from the
Greek is that numbered in the cata-
logue 864, issued by Gaultier, 1550 ;
and the first Bible from the He-
brew and Greek is that printed at
Geneva by Rowland Hall in 1560.
This shows how the people in Eng-
land clung to the Vulgate. On
the Continent Luther had abandon-
ed it for such Hebrew and Greek
texts as he could find, and so led
the way to the host of errors that
prevail to this day ; but in England
the versions were all based on the
Vulgate, occasionally represented
as compared with the Greek. It

* We have never seen the Latin Bible printed by
Norton at London, in 1680, but think that the text
of the Vulgate was not followed.

The Lessons of thv Caxton Celebration of 1877.

was not, indeed, till 1611 that the
Church of England, by the transla-
tion then issued, formally abandon-
ed the Vulgate, as the Calvinists
had previously done. Mr. Stevens'
sneer at the Rhemish Testament of
1583, as being a secondary transla-
tion, applies with equal force to
nearly all the English Protestant
editions then in the hands of the
people. Now that the Greek and
Hebrew texts have by the aid of
the best manuscripts been restored
to some degree of purity and accu-
racy, Protestant scholars are revis-
ing the translation of 1611, and the
one remarkable fact appears con-
stantly that .every change made to
bring them to correspond to cor-
rect texts brings them back to the
early translations from the Vul-
gate.*

This fact of English adherence
to the Vulgate shown in the col-
lection of Bibles at the Caxton cel-
ebration goes far towards exploding
another Protestant myth and le-
gend ; and that is that England
welcomed the Reformation with
open arms, that the whole nation
went over to the new ideas, and that
Catholicity was generally abandon-
ed. This is inculcated in a thou-
sand ways in all the histories and
popular literature of the day, if
not squarely asserted. The Caxton
collection shows that for nearly a
century the people of England
clung to the old Latin Vulgate as a

* The natural history and topography of the 1611
Bible are ludicrously incorrect, because they aban-
doned the Vulgate and translated at random. Yet
the Vulgate was translated from the Septuagint,and
revised in the Holy Land by St. Jerome with the
aid of Jewish scholars who knew the geography
and natural history of the country. The Septua-
gint was made in Egypt, while Hebrew was still the
language of the nation, by men thoroughly acquaint-
ed with their native country. Was it rot sheer
madness for gentlemen in England in the seven-
teenth century, with a mere smattering of Hebrew,
to think that they could render geographical and
zoological terms more accurately ? Is not their pre-
sumption the real matter to be sneered at ?

VOL. XXVII. 24

standard, and that translations from
it alone were read officially in the
churches. And to this day the
Book of Common Prayer is based on
the Vulgate. Although Henry VIII.
broke off from Rome, he knew the
temper of the people. The Eng-
lish nation was in a manner bereft
of its wonted leaders. The civil
wars of the Roses had swept away
most of the old nobility, and had
brought to the surface the worst,
most unscrupulous and grasping
adventurers. What this class was
who clustered around the spend-
thrift Henry VIII. we can easily
see by a study of our times, after
our experience of civil war. They
were men to whom nothing was sa-
cred ; men determined to grasp and
hold rank and wealth at any cost
to the state or conscience. The
people, bereft of their old leaders,
of the time-honored noble families,
could not effectively resist the set
of new men. To these the church
offered a splendid field for plunder.
The ill-concerted insurrections
against them were put down with
merciless severity. Yet the attach-
ment of the people to the old faith
remained. Every step of Henry
VIII. was gradual. In his- reign
the Mass and other offices of the
church were maintained. Even in
the reign of his boy son the un-
scrupulous men who coined a new
faith and worship did not venture
to go too far from the old forms.
Like the Chinese emperor, they
sought to destroy all trace of Cath-
olic worship by committing to the
flame every book in England that
could keep it alive. What havoc
they made we can learn and ima-
gine from a view of the Caxton col-
lection. Mary's reign was too
short to undo the mischief, and
Elizabeth threw her whole influence
into the scale against the church,

370

The Lessons of the C ax ton Celebration of 1 877.

and, against her own convictions,
upheld the Anglican establishment
as organized in her brother's name,
and finally gave it form and power ;
but even she did not dare to bring
it to the standard of the French,
Swiss, Dutch, and Scotch Protes-
tants. The Church of England, in
obedience to the old Catholic in-
stincts of even those who submitted
to force, retained much of the old
form, and non-jurors, Puseyites,
Tractarians, Ritualists are simply
natural products of this old ele-
ment.

Yet, with all the power of Henry,
Somerset, Elizabeth, the mass of the
English people had not become
Protestant or ceased to be Catholic.
One of Harper's Half-Hour Series
is not likely to over-state the Cath-
olic side ; yet Dr. Guernsey, in his
Spanish Armada, says :

" At the middle of the reign of Eliza-
beth the population of England number-
ed something less than five millions.
Of these, according to the estimate of
Rushton, one-third were Protestants and
two-thirds Catholics. Lingard, with
less probability, thinks that about one-
half were Catholic. The Italian Cardi-
nal Bentivoglio reckoned the zealous
Catholics at only one-thirtieth part of
the nation, while those who would with-
out the least scruple have become Cath-
olics, if the Catholic religion should be
established by law, were at least four-
fifths of the whole ; and Macaulay thinks
this statement very near the truth. We
think a more accurate apportionment
would be that one-fourth of the popula-
tion were decided Protestants, another
fourth decided Catholics, while the re-
maining half the majority of them with
a leaning to the old faith were quite
content with whatever form of religion
should be ordained by the civil author-
ities for the time being."

If this was the state of England
in the middle of Elizabeth's reign,
after all connection with Rome
had been broken off for two gene-
rations, all Catholic books commit-

ted to the flames, the Mass and the
priesthood outlawed, how impossi-
ble to believe that the English peo-
ple went as a body into the Refor-
mation ! If only one-fourth were
then decided Protestants, how many
were Protestants when Coverdale's
Bible was issued ?

If England became Protestant,
it was simply because the English
people were dragooned into it by
penal laws steadily and persistently
applied. The decided Protestants
from choice were few and their
descendants are comparatively few.
The mass of English 'Protestants
are the descendants of cowards who
yielded up their faith and their con-
victions to save property, liberty,
or life. The poorest Irish Catholic
has a noble ancestry of men who
suffered confiscation, imprisonment,
hunting like wild beasts, death it-
self, rather than abandon the faith
they sincerely believed, and it is
certainly not for the sons of pol-
troons to despise them.

The Caxton collection thus, by
showing the adherence to the Vul-
gate till a Presbyterian king came
to the throne, shows how reluctant-
ly England accepted Protestantism,
and dispels many of the fine theo-
ries with which Mr. Stevens mysti-
fies the subject.

The collection had some editions
of special interest to us Catholics,
yet it lacked many which we would
expect to find in so pretentious a
series of books. The Gutenberg
Bible, that glory of the church, we
have already noted. Few of our
readers were or could well be pre-
sent at the London exhibition, but
when the Lenox Library opens in
New York they will be able to see
a fine copy of this first of print-
ed books proof that in Catholic
times, when the church was undis-
puted mistress of Europe, the first

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877. 371

work deemed entitled to the honor
of being reproduced by the new
invention was the Bible. A Ca-
tholic can point to it, and say:
" That is the first book ever print-
ed; it is our Catholic Bible, printed
by the Catholic men who invented
the art of printing."

The Caxton collection contained
also the first edition issued in the
city of Rome in 1471, as well as
the wonderful Polyglot of the great
Cardinal Ximenes, and the Polyglot
Psalter of Bishop Giustiniani with
the first sketch of the life of Colum-
bus. The Bible issued as a stand-
ard by Pope Sixtus V. in 1590 is
represented by Mr. Stevens, most
strangely, as " the first complete
Latin edition published by papal
authority." He does not tell us
in what respect the previous La-
tin Bibles were incomplete, or ex-
plain how none of them had any
papal authority. This Sistine edi-
tion was contributed by Earl Spen-
cer, as well as a copy of the edition
issued under Pope Clement VIII.,
1592, and the edition of the Sep-
tuagint from the Codex Vaticanus,
issued at Rome in 1586. The
Rhemish New Testament, 1582,
and the Old Testament printed at
Douay in 1609-10, were also there,
but Mr. Stevens is clearly in error
in saying: " It is a remarkable cir-
cumstance that, though these vol-
umes bear the dates of 1609 and
1610 they had not reached the
hands of the translators of the 1611
version when their long preface
was written. There is distinct al-
lusion to this work, as if to disclaim
any knowledge of it." Yet there
is intrinsic evidence that they avail-
ed themselves of it before they put
their own to press. Readings both
in the Old and New Testament
which had been preserved through
the series of Protestant translations

were abandoned in the King James
Bible, and Douay renderings sub-
stantially, if not literally, adopted.

The King James Bible, of course,
figures in the collection. But the
question as to which is the editio
princeps, the standard for 'those who
bow down to that version, is a knot-
ty one. There is a " Great He Bi-
ble " and a " Great She Bible "two
issues of the same year 1611 dis-
tinct through every leaf. Catho-
lics will wonder at this distinction
of sex in Bibles, and it may be well
to state that in the endeavor to de-
termine which of the two was the
one originally issued by the trans-
lators, scholars found a discrepan-
cy in Ruth iii. 15, one reading :
" He measured six measures of bar-
ley, and laid it on her, and He went
into the city," while the other reads,
"She went into the city"; and as
each of these, although varying
from each other in many places,
was taken as a standard for subse-
quent editions, these Protestant
Bibles are all He and She Bibles to
those who wish to know from which
of the two 1611 editions they sprang.
Mr. Stevens decides that the He
Bible, evidently incorrect in its
rendering, was the original one.

He sets at rest another point in
regard to this King James Bible,
and that is the myth or fable of
calling it "The Authorized Ver-
sion." He says: " We do not find
any authority for calling it the Au-
thorized Version, the words ' ap-
pointed to be read in churches *
meaning not authorized, but, as
explained in the preliminary mat-
ter, simply how the Scriptures were
pointed out or ' appointed ' for public
reading." In other words, to make
the Bible go down with the people
of England) who still clung to many
old Catholic ideas, the epistles and
gospels for the Sundays and naany

372

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877.

of the holidays of the year, as read
from time immemorial in the Mass,
were indicated or appointed in this
Bible. This makes the King James
Bible, whether a " Great He Bible "
or a " Great She Bible," a docu-
ment to prove how slow the Eng-
lish people were to go over to the
Reformers, and how they clung to
what little they could grasp of their
old Catholic faith and devotion.
Mr. Stevens does not like it for
this very reason, and wants the
title purified by leaving out " ap-
pointed to be read in churches";
but leaving it out now will not de-
stroy the force of the phrase as it
stands on both the He and She
Bible of 1 6 ii ; He claims the King
James as the Bible of all English
Protestant churches. It has be-
come so ; but it was not so origi-
nally. He is historically wrong
when he says : " It never was any
more the Bible of the Church (i.e.,
of England) than of the Puritans."
It certainly was. Unfortunately
there was no copy in this Caxton
celebration of " The Souldier's
Pocket Bible : Printed at London
by G. B. and R. W. for G. C., 1643,"
or we could refer him to that con-
stant companion of Cromwell's sol-
diers to show that the Puritans
stuck to the Geneva Bible as late
as the time of the Commonwealth,
and left the King James and the
Bishop's Bibles to the malignants.
He knows the early writings of his
own New England divines too well
not to be aware that their sermons
and tracts quote the Geneva and
not the King James. The incor-
rect editions of the Geneva, and
the appointment of king's printers
in the reign of Charles II. with the
exclusive right of printing Bibles,
stopped the issue of any but the
King James, and it thus supersed-
ed the Geneva, and people took it

as a matter of necessity, not of
choice or preference. It is simply
absurd to make it appear that the
King James version was at once
accepted and adopted generally.

The collection did very little in
showing the various modifications
of the Douay Bible. After the
edition of 1635 there was scarce-
ly anything in the Caxton exhibi-
tion no copy of Nary's New
Testament, which is certainly re-
markable enough. The first % edi-
tion of the Protestant Bible print-
ed in Ireland dates only from 1714,
and certainly a Catholic Testament
printed, in spite of penal laws and
persecution, in 1719, only five years
later, ought to have found a place
there. There was no copy of Wit-
ham's New Testament or of Chal-
loner's first Testament, or of the
first edition of his Bible. Nor
does Geddes appear. America is
not at all represented. Not a
copy of Eliot's Indian Bible, or of
Sauer's German Bible, or the Con-
gress Bible, or the first Catholic Bi-
ble of 1790; the Bay Psalm Book
stands almost alone.

The Bibles sought for on account
of curious renderings or strange
blunders were pretty well repre-
sented, such as Matthews' Bug Bi-
ble : " Thou shalt not nede to be
afraid for any bugges by nyghte,"
Ps. xci. 5. The second Genevan,
1562 : "Blessed are the place-mak-
ers," Matt. v. 9. Bishop's Bible, 1568 :
" Is there no tryacle in Cilead ?"
Jerem. viii. 22. The Wicked Bi-
ble, London, 1631 : " Thou shalt
commit adultery." Cambridge Bi-
ble, 1638 : " Whomye may appoint,"
Acts vi. 3, for we. The Vinegar
Bible, 1717: "The Parable of the
Vinegar." Oxford Bible, 1807 :
" Purge your conscience from good
works," instead of " dead" Heb.
ix. 14. Oxford Bible, 1810:

The Lessons of the Caxton Celebration of 1877. 373

" Hate not . . . his own wife"
for life, Luke xiv. 26. Still these
are of no value except as cautions
against typographical blunders. But
among the curious Bibles and Tes-
taments we were surprised to see
no copy of the now rare negro Eng-
lish Testament, published in Lon-
don in 1829, Da JVjoe Testament va
wi Masra en Helpiman Jesus Chris-
tus. The Rev. Sydney Smith im-
mortalized it, and Notes and Queries
in 1864 devoted some space to it.
Renderings like these from a copy
before us : St. Matthew, vi. 7, " En
effi oeni beggi, oene no meki soso
takkitakki, leki dem Heiden, bikasi
dem membre, effi dem meki foeloe
takkitakki, Gado so harki dem," or
vi. n, " Gi wi tideh da jam jam va
wi,"* are certainly as curious as
anything exhibited.

An ingenious gentleman like Mr.
Stevens might perhaps have de-
duced from it a proof that Caxton
was a follower of Wickliffe, or that
the Catholic Church showed no re-
spect for the Word of God.

A catalogue of books such as we
have taken up seems to afford lit-
tle scope for any but dry biblio-
graphical notes, but the Caxton
celebration has its lessons that

* Written according to Dutch rather than Eng-
lish. This is very odd. Beggi is pray ; takkitakki
is much talkee (say) ; jamjam is yam (bread).
" Give we to-day the yams for we ! "

can be gleaned even from a cata-
logue, and if our readers have fol-
lowed us we think that they will
admit that the attempt to make
Caxton other than a pious Catholic
was a delusion ; and the exclusion
of the Catholic element, and the
attempt to make Caxton a fulcrum
for the exaltation of Protestantism,
a failure.* As Catholics we may be
grateful for the unintentional evi-
dence the collection afforded of the
fact that the Catholic Church pro-
tected and preserved the Bible,
made men esteem and desire it,
gave it to the newly-invented art of
printing as the first work to issue,
fostered the publication of the ori-
ginal texts, the authentic Vulgate,
and of translations in the vernacu-
lar; as well as incidentally of
proof that the Luther romance was
a figment, and proof that the Re-
formation was forced on the Eng-
lish people, that" they clung to the
Bible, liturgy, and dogmas of the
Catholic Church with the utmost
tenacity, and that they lacked only
the courage of Ireland and Poland
to have maintained their country
Catholic.

* Like Caxton, a Catholic, the writer has, like
Caxton, written, translated, edited, printed, and
^Iblished, and has had for years behind his chair
in his dining-room an engraving of Caxton ex-
amining his first proof-sheet. His interest in Cax-
ton is, therefore, almost personal.

374 Malcolm ', King of Scotland, to his Wife, St. Margaret.

MALCOLM, KING OF SCOTLAND, TO HIS WIFE, ST.
MARGARET.

GOD speed thee, sweet, in all thy tasks of love,
The daily round of thy heart's majesty
Thy dear lips opened unto clemency

My Margaret, my pearl all price above ;

My little kingdom, where as king I reign
O'er lands so fair I might with gladness give
All earthly state in these alone to live

Where nothing base doth holy ground profane.

My queen, my Athefing, true noble one,
That wearest on thy Saxon brow a grace
Wherein all loyal hearts can true love trace

To this north land the misty hills do crown.

My rose-lipped daisy, lighting Scotland's sod

With happy faces lifted up to God.

ii.

God speed thee, sweet ; my heart so singeth e'er,
As grows more dear among our poor thy fame
With every day. O Lady, true of name,
Giver of bread to all beneath thy care,
My royal-hearted queen and flawless pearl,

How shall my sin-stained. prayers for thee avail,
That dost least fault with innocent tears bewail?
Meek daisy, whose white petals do unfurl
From soul wherein all golden visions shine !

So near to God thou seem'st, and pray'st so well,
The book I kiss whereon thy pure eyes dwell,
So grows my prayer the words that have been thine,
So surely grows it sweeter in His ear,
Tuned to the music of thy singing clear.

in.

May that brave saint, sweet wife, whose name is thine,
Whose virgin feet unharmed on dragons fell,
Keep thee in grace with Him thou lov'st so well
Till that far day when shall thy beauty shine
With that light glorified her features wear.

Have We a Novelist?

375

Blessed light ! fair even now encircling tliee
When, bowed thy soul in fond humility,

Thou kneelest, of thy God possessed, at prayer.

Ah ! love, with Christ, our Lord, forget not me
Who tread this tangled pathway here below
With eyes more dim than thine and feet more slow;

So, when in life eternal we are met,

I still may wear my pearl, my Margaret !

HAVE WE A NOVELIST?

SCARCELY fifty years have
elapsed since Sydney Smith con-
temptuously asked: "Who reads
an American book ?" John Bull
was delighted at this sneering query
of the witty Dean of St. Paul's. It
was so agreeable an expose of the
literary poverty of a formidable
rival. It was so very consoling to
find a weak point in the young giant
who had twice beaten him in war.
Could Sydney Smith rise to-day
from his grave in Kensal Green he
would witness a marvellous change.
The time has passed when he
might triumphantly ask: "Who
reads an American book?" The
time has passed when John Bull
might gloat over the poverty of
American literature. We have a
literature a noble literature of
which any nation might be proud.
We may confidently reverse the
celebrated query of the wittiest of
English divines, and ask : "Who
does not read an American book ?"
Who does not read the histories of
Prescott? Who does not read the
charming writings of Irving ? Who
does' not read the wonderful tales
of Hawthorne, the poems of Long-
fellow, of Bryant, of Poe ?

Our literary temple, like Alad-

din's palace, is glorious ; but, like
Aladdin's palace, it is also incom-
plete. While our literature is full
and splendid in poetry, in history,
and in science, it has been strange-
ly wanting in what Prescott calls
"ornamental literature": the ro-
mance. The deficiency is more
particularly remarkable when we
consider the magnificent field which
this country offers to the novelist.
Our government, our institutions,
our society, our national manners,
the vice and extravagance of our
great cities, our political corruption,
the enterprising spirit of our peo-
ple, the rapid change of fortune in
our commercial cities, where the
born beggar often dies a millionaire,
life at our watering-places all pre-
sent interesting and inexhaustible
subjects for the romance-writer.
No country in the world affords
such strong and striking contrasts
of character as the United States.
Here we have the gay and mercu-
rial Frenchman, the practical and
plodding German, the generous and
improvident Irishman, the reserved
Englishman, the proud Spaniard,
and last, but by no means least, the
eager, calculating American, with
his brain of fire and his heart of ice.

376

Have We a Novelist?

Certainly there is no lack of ma-
terials ; the workers alone are want-
ing ; the harvest is abundant, but
the laborers are few. We want a
Thackeray to expose the heartless
extravagance of our best society;
a Dickens to turn our hearts in
generous sympathy towards the
poor and suffering; a Bulwer to
polish the manners of our people,
and illustrate the noble truth that
knowledge is power, money only
its handmaiden. Within a dozen
years this trio of novelists has
passed away, and they have left no
successors. Except a few chapters
in Thackeray's Virginians, and
some absurdly nonsensical scenes
in Dickens' Martin Chuzzlewit,
the works of the great English
novelists are entirely foreign : the
characters, manners, scenes all
foreign to us. But they are read
here with as much pleasure as in
England. The Americans are a
nation of readers men, women,
and children, all read. The ma-
jority of our men read newspapers
almost exclusively. Seven-eighths
of the novel-reading of this country
is done by women. The statistics
of any popular library will show
that three novels a week form the
average of these fair readers.

With so great and constant a de-
mand for novels, why have we no
novelist among us ? a great novel-
ist, a national novelist, an essential-
ly American novelist, as Bulwer
and Thackeray are essentially Eng-
lish. As there can be no effect
without a cause, there must be a
cause for this deficiency in our lit-
erature. There are two : Ameri-
can publishers and American readers.
While an English magazine scarce-
ly ever publishes an article by an
American writer, there is not a
great English novelist of the last
quarter of a century who has not

written for one or other of the
American magazines. Dickens,
Bulwer, Thackeray, Wilkie Collins,
Charles Reade, George Eliot, Trol-
lope, Miss Muloch, etc., etc., have
written more or less for our peri-
odicals. Literature, like love, must
be encouraged or it languishes and
dies. In addition to the want of
encouragement given to American
novelists by our publishers is the
fact that American novel-readers
affect to despise American novel-
ists. The novel-reading ladies
who frequent circulating libraries,
demanding with one voice "some-
thing new," who prefer Miss Brad-
don to George Eliot, and Mrs.
Henry Wood to Thackeray, say
they "cannot read American no-
vels." And yet three of the most
popular novels of the last three
years have been American, viz. :
Infelice, One Summer, and A Ques-
tion of Honor. We have seen an
American lady take up The Ameri-
can, by Mr. Henry James, Jr., and
throw it down, saying, " The name
is enough." We have seen ladies
decline one of the charming stories
of Mr. Aldrich or Mr. Howells,
and carry off in triumph the last
production of Mary Cecil Hay
or the voluptuous " Ouida "! If
Americans refuse to read American
novels, who will read them ?

The indiscriminate and almost
universal novel-reading now prac-
tised is a striking and alarming
feature of American life, when we
consider the tone and character of
so many of the modern novels.
Judged by them, divorces, elope-
ments, intrigues, and other crimes
against society are the normal at-
tendants of modern civilization.
They play a conspicuous part in
most of the "popular novels" of
the day. Yet such books are ea-
gerly devoured by young girls,

Have We a Novelist?

377

whose minds are keenly susceptible
to their dangerous influence. An
insidious poison is thus infused
which often fatally corrupts the
youthful imagination. Bad books
are the devil's own instruments for
the ruin of souls. As it is impossi-
ble to deny the fact that novels
form the staple reading of a ma-
jority of the world, it is important
that they should be not only pure
but above suspicion.

The Catholic press cannot too
strongly condemn the scope and
influence of the novel of to-day.
While Scott and Miss Edgeworth
are neglected, the vile trash of
Rhoda Brought on and Mrs. For-
rester is eagerly sought. The good
old habit of reading history, tra-
vels, biography, essays, etc., is al-
most entirely abandoned. " We
want something new and exciting,"
is the general cry; "history and
biography are too deep." And so
they go on from week to week,
from month to month, and from
year to year, reading nothing but
novels, and filling their minds with
nonsense, if nothing worse. While
we condemn indiscriminate novel-
reading, we do not condemn novels
indiscriminately. There are a few
that can be read without detriment
either to morals or religion, and
these, we are sorry to say, are the
novels that modern readers pro-
nounce " flat."

During the century of our na-
tional existence we have had three
genuine American novelists : Charles
Brockden Brown, James Fenimore
Cooper, and William Gilmore Simms.
The first of this trio possessed great
natural gifts and enjoyed a liberal
education. The singular advan-
tages which nature so lavishly be-
stowed upon Brockden Brown pre-
vented him from being a popular
novelist. He was a pure idealist.

He lived in a world of his own.
His beautiful and fertile imagina-
tion created beings which never
could exist in this world, and these
he made the heroes and heroines
of his strange stories. They may
please the intellectual few, but they
possess no interest for the unculti-
vated many. If Brown's talents
had been properly directed, if he
could have kept his soaring imagi-
nation fixed on the earth, and been
satisfied with describing men and
things as they really exist, his
would have been a lasting fame.
But, as it is, he is not now read by
one in ten thousand, nay, in ten times
ten thousand. Cooper is second
to Brown in point of time and su-
perior to him in point of popularity.
He threw a charm, a grace, and an
interest around the life and cha-
racter of the American Indians
which appear inconsistent in the
light of recent experience. In his
sea-stories he succeeds where the
greatest novelist signally failed.
Cooper enjoyed a high reputation
during life, but his novels now
rank with the writings of Mayne
Reid, and are almost exclusively
read by boys. Simms' stories of
the Revolution and the border life
in the South that succeeded the
struggle for independence are ex-
cellent in their way. His Revolu-
tionary romances afford glimpses of
generous devotion to patriotism and
an ardent zeal in the cause of liber-
ty which Americans might read
with profit at the present day.

But those novelists belong to the
past the dead and buried past.
We want the present time describ-
ed the living, breathing, busy
present. There never was an age,
there never was a country, that af-
forded such scope for the novelist
as this age and country. Our cit-
ies are swarming with an eager,

378

Have We a Novelist ?

reckless, enterprising population,
presenting an infinite variety of
characters, each occupied with his
own particular pursuits of ambition,
pleasure, or wealth. Take New-
York as the representative city of
America. There are to be found
the best and the worst features of
our civilization ; the most unbound-
ed wealth and the most squalid
poverty ; the most exquisite culture
and refinement and the most degrad-
ed and abandoned of the human
race. Is not our society as vain,
frivolous, false as that English so-
ciety which Thackeray satirized so
unmercifully ? Have we no Vanity
Fair, no heartless Becky Sharps,
no selfish George Osbornes,no wick-
ed old Steynes, no disreputable
Rawdon Crawleys ?

Our country is the last of nations
in point of time, but the first in all
material prosperity. Like Miner-
va, it sprang into existence fully
equipped for a career unparalleled
in the annals of the world. Other
nations have taken a thousand
years to reach the position which
the United States took at one
bound. We have more than real-
ized the dream of Plato. But let
us not imitate the philosopher of
Greece, and banish poetry and
pure fiction from our republic.
Let us not hang the sword of Dam-
ocles over the imagination, but let
it be purified. Let us not employ
the scissors of Atropos to cut the
threads of fictitious narrative, but
let it be purged of its present loose
and dangerous tendency. Sir Wal-
ter Scott declared novels to be " a
luxury contrived for the amuse-
ment of polished life, and the grati-
fication of that half- love of litera-
ture which pervades all ranks in
an advanced stage of society, and
are read much more for amusement
than with the least hope of deriv-

ing instruction from them " ; yet
Ivanhoe throws more light upon
the personal character of Richard
Cceur de Lion, Kenilworth informs
us more particularly about the
court of Elizabeth, the Fortunes of
Nigel gives us a better insight into
the private life of King James, than
we derive from Hume. By his
poems and novels Scott threw a
perpetual charm over the bleak
hills of Scotland; he made its ruin-
ed abbeys as interesting as the ruin-
ed castles of Germany ; he made
its lakes the favorite resort of thou-
sands of summer tourists. Author
of the most celebrated novels that
were ever written, Scott was unjust
to the children of his mind when
he spoke slightingly of novels. It
should be remembered that he also
spoke unfavorably of the literary
profession a profession by which
he made a million dollars and an
immortal name.

When the author of Waverley
spoke disparagingly of novels that
kind of literary composition was
almost in its infancy, certainly in
its childhood. Richardson, Field-
ing, Smollett, and Goldsmith were
the only great names in that de-
partment of English literature. It
was almost an uncultivated field,
but the reaper was at hand, whose
harvest should be abundant, whose
reward great. The lordly halls of
Abbotsford still stand, the magni-
ficent result of novel-writing. For
every novel written during the time
of Scott there are at least one hun-
dred written now. The novels
published during the last fifty years
are far more numerous than all the
novels that had previously existed
in the world. A hundred years
since pamphlets were written to
promote the success of a political
measure, to show that " taxation "
was "no tyranny," to overthrow a

Have We a Novelist ?

379

minister, etc. Now, when Disraeli
wants to convince the country of
his political sagacity, he writes a
novel ; when Dickens wanted to
show up a crying injustice to the
poor he wrote a novel; when
Thackeray wanted to expose the
shams of English society he wrote
a novel. The age of pamphlets is
gone, the age of novels has suc-
ceeded. Statesmen write novels,
soldiers write novels, clergymen,
lawyers, doctors all professions, all
classes and both sexes, write novels,
and still the novel-reading Olivers
"ask for more." Any person who
visits a fashionable circulating li-
brary upon a Saturday afternoon
will see how great is the demand
for new novels.

Books which were, in the last
century, read in mixed assemblages
of young ladies and gentlemen
could not now be read by old la-
dies in the privacy of their closets.
Apropos of which is a story out of
Lockhart's Scott: "A grand-aunt
of mine," said Sir Walter, " was
very fond of reading, and enjoyed
it to the last of her long life. One
day she asked me, when we hap-
pened to be alone together, wheth-
er I had ever seen Mrs. Behn's
novels. I confessed the charge.
Whether I could get her a sight of
them ? I said, with some hesita-
tion, I believed I could ; but that I
did not, think she would like either
the manners or the language, which
approached too near that of Charles
II. 's time to be quite proper read-
ing. ' Nevertheless,' said the good
old lady, * I remember them being
so much admired, and being so
much interested in them myself,
that I wish to look at them again.'
To hear was to obey. So I sent
Mrs. Aphra Behn, curiously sealed
up, with 'private and confidential '
on the packet, to my gay old grand-

aunt. The next time I saw her
afterwards she gave me back Aphra,
properly wrapped up, with nearly
these words : * Take back your
bonny Mrs. Behn ; and, if you will
take my advice, put her in the fire,
for I found it impossible to get
through the very first novel. But
is it not,' said she, 'a very odd
thing that I, an old woman of eigh-
ty and upwards, sitting alone, feel
myself ashamed to read a book
which, sixty years ago, I have heard
read aloud for the amusement of
large circles, consisting of the first
and most creditable society of
London ?' "

Although a vast improvement
has taken place in the tone of no-
vels generally, yet there are many
still written which should not be
read, and many are read which
should not be written. It is a strik-
ing and lamentable fact that the
worst novels of the day are written
and read by women. The miss
scarcely in her teens reads books
which her grandmother would be
ashamed to read. As the pamper-
ed palate of the epicure can only
enjoy food highly seasoned, so the
vitiated minds of modern readers
can only enjoy highly seasoned
novels; mysterious murders, mad
marriages, runaway matches, terri-
ble secrets, awful mysteries, hidden
perils, etc., are required to stimu-
late their jaded taste. As a person
who feeds only on dainties will
soon have the dyspepsia, so a per-
son who reads only highly-season-
ed novels will have a sort of mental
dyspepsia. Scenes are described,
circumstances are mentioned, con-
versations retailed, vices introduc-
ed into modern novels which would
cause any man to be banished from
decent society who should so far
forget himself as to allude to them.
Yet such things are read without

Plave We a Novelist ?

blushing by young ladies, such
books are discussed by ladies and
gentlemen without shame. If our
young ladies are to read nothing
but novels, in the name of modesty
let not their literary food be cor-
rupt and corrupting; let not their
virgin minds be filled with foul
images ; let not their Christian souls
be soiled with even a thought of
vice.

Queen Anne could not enjoy her
breakfast unless the Spectator was
by her plate. Were Addison alive
now and writing the Spectator, we
doubt whether Queen Victoria
would have it with her morning
meal. Times change, and kings as
well as commons must keep pace
with their age. Gibbon's vanity
was gratified that his history was
in every lady's boudoir and discuss-
ed in every fashionable drawing-
room in London. Were Gibbon
writing in this present year of
grace, we do not think the Decline
and Fall would deprive the last
novel of its " pride of place " in my
lady's boudoir. About twenty-two
years ago Macaulay received that
famous ^20,000 check from the
Messrs. Longman for a volume of
his History of England, of which
more than twenty-six thousand five
hundred copies were sold in ten
weeks. Macaulay's History was
even more popular than Gibbon's.
He said : " I shall not be satisfied
unless I produce something which
shall for a few days supersede the
last fashionable novel on the tables
of young ladies." " For a few
days " Macaulay's history did " su-
persede the last fashionable novel,"
but we think we are safe in saying
that it will have fewer readers this
year than a new novel by " Chris-
tian Reid " or Mrs. Alexander.
Take the average girl of the pe-
riod, question her about her read-

ing, and what is the result ? She
averages six novels a week three
hundred a year. Certainly much
in point of quantity, but how about
the quality? Has she read the
Spectator, the Vicar of Wake field,
Macaulay's Essays ? No. They
would be as tiresome to her as the
compliments of an old beau as
old-fashioned as last year's bonnet.

Mme. Roland when a girl slept
with a volume of Plutarch's Lives
under her pillow. Our girls, who
are more interested in contempo-
rary society than in the lives of
illustrious Greeks and Romans, put
the last novel under their pillow,
that they may continue the first
thing in the morning the entranc-
ing story of Theo, which " tired na-
ture " compelled them to relinquish
at midnight. We trust they may
never be called upon to display
the lofty heroism of Mme. Roland
that their only tears may be those
shed over the woes of imaginary
heroines, their only sorrows as fic-
titious as those in the novels they
love so well.

Being an unquestionable fact
that the reading millions of this
last quarter of the nineteenth cen-
tury devote themselves to novels
more than to any other class of lit-
erature, novels may be made the
means of great and universal
good. We all know how rapturous-
ly the third tier applauds lofty mor-
al sentiments; how enthusiastically
the " gods " of the gallery sympa-
thize with virtue in distress ; how
the protector of innocence is cheer-
ed and the villain hooted. Let
this natural feeling of the human
heart be turned to account in nov-
els. We have all laughed over
that inimitable scene in The Rivals
between Lydia Languish and Lucy,
her maid, who has been sent to the
circulating library for some late

Have We a Novelist ?

381

novels. Do not some of Lydia's fa-
vorites suggest the names of popu-
lar novels that are in daily request
at our fashionable circulating li-
braries ? the Reward of Constan-
cy, the Fatal Connection, the Myste-
ries of a Heart, the Delicate Dis-
tress, the Tears of Sensibility. Have
we not the Fatal Marriage, the
Empty Heart, a Woman's Heart,
the Curse of Gold, the Mysterious
Engagement, a Clandestine Mar-
riage, etc. ?. Judging from the
books they read, our girls must be-
lieve with Mrs. Malaprop that
" thought does not become a young
woman."

A popular modern novel, one
which nine out of every ten read-
ers pronounce " so nice," " so in-
teresting," " perfectly lovely," is
" made up " something after this
manner: A young girl, one half
of whose character entirely con-
tradicts the other half, engages
herself to some worthy but com-
monplace young man, who is more
familiar with figures in his ledger
than with figures of rhetoric, who
is more apt at writing business let-
ters than love letters, who is better
acquainted with market quotations
than poetical quotations, who
knows more about the Corn Ex-
change than about Lticille in short,
a man who takes a practical, com-
mon-sense view of life. The love
of this romantic girl and this prac-
tical young man is not very ardent.
In the meantime there appears
upon the scene a dark, mysterious,
gloomy, blase' man of the world, be-
lieving in nothing, hoping for no-
thing, and who looks upon ex-
istence as *a curse. He is as hand-
some as an angel, cynical as a fiend,
sceptical as a modern philosopher.
His " noble " brow is often disfig-
ured by a scowl, his " chiselled "
mouth is often marred by a sneer.

In a word, he is a sort of fashion-
able Lara. This scowling, sneer-
ing, cynical gentleman has had an
interesting history : he was the
hero of an unfortunate love-affair.
His heart is a burnt-out volcano,
In his early youth he had loved
madly, wildly loved a woman who
was married to a brute. He tells
this woman his love. She listens
to his story, laments that she is not
free, and bursts into tears. He
takes her in his arms, swearing
that she is the one idolized love of
his heart. At length she says they
must part, but bids him await her
summons. He leaves her, goes
abroad, and tries to forget his sor-
rows in the sparkling Lethe of dis-
sipation. In vain. The sad form
of his loved one is the skeleton at
every feast, and changes every ball
into a funeral. At last his long-
expected summons comes : the be-
ing he loves more than ten thou-
sand lives writes him to come to
her at once; that her husband has
struck her, she is sick, perhaps
dying. He flies to revenge
her wrongs. He finds her dead.
Thus was his love lost, his hopes
crushed, his life wrecked. Lara
tells his story to our romantic girl
one lovely June evening. They
are seated on a moonlit piazza.
The perfume of many flowers fills
the air. The sound of a distant
river is heard. It is a night and a
scene meet for love. In tones,
tender, sad, but sweet, he tells her
his heart has long been ashes ; that
he never thought the fires of love
could again be kindled there, but
she has taught him that there is
peace, happiness, love for even him.
Will she raise this dead heart to
life ? She murmurs, softly but
passionately, " I love you, Arthur."
This is a rather mild and innocent
specimen of the food that modern

382

Have We a Novelist f

novel-readers feed on. The object
of fiction should be to represent
life as it is to " hold the mirror
up to nature."

Just one hundred years since
all London went wild over a new
novel by a nameless writer. The
new novel was Evelina, the name-
less writer was Miss Burney. The
characters in the book were com-
monplace, the scenes uninteresting,
the story unexciting, but it show-
ed, what no other novel of the time
showed, that a book could be live-
ly without being licentious, read-
able without being immoral. No-
thing more clearly proves the pov-
erty of the fictitious literature of
the last quarter of the eighteenth
century than that such a statesman
as Burke should sit up all night to
read such a book as Evelina. No-
thing better proves how prejudice
can sway a strong mind than that
Dr. Johnson should pronounce Miss
Burney superior to Fielding. But
it was extraordinary for a young
lady to write a book one hundred
years ago. It was still more ex-
traordinary for a young lady to
write a novel that could be read
with pleasure. Hence the furort
that it created and the interest that
its author excited. Miss Burney
did not (as too many of our lady
writers do), upon the strength of
one successful book, rush a half-
dozen inferior novels upon the
world. She waited more than four
years before she published her
next work, Cecilia. For Evelina
she received ^20, for Cecilia 2,-
ooo. We have mentioned Miss
Burney, because we consider her
as an excellent example for the
imitation of modern novelists.
She was willing to wait four years

after publishing an unprecedented-
ly successful book before giving
another to the world. But, when
that other work did appear, it was
placed by general consent among
the few classical novels in the Eng-
lish language. Nowadays it is the
fashion for a popular writer to
deluge circulating libraries with
rubbish which, in a few weeks,
finds its way to the junk-shop.
Those who write for posterity
write slowly, correct carefully, and
publish seldom.

When we remember that this is
peculiarly the age of the novel,
that more novels are now published
in New York -in one year than ex-
isted in the whole world one hun-
dred years ago, that the demand
is still greater than the supply, that
we have long since broken the
apron-strings that bound us to our
literary mother, England, in every
other department of letters, we feel
convinced that, at no distant day,
our novelist will come. But he
must be true to his mission, and
give a faithful representation of
American life and manners, not a
" counterfeit presentment." He
must not sacrifice virtue and honor
to present popularity, he must not
pander to the vicious tastes of a
demoralized society, but, like Addi-
son, he must purify the public taste
by elevating it to his own high
ideal. Such a writer would not
violate the sanctities of domestic
love or forget the obligations of
social duty. He might be witty,
but he would never be wanton ; be
might be lively, but he would never
be licentious. Such a writer would
be a benefactor to his country and
to the world.

Anglican Development.

383

ANGLICAN DEVELOPMENT.

DEVELOPMENT implies a germ.
It is the growth of such qualities
or characteristics as were inherent
in the original principle. If the
principle was bad the development
will be bad if, indeed, there be
development at all. Perhaps it
will be truer to say that bad prin-
ciples do not develop; they rather
generate fresh stages of decay.
Corruption is the law of bad prin-
ciples, as development is the law
Of good principles. The " survival
of the fittest " is certainly true in
the moral law, even if it be not
certainly true in the material. Six
thousand years of .human history
have proved that divine princi-
ples " survive "; and their survival
lias been their development, in re-
spect to the sphere of their em-
pire. The principles themselves
do not grow, but the world grows,
and with it divine government.
Dr. Newman, in his work on de-
velopments, has drawn this distinc-
tion very luminously. The church
grows, and its influence extends,
and its machinery is in constant
operation ; yet its developments
are not developments of its princi-
ples so much as cf its qualities
and capacities. They are also de-
velopments of its power. What
the church was on the day of Pen-
tecost she is to-day ; it is her body
which is grown, not her spirit. Di-
vine principles are immutable ;
but because the world always
changes the church must change
too not in her principles but in
her action.

The converse of the devel-
opment of Catholicism is seen in

the development of Anglicanism,
Whereas the church is more pow-
erful in the proportion of antago-
nism, Anglicanism grows weaker
and weaker. Whereas the church
opposes dogma to heresy, Angli-
canism suggests wider religious
liberty. Whereas the church cuts
off every withered branch, Angli-
canism grafts the sticks on to its
trunk. Thus the development of
Anglicanism is in the direction of
corruption ; of. the gravitation of
new errors towards the parent one;
of the union in one society of every
element of dissolution, with a view
to spasmodic vitality. The older
Anglicanism grows the more decay
it engrafts, trying hard to look
vigorous with life by the process
of galvanizing death. This is its
general principle. But, particu-
larly, the modes of its experiment
are as instructive and as lamen-
table as is its principle. Let us
take a late example. Nearly five
thousand Anglicans have just peti-
tioned their queen against the per-
mitting confession in the Church
of England. Their motives may
be left to their own consciences,
though they do allege, by way of
seeming to be in earnest, that "con-
fession is subversive of the prin-
ciples of morality, social order,
and of civil and religious liberty."
Among the petitioners are more
than three thousand clergymen ;
but there are also a vast number
of signatories who are set down as
" Anglicans not classified." Now,
in what way are we to regard this
grave petition as a development of
the principles of Anglicanism? Be

3^4

A nglican Development.

it remembered that confession, as
practised by the Ritualists, was in
itself a development of Tractarian-
ism ; that Tractarianism was a de-
velopment of the reaction which
followed on the decay of Evangeli-
calism ; that Evangelicalism was a
development of the reaction which
followed on the decay of Dry-
Churchism ; and that Dry-Church-
ism was the development of that
Erastianism which the house of
Hanover firmly rooted in the state
church. So that the huge gulf be-
tween confession and Georgeism
has to be bridged over by succes-
sive revolutions, each perfectly na-
tural in its reaction, yet each natu-
rally leading to 'fresh change.
Here we see the distinction be-
tween the development of church
vitality and the development of
heretical restlessness. As we have
said, church principles cannot
change ; it is the action only of
the church which becomes enlarg-
ed, Catholic principles not admit-
ting of development save in the
sense of extension of empire.
But Anglican principles can be
turned upside down, or can be
turned inside out, a score of times.
There is no more affinity between
ritualism and Dry-Churchism than
there was between Evangelical-
ism and Erastianism. There is no
more concord between Dr. Pu-
sey and Canon Ryle than there
was between Bishop Butler and
John Wesley. Not more opposite
was Mr. Simeon to Canon Lid-
don than was Archbishop Whate-
ly to Lady Huntingdon. These An-
glicans represent different church-
es. And yet they all belong to
the same church. What, then, is
the development of Anglican prin-
ciples ?

Obviously there is not develop-
ment at all. The word cannot be

used in a Christian sense. There is
reaction, revolution, novel aposto-
late ; there is not true Christian
development. We may say of the
great French Revolution that it
was a development of (some of)
the principles of Voltaire ; or that
D'Alembert and Diderot, with the
Encyclopaedists generally, planted
seeds which sprang up into the
guillotine. Yet the very point of
such development was that it
sprang not from principle but from
the assertion that principle was not
divine. And so in Anglicanism :
though the assertion was quite dis-
tinct, there was no little affinity in
the results. The theory of Angli-
canism was that the Catholic Church
was not divine, but that Church-of-
Englandism had pretensions to be
so ; or rather, that the divine prin-
ciples of the Catholic Church were
purified to perfection in Church-of-
Englandism. But a corollary of
this theory was that the (divine)
Catholic Church had no more au-
thority than had " Reformers "
an assumption which was fatal, in
argument and in fact, to the immu-
tability of principles. Accordingly
we find that mutability has been
the law of the whole system of An-
glican developments; in other words,
that those developments have been
as utterly contradictory as they
have been numerous beyond com-
putation. Is this a Christian or a
Catholic development, or a devel-
opment of even a philosophic kind ?
It is, on the contrary, proof posi-
tive that Anglican principles are
not divine, for if they were divine
they could not change. It is not
discipline which has changed, nor
external observance, nor the rela-
tions of the church to the state ;
such changes would be compara-
tively unimportant ; it is Christian
doctrine, Christian sacraments,

Anglican Development.

385

priestly powers, and all that con-
stitutes the idea of a church. It is
not that new doctrines have been
added to old doctrines; it is that
old doctrines have been excised.
A perfectly brand-new theology
has supplanted a defunct system ;
and this not only once but fifty

may imply human energy, with rest-
lessness of will and a constant ea-
gerness to keep moving for life's
sake; but as to calling 'it superna-
tural development, the very sug-
gestion appears profane. Those
three thousand clergymen, with
"Anglicans not classified," who

times. So that we have to deny have just petitioned their queen

most positively that there has been
" Catholic " development in that

against confession, have asserted
three things, each of which is abso-

institution which Queen Elizabeth lutely fatal to the assumption of
founded ; and we have to affirm Christian development. They have

that their sole head is the

that reaction and revolution have
proved that institution to be hu-
man. It has been argued and it
is still argued in ritualistic organs
that ritualism must be a Catholic
development ; for its spirit is in the
direction of Catholic truth, and its
labor is to restore Catholic prac-
tice. The answer is that such re-
action is not Catholic ; it is the
aspiration of heresy towards the
church. We do not touch the de-
licate question which belongs ra-
ther to spiritual science the ope-
ration of divine grace outside the
church ; this question does not en-
ter into our argument ; we are
speaking only of the distinctions
between the development of true
theories, and reaction and revolu-
tion from false. Development in
the Catholic Church has meant ex-
pansion of empire, of inherent ca-
pacities of adaptation, of definition
in proportion of need, and of ana-
thema in proportion of desert ; it
has never meant the least change
of principle. Development in An-
glicanism if we must still use the
word has meant new religions
shooting up out of old, with a
chaos of old and new together,
and with no means of arguing
from precedent to sequence what
Anglicanism may become this day
twenty years. This is certain-
ly not Christian development. It
VOL. xxvu. 25

said

state; and this is pure paganism
and impiety. They have said that
they abhor a divine sacrament; and
this is anti-Catholic, anti-Christian.
But they have said, too, that, in the
Church of England, there is to be
both liberty of opinion and the for-
biddingof a Christian practice to the
laity ; and in saying this they have
both cut short development and
cut short its root and its principle.
Development can only mean one
of two things: either the extension
of the empire of one principle, or
the extension of the rights of reli-
gious liberty. That it does not
mean the first in the Church of
England we think that we have suffi-
ciently shown ;-and that it does not
mean the second these memorial-
ists against liberty have taken their
best pains to demonstrate. What
development, then, is left to the
Church of England ? Obviously
there can be none, save the increase
of wrangling and the natural effort
to crush one another's liberty.

Yet there is one new develop-
ment to use the word convention-
ally, and not in its scientific mean-
ing which has proved perhaps
more shocking and more thor-
oughly unchristian than any whfch
has ever gone before. That de-
velopment is modern Broad-Church-
ism. It is distinct from its ante-

386

Anglican Development.

cedent in the Georgian era, being
necessitated by totally different is-
sues. It is a compound of three
things, all kindred in kind and all
mutually assisting one another:
repugnance to sacerdotal preten-
sion ; indifference about dogmatic
truth ; and a fondness for scientific
infidelity. This last is the worst
of the three, but it is in most men
the parent of the other two. It is
an element of Broad-Churchism
which had positively no existence
until after the full development of
Tractarianism. Curiously enough,
the return to the supernatural, and
the rejection of whatever is not
natural, have been almost twin
movements in the Church of Eng-
land. Ritualism having failed to
hold the intellects of shrewd men,
there were only two courses left
open : the one was to, logically,
become Catholics, the other to
deny the supernatural. The birth
of a new school of so-called scien-
tists, which school has sought to
question revelation, took place at
the very crisis when Anglicans
were hesitating whether they ought
to become Catholics or not. It
furnished the exact pretext desir-
ed. If there was doubt about the
evidence for revelation, it was use-
less to adopt all its consequences.
Yet it was felt that it would not
do to throw overboard Christianity,
as at least the most admirable of

it passed current for respectable
Broad-Churchism. What it meant,
and what Broad-Churchism now
means in almost every one of its
adherents, was scepticism in regard
to the Incarnation, but a natural
admiration for natural virtues.
Dean Stanley is one of the doctors
of this school, and preaches ra-
tionalism in Westminster Abbey.
" Christian rationalism " is that
last new abortion which has been
born of the failure of previous sys-
tems. It had no existence in Eng-
land until twenty years ago; that
is, it was not formulated into a
system. In these days it is openly
taught. In the magazines there con-
stantly appear brilliant articles which
are directed against the Christian
revelation, while yet advocating
the beauty of Christian sentiments,
of Christian ethics and philoso-
phy. It is pure rationalism, under
the cloak of respectability. " We
would not shock your pious preju-
dices," these novel theorists seem
to say, "by telling you that Chris-
tianity is false ; on the contrary,
we believe that there was a Christ,
but he was not the Son of God,
he did not rise from the dead, he
was only a most admirable doctor.
Therefore hold fast to his philoso-
phy, which was amiable in the ex-
treme, and exquisitely adapted to
social wants; and, if you like, re-
main an Anglican or a Dissenter,

ethic systems ; so the moral part of or even please your fancies with

Christianity was retained, while the

dogmatic part was put on one side.

Hence a Broad-Churchism which,

while being really quite sceptical,

covered itself with the mantle of

Christian morals. " I deeply regret,"

said an ecclesiastic of this school,

ritualism. You cannot do better
than remain a Christian. The
Christian system is full of beauty.
It is not divine ; it was not reveal-
ed; it has not one shred of the su-
pernatural ; but so useful a system
has never before been developed ;

when he came to the last hours of indeed, it includes the best philo-

his life, " that I ever preached
anything but morals." This was
paganism, virtuous paganism, but

sophies. Therefore we advise you
to stick to your Christianity, as
you would stick to your domestic

Anglican Development.

337

canons of harmony." This kind of
counsel has been given in the Fort-
nightly and in answer to recent
Catholic publications. Its authors
are obviously proud of their dis-
covery. " Christian rationalism "
will just suit a leisure age, which
is too intellectual yet too indiffer-
ent to be Christian.

A recent writer has called mo-
dern Broad-Churchism " a fortui-
tous concourse of indifferentisms."
So it is in its acceptance by the
majority. But there is a very large
section which goes far beyond in-
difference, and which aggressively
attacks Christianity. Whately has
the credit of having started the
principle that intellectual inquiry
is above faith. The first duty of
man is to be intellectual ; and he
must never stand still ifi his inqui-
ries. When convinced that he has
found out the truth, he must pro-
ceed to inquire still more earnest-
ly; always despising the very issues
of those inquiries which he places
below inquiries themselves. Euclid,
when it says Q. E. D., ought to
have made Q. E. D. an hypothesis.
Reasoning is not intended to con-
duct to truth, but should be pur-
sued as in itself the chief good.
Argument is above demonstration,
and search is far superior to dis-
covery. This is the theory of
many modernists. But it has only
lately raised its votaries into a
school. Mr. Kingsley, when he
said, " I am nothing if not a priest,"
had no notion of eliminating Chris-
tianity. Even the Oxford essay-
ists and reviewers shrank from
this. Dr. Arnold, who wished to
remove the Athanasian Creed, did
not wish to remove Christianity.
Bishop Butler, whom some call the
founder of Broad-Churchism, cer-
tainly never dreamed of rank scep-
ticism. The theory of Frederic

Dennison Maurice, that revelation
may be given differently to differ-
ent centuries, did not exclude re-
velation. There was always, until
quite lately, a clinging fast to the
fond truth that Christianity was
a divine dispensation. The last
generation were quite sure of this.
But their grandchildren, if they
happen to live in England, may be
brought up to adopt the new reli-
gion. They may proclaim frankly
that Christianity is a myth, or that
pagan virtue is the best Christiani-
ty. To such a depth has Anglican
" development " now sunk. Fathers
fear not to talk cold-blooded scep-
ticism before their little ones gath-
ered round their knees, and to
poison their young natures with
that most dreadful of inclinations
the doubting the pure instincts of
their own souls. Sons of clergy-
men teach their sons that Chris-
tianity may be true, just as a par-
ticular political theory may be so ;
but that to ally Christian faith
with the honor of God is a sign
of feeble intellect or enthusiasm.
Many thousands of English chil-
dren, sons of educated "Anglicans,"
now prattle their scepticism over
their toys.

One hideous consequence of this
growth of English rationalism
and Broad-Churchism is practical-
ly rationalism is that it has lower-
ed the standard of personal aspira-
tion by removing the certainties of
objects. Protestantism had much
of the sentiment of Catholicity,
though it had little of its dogma or
discipline; but Broad-Churchism
is absolutely without sentiment,
save such as is common to pagans.
What the children of Cicero may
have been the children of Broad-
Churchmen may be. The divine
instinct of faith is reasoned down.
Indeed, Cicero or Terence, Plato or

388

Anglican Development.

Sophocles, had a much higher ob-
ject than the Broad-Churchman ;
for they professed that to know
would be the chief good, where-
as Broad-Churchmen pronounce
knowing the chief evil. It matters
not By what name we call these
men, whether free-thinkers, rational-
ists, sceptics, their aspiration is to
be content with not knowing, in-
stead of regarding knowing as the
chief good. "I think," said an
English gentleman a few weeks
ago, who had graduated at Oxford,
and who has six children, and
whose father was a distinguished
ecclesiastic, "that the best way is
to try to live honorably, and not
occupy one's mind with inquiry."
Thus he and his six children have
gone back two thousand years in in-
tellectual that is, eternal aspira-
tion, minus this ad vantage which the
ancients had over them : that the
ancients wished to know what was
true. Now, it is manifest that the
death of aspiration is the death of
the finest qualities of the human
mind ; and this is specially seen in
the rising generation of English
young men and young women.
Where doubt takes the place of
conviction, and cold content of an
animating faith ; where natural long-
ings are the sole governing princi-
ples, and all that is beyond the
grave is dark cloud ; where the illu-
mination of the intellect by the
full knowledge of God which is
alone possible within the Catholic
Church is deferred to the petty
quibblings of speculation, it must
follow that a lower type of men and
women must succeed to our pro-
found Catholic ancestors. There
is no need to refer here to Christian
morals; they are" the exercise of
obedience to particular laws. Nor
is there any need to speak of mere
worldliness, which is often inciden-

tal, circumstantial. Nor, again, need
we allude to the immense varieties
of natural temperament which bias
people's lives, people's loves. Let
all questions of perfection or im-
perfection be set aside; they are
not the immediate points we are
considering. Human nature is hu-
man nature in every one, be he a
Catholic or a free-thinker ; and the
extent to which human nature may
be brought under control is a dis-
tinct question from " Anglican de-
velopment. " The sole point which
we are now arguing is the intel-
lectual consequences of the theory
and practice of pure Anglicanism,
and the conclusion we arrive at is
that, intellectually speaking, Angli-
canism degrades the human mind.
The development of Anglicanism is
deterioration^ This is its intel-
lectual development. But when
we speak of the intellect we are not
speaking of talent, of any natural
gift, or of industry. We are speak-
ing of intellectual aspiration ; for
the true dignity of intellect is its
object. To separate the intellect
from its object, the dignity of the
end from the means, is impossible
for any really earnest mind, as, in-
deed, it is rationally impossible. If,
then^ the object of an intellect be to
not believe, to eliminate the super-
natural out of the world, or to nar-
row the compass of aspirations, it
follows that the greater is the igno-
rance, the greater is the dignity, of
the human mind. This theory has
been advocated by Mr. Spencer.
" Our highest wisdom and our
highest duty," says this scientist,
" is to regard that through which
all things exist as the unknowa-
ble." So that not only to know
nothing, but to wish to know noth-
ing, of the will of our Creator in
regard to us is the highest aspira-
tion of the trained intellect, whether

A nglican Development.

389

professedly Christian or pagan.
Now, (popular) Broad-Cluirchism
does not go so far as this, for it
would not be "Christian" to do
so. Broad -Churchism affects to be
Christian, though it includes with-
in its pale many sceptics. Yet prac-
tically the assertion that opposite
truths are the same truths, or that
no truth is a truth save to its
votary, is the assertion that there
has not been a revelation, or that
if there has been it cannot be un-
derstood. Regard it as we will,
there is no escaping from the
conclusion that Broad-Churchism
is inimical to Christianity. It is
inimical to divine faith, to divine
love ; to the interior exercise of
Christian virtues ; to the perfecting
those graces of character which are
formed on the pattern of a divine
Lord. In short, it is fatal to sanc-
tity. Instability of Christian faith
and stability of Christian life are
mutually opposed to one another.
The Broad-Churchman may be an
excellent man, but he cannot be
supernaturally a Christian. Chris-
tianity is the divine life of man,
and it presupposes many postulates
and axioms. And since divine
faith in the whole range of divine
truth is the first requisite of the in-
tellectual Christian, it follows that
a Christian who is intellectually
not Christian cannot spiritually
advance to perfection. Thus in-
tellectually and spiritually the
Broad-Churchman is at fault in re-
gard to the Christian life. And
this deterioration is the prevalent
" development " of the later stages
of Anglican change. Broad-Church-
ism is the profession of most Angli-
cans. And in one degree or an-
other it is the ruin of aspiration,
and therefore of the intellectual
Anglican. But young people, whose
intellects are undeveloped, are of

necessity chiefly nourished by their
affections ; and unhappily the en-
feebling of their faith is the enfee-
bling the objects of those affections.
Thus parents ruin children by en-
feebling the objects, and with them
the affections which need objects.
Intellectually and spiritually, sen-
sitively and instinctively, Broad-
Churchism is the ruin of children.
And that huge waste of object, of
affection, of sentiment, which the
disease of Broad-Churchism neces-
sitates, stints the growth, both re-
ligious and natural, of the major-
ity of the rising generation. This
is the last Anglican development.
And it threatens to breed a race of
pagans. There is the profession,
of course, of some sort of Christian
life for ethically every English-
man must be Christian but the
Christianity is a natural sentiment,
it is not a supernatural life. And
must we not call this the intellec-
tual degradation of the heirs of
two thousand years of truth ? The
spasmodic attempts of the Ritual-
ist sect to revive certain fragments
of Catholic truth, or the earnest
aspirations of warm-hearted puri-
tans to love all that they know how
to believe, are both admirable ef-
forts, though not true successes;
and they are the efforts of a com-
paratively small number. Nation-
ally England is Broad-Church,
and the majority of Broad-Church-
men are sceptical. What stage of
development can come next ? If
in Westminster Abbey "Christian
rationalism " is triumphant, what
will become triumphant in country
parishes ? And if the feeble rea-
sonings of Dean Stanley, his serene
platitudes or pretty sentiments, are
pabulum sufficient for the well
educated, what descent into weak-
ness, into indifference or impiety,
may we not look for among the

3QO Saint Francis of Assist.

poorer classes ? Scepticism among of this evil. The final harvest has

the poor means simple grossness, not yet been reaped. Yet it seems

unrelieved by the scholarliness of certain that in the next quarter of

the rich, and uncomforted by even a century we must either see the

the ease of this life. Yet there is English multitude become Catho-

an immense spread of scepticism lies, or we shall see them go down

among the poor. There is even into a state of irreligion which

blatant hostility to all religion, will be simply paganism minus its

Broad-Church ism is the parent gods.

SAINT FRANCIS OF ASSISI.

A SKETCH FROM THE PAKADISO OF DANTE.

BETWEEN Tupino's wave and that which sends
Its flood from blest Ubaldo's chosen seat,

A fertile mount an airy coast extends,
Wherefrom Perugia feels both cold and heat

Through Porta Sole, and behind it weep
Gualdo and Nocera their grievous yoke.

There, on that side of it where most the steep
In its declivity is sharply broke,

Unto the world another Sun was born,
Like this, our daily planet, whose glad face

Beams forth from Ganges, bringing Europe's morn.
Therefore let no man speaking of that place

Ascesi say too briefly by that name
Describing it ; .but let him say the East !

If he would properly enforce its claim.*
Not much his light had from its dawn increased,

When he began throughout his land to inspire
Some comfort from a purity so great ;

Since yet a youth he fought with his own sire

* Dante does not overestimate the importance of this little town of middle Italy to a religious mind.
Every Christian must be piously impressed by the subjoined inscription over the gate of Asiisi which
greets a traveller coming from Rome.

These words are believed to have been the dying benediction of St. Francis as he looked out from his
pallet over the roofs of the mountain city which has become through him a place of pilgrimage :

Benedicta tu civitas a Domino :

Quia in te multi servi Altissimi habitabunt :

Et a te multi animi salvabuntur :

Et de te multi eligentur in regna aetema.

Blessed be thou, O city ! by the Lord !
For in thee many servants there shall dwell

Of the Most High ; and many souls, restored
Through thee to grace, shall be redeemed from hell ;

And many shall be called to their reward,
In everlasting kingdoms, . . . from a cell.

The Socialist Idea. 391

For sake of her against whom Pleasure's gate

Men bar, of her face as of death afraid :
And so before his Father, and the Court

Spiritual, with her a marriage made,
And grew in love the more they did consort.

She, slighted widow ! reft of her first spouse,
More than eleven hundred years remained

Despised, obscure no lover paid his vows
To her till this one her affection gained ;

It naught availed (to move men in their choice)
To read how Caesar found her undismayed

With poor Arnyclas, hearing his dread voice ;
Nor aught availed the courage she displayed,

And the fierce constancy which so sufficed,
That while below heart-broken Mary prayed

Her lofty spirit climbed the cross with Christ.
But, lest my sense I too obscurely screen,

Take for these lovers of my large discourse
Francis and Poverty, for them I mean.

Their concord and glad looks, the gentle force
Of love and wonder, their demeanor sweet,

Were cause that holy thoughts did much increase;
Bernard first bared his venerable feet

To run behind him, after so great peace,
And in his running felt himself too slow :

O unknown riches ! O thou good most true !
After the spouse whose bride enchanteth so

Egidius bares his feet, Silvester too.

THE SOCIALIST IDEA.*

A MODERATE degree of attention to bring to the surface the seething

bestowed on the signs of the times elements from below by a series of

apparent in society, and a consid- eruptions recurring at shorter and

eration of the social convulsions shorter intervals. This social evil,

which among ourselves seem only which for nearly a century has

to end that they may begin again, subjected us to periodical revolu-

will make it impossible not to per- tions, as certain diseases subject a

ceive, within the bosom of this so- patient to periodical fits or crises;

ciety, some permanent, chronic evil, this evil, whose many roots reach

seated at its very core, and ready back to causes more or less remote

* From the French of Pere Felix, published as *nd more Or leSS appreciable J this

an article in the Revue Catholique des Institu- evil, which marches through the

tions et du Droit (April number. 1878). The arti- , , r -. >*, , -,

cle is a reproduction of one lecture out of a series, WOl'ld of tO-day like the humcane

on the subject of socialism, given at Grenoble, and that SWCepS OVCT cities and plains,

shortly to be published entire by Jouby-Roger, Rue . , . ,

des Grands Augustins, Pans. and which WC SC6 Uprooting prill-

392

The Socialist Idea.

ciples in its passage, corrupting
morals, and undermining society
for society is directly and particu-
larly threatened by its stormy pro-
gres.s ; this social evil I give it the
name it gives itself is socialism :
socialism that is, a body of doc-
trines, passions, and plots that at-
tack and would fain uproot the
actual social system, or, if you
prefer this definition, armed, pas-
sionate, and doctrinal aggression
against society ; socialism, which
forty years ago the mass of earnest
thinkers scarcely thought it worth
while to take into account, so hid-
den was it then in the depths of mere
theorizing, and so dimly perceived
by a few thoughtful men, who saw
it half covered by the veil of uto-
pianism; socialism, which practical
men of that time, in their Olympic
repose, deemed too self-condemned
by its obvious extravagance to be
capable of doing harm; socialism,
which even now still finds a few
self-styled conservatives so blinded
as to join hands and conspire poli-
tically with it for the furtherance
of their own plans; socialism, which,
emancipated from the region of
dreams and speculations, and real-
ized for a moment on the burning
stage of contemporary history, has
shown us its hideous form by
the light of incendiary fires, and
still points out to us, by the light of
a threatening present, the possibili-
ty of a frightful future.

Let us begin at the beginning,
and ask ourselves the question,
What is Socialism? I hasten, at
the outset of a subject which touch-
es on such delicate ground, to state
that I intend taking my stand
above politics or party spirit. I
fight only under two flags, that of
society and that of Christianity.
Even in the harshest strictures I
may make I shall attack things,

not men things which we are
bound to oppose, not men, whom
we are bound to love.

To come to a full understanding
of contemporary socialism it is
necessary to look at it under a
triple aspect as an idea, as a pas-
sion, and as an action ; as an
idea which gains ground, a passion
which kindles itself, an action
which organizes itself more and
more under our eyes; as an idea
which gains ground by every chan-
nel controlled by the contemporary
press ; as a passion which is enkin-
dled by every phase of contemporary
realities; as an action which or-
ganizes itself and conspires by
every lever known to contempo-
rary revolutionism that is, in
three words, the socialist idea, the
socialist passion, the socialist ac-
tion. It is these that we must
fathom and examine, if ^vve would
understand what socialism is and
means. I shall be satisfied if I
succeed in developing this time
what is socialism as an idea, and
what is the scope of this idea;
in what does the socialist idea
consist, and what are its immediate
consequences.

It is necessary to grasp the na-
ture of the parent idea which nurs-
ed socialism in its bosom, and has
brought it forth as it appears to-
day. Such a movement in the
world of reality would be inexplic-
able without a corresponding, an-
terior movement in the world of
thought. Ideas, in the social sys-
tem, are as germs in the animal and
vegetable systems, and germs in a
very practical sense, for they are the
seed of things that come to light later
on, and grow according to the kind
of soil and the degree of heat with
which they come in contact. So-
cialism, as a whole, though intelli-
gible as the result of causes not

The Socialist Idea.

393

belonging to the world of ideas, is,
however, the product of an idea
which has grown and thriven long
before it came to the surface. I
do not mean by this the body of
ideas which has helped to create it,
but its own parent idea, that which,
if I may say so, constitutes the
socialist credo. It is true that, if
we consider socialism in what ap-
pears its only living and real aspect,
we are brought face to face with
something quite alien to the world
of ideas. What we see is not un-
like a lion or a tiger obeying its
instincts and roaring in the desert
for its prey. We have no longer to
face a doctrinal socialism with
pretensions to a plausible theory,
but a brutal socialism claiming no
right save that of might ; not a
dreamy socialism such as forty
years ago still carried away gener-
ous enthusiasts, but an aggressive
socialism hurrying by force to the
fulfilment of its programme ; not a
contemplative socialism parading
through the world of ideas a Pla-
tonic love for humankind, but a
destructive socialism eager to
carry through the ruins of the world
of realities the bloody banner of its
brotherhood. What we see before us
might be more fitly called the so-
cialism of torch and dagger than
the socialism of ideas and doc-
trines.

Still, it cannot be denied that so-
cialism heralded itself above all as
an idea which was to make the
mightiest revolution in the midst
of humanity that the world had
ever seen. What was this idea,
and what, in this era of social rev-
olution, were its starting-point, its
path, and its goal ? I have long at-
tentively followed the course of this
new planet, and marked in the
changing sky of our social world
its chief appearances. I saw it

rise as in the dawn of a bright
morning, then grow amid the clouds
of a thousand systems more or less
important or obscure, then at last
reach its zenith, and throw over
our modern society tl baneful
light in which we see it arrayed at
present.

At first the socialist idea gave
itself out as the idea of social re-
form ; later on in its progressive
movement it became the idea of
social transformation ; and now that
it has fully developed itself, it
stands forth as the idea of social
destruction. If we follow up the
stream of theories which distin-
guished the beginning of this cen-
tury and the end of the last, we
shall find that the parent idea of
socialism first embodied the long-
ing for social reform, and tended
to restore universal harmony to the
new world. To listen to our pre-
tended prophets and Messiahs, one
would be led to believe that the
great law of universal harmony in
the social world had been lost
amid conflicting human interests,
and needed to be restored or re-en-
acted ; while the systems of philoso-
phy of that period insisted that
within the near future a regenera-
tion of human nature and a social
reform would take place such as
the world had never seen or history
chronicled a greater reform, in-
deed, than that accomplished by the
divine Reformer in behalf of poor
humanity. These philosophical
systems, full of a dreamy poetry,
were nothing but humanitarian
idyls, delightful pastorals, pointing
in the future, through a tinted
medium, to a rose-colored humani-
ty smiling under blue skies and an
unclouded sun a humanity free
from all the contradictions and an-
tagonisms of the past, and, like
the planets, or better even than

394

The Socialist Idea.

they, revolving round its centre in
the undisturbed and beatific equili-
brium of universal harmony. Har-
mony was everywhere in these fair
dreams and easy Utopias : there
was the^armony of all minds in
truth, the harmony of all hearts in
love, the harmony of will in liberty,
the harmony of passions in pleasure,
the harmony of interests in com-
munity, the harmony of labor in
organization, the harmony of men
in brotherhood, the harmony of
families in the state, and, finally, the
harmony of all peoples and nations
in the unity of a government that
should rule all alike. The omni-
arch, or universal monarch, of this
universal society appeared in the
distance, in the centre of the
human world, as the moderator and
ruler of this gigantic harmony of
brotherly nations. In a word,
there was nothing but harmony,
everywhere and in all things, har-
mony easy and spontaneous, spring-
ing up from, and nourishing natural-
ly in, the regular play of all human
forces, replaced as they would be,
so said this new language, in their
normal motion around their har-
monious centre. This alluring
theory, sung by all the bards of the
social philosophy, or rather poetry,
of that time, marched triumphant-
ly along its flower-strewn path,
escorted by all the errors and nega-
tions of which it was the result and
the essence, and proclaiming to the
gaping world : " I am the revelation
of the new world. I am Social
Reform."

It is worth noticing that while
the working of so many unhealthy
doctrines gave birth, as to its
natural product, to this growing
socialist idea, so the new world .of
men seemed to grow towards it by
every breath it emitted, to call for
it and- drink it in by the diseased

organs of its own unhealthy body.
The idea of reform is always and
will always be captivating to hu-
manity, because there is in humani-
ty always something to be reform-
ed; but at that time the state of
the popular mind, by enhancing its
prestige, was preparing for this no-
tion a greater influence over the
rising and future generations than
it had ever won in foregoing ages.

Humanity was then bleeding
from, the pitiless wounds made by
the doctrines of the eighteenth
century. Men's souls, especially in
the lower strata of society, cruelly
felt the void created by the Vol-
tairian creed of individualism.
These generations, cut adrift from
Christianity, felt themselves smoth-
ered by the monster of human
selfishness. Humanity, literally
disinherited of the love of God, was
dying of the selfishness of Voltaire.
From the heart of this diseased
society came a despairing cry
for love, brotherhood, association.
Then started up innovators on all
sides to turn this great need of the
human soul to their own account.
They proclaimed universal associa-
tion through universal love and as
Newton had reconciled by the dis-
covery of gravitation the forces of
earth and air, so they pretended to
build en the attraction of love a
permanent harmony between hu-
man nature and society. Such was
the first appearance on our stage
of this comparatively new element,
socialism i.e., the general and yet
undetermined formula of social
reform. Its claims, thus put
forward in public, with a populari-
ty they had never reached before,
startled many men, even those
thinkers who had scarcely suspect-
ed the existence of such ideas. It
was, however, no new notion, and
had lain undeveloped in society

The Socialist Idea.

395

certainly as far back as the begin-
ning of this century. It glimmer-
ed forth among the fogs of socialist
metaphysics wherein Fourier and
Saint-Simon groped after their ideal
of universal reform ; it grew under
the pens of writers in reviews and
newspapers celebrated in their day
rash innovators who carelessly
questioned every basis of human
society, and propounded theories
whose fulfilment involved nothing
less than a radical change of the
organic conditions of society, in
the magical name and under the
shield of social reform.

The world of ideas had never
witnessed such a confusion of
mind, such an upsetting of fixed
landmarks, such a perversion of
language. An intellectual orgy
gravely took its seat in the social
world under the name and disguise
of science; absurdities dubbed
themselves philosophies, folly call-
ed itself reform j indeed, the pas-
sage of these eccentric theories and
these grotesque Utopias was one of
the great surprises that attended
my curious and truth-seeking youth.
They were a source of pure stupe-
faction to me. The socialist idea
hitherto had been almost confined
to the exclusive domain of philo-
sophical abstractions and social
ideology. After long wandering
through the twilight of various
conflicting systems, it emerged
from these doubtful regions, where
only a few innovators perceived
its presence, and came down to
the level of the people, stirred as
the latter were by new aspirations
and hopes. From henceforward
the socialist idea, the idea of social
reform, was not only a theory
broached by philanthropists, dis-
cussed by scientists and philoso-
phers, and taught by intellectual
apostles from tribune and printing-

office, but it became a living, act-
ing reality, a watchword of the la-
boring classes, a personal question
among workmen. Once there, ri-
pening as ideas do quickly in the
fervid soul of the people, and push-
ing on towards its -development, it
strode forward apace, its evolution
only waiting an opportunity to per-
fect itself abundantly. The peo-
ple, little used to the hair-splitting
of socialist metaphysicians, soon
saw either that all this talk
meant nothing or that it meant
a fundamental transformation of
actual social life, and consequently
the road to, or, as it was grandilo-
quently called, the new birth of, a
state of comfort and power hither-
to unknown. Each one made the
dazzling formula, " Society must
be reformed," cover his own spe-
cial grievances or aspirations, his
pet theories, his individual hopes
and dreams. It soon became pat-
ent to all that even the apostles of
the new idea meant not only that
the new world should be a reform-
ed one, in the common acceptation
of the word, but a radically reform-
ed that is, a transformed world.
The fathers of the socialist idea
had already become aware that the
present organization of society
presented insurmountable obsta-
cles to the realization of their fa-
vorite law of harmony as applied
to their theory of a future society ;
they felt that the organic condi-
tions of society as it is were invin-
cibly opposed to their idea, which,
in order to triumph in the end,
must become not only a reform^
nay, not only a transformation, but
such a transformation as should
change from the very roots all ex-
isting vital conditions of society.
To reform was not enough ; they
determined to transform. One idea
had thus quickly displaced or sue-

396

The Socialist Idea.

ceeded the other. Stripped of the
wordy disguises in which it still af-
fected to wrap itself, it was simply
a theoretical denial of society, such
as society has been since men have
lived together; a radical change of
the social mechanism adopted in
principle and in practice by all na-
tions and acknowledged in all ages ;
a triumphal progress of revolution
indeed, social revolution itself.

Up to that period men who
worked on the passions of the
masses to compass their own am-
bitious ends had contented them-
selves with handling political prob-
lems, stirring up political revolu-
tions. The game played by leaders
of riots or leaders of parties consist-
ed in changing a monarchy for a re-
public, a republic for an empire, an
empire for a monarchy, and one spe-
cies of monarchy for another; but
this was child's play to the growing
power and genius of socialism. So-
cial revolution, as set forth by the
socialist idea, had far other ends in
view ; it did not care to stir the
surface only of things, but to under-
mine, or, as we say now, revolution-
ize, their foundations. This is the
difference between socialism, or so-
cial revolution, and political revo-
lutionism, properly so-called ; the
former seeks to disembowel society
itself. Common that is, purely
political revolutionism only affects
the surface of society ; it strides over
the ruins of governments shattered
by the popular arm ; it overturns
a throne, then another ; drives out
one dynasty, then a second ; cre-
ates a republic, then another ; im-
provises a constitution ; plays, if I
may use the expression, among the
dust of institutions, whether demol-
ished thrones, torn constitutions, bro-
ken governments or legislatures;
it grows excited and drunk with en-
thusiasm and ambition in the midst

of these shifting scenes of the poli-
tical world, on whose stage actors,
now hissed, now applauded, by no
rule but the arbitrary passion of
the multitude, play ever-varying
parts parts barren and epheme-
ral, and the common result of which
is to wear out those who play them,
to sicken them of men and things,
to make them drop from the stage
stripped of their prestige, and too
often covered with popular deri-
sion, as despairing actors are wont
to fly from the theatre where they
have hopelessly "broken down."
It was thus that between the tides
of opinion and action political
revolution pursued its course, leav-
ing ruin and bloodshed in its
track.

But after the flood of these mon-
archies and republics, these con-
stitutions and governments, these
kings and emperors, these presi-
dents and dictators, these ministers
and lawgivers ; after all these sledge-
hammer blows of force, these coups
(fe'tat, or these sensational changes
on a stage where revolution had
long since decreed that no govern-
ment, no constitution, no statesman
should ever remain permanently ;
behind what we may call the politi-
cal phenomenon, one thing remained
firm namely, society. It was always
fundamentally the same, and stood
on a substantial, unalterable basis,
above which, but not reaching it nor
attempting to injure it, flowed the
tide of political revolution ; it had
mechanisms more or less different
in appearance-in each century, but
the same vital permanent condi-
tions ; it kept its necessary balance
between authority and liberty, be-
tween progress and stability; it
guarded its three treasures, which
to destroy is to kill society />.,
the family, religion, and property.

This is the secret that explains

The Socialist Idea.

397

why, after so many ruins heaped
up and so many battles won, the
genius of revolution could not rest
content. It soon perceived that in
spite of its gigantic efforts, and
even after the immensity of its tri-
umphs, it had only achieved a sur-
face work. Its dreams of govern-
ments more or less constitutional
and representative, more or less
monarchical or republican, had
collapsed with the ruins of these
governments, thrown down by its
own hand ; it felt the emptiness
and disappointment of these politi-
cal revolutions, whose commonest
result was an increase of wretched-
ness and a decrease of peace.
Then it said to itself: I will go
further ; I will dig below the very
foundations of this society, which I
find everlastingly the same, with its
old vices, its incurable abuses, and
its obstinately recurring tyrannies.
I will reach its heart, the very
source of its life, the very core of
its being. There I shall discover
the true vital principle of human
society, and, whether it will or no,
I will force it to take part in outer
actions, and take its place among
the realities of history. I will not
only reform but transform this rot-
ten and disorganized society.

Thus the idea of transformation
quickly superseded that of reform ;
but even a transformation of the
conditions of social life, in the or-
dinary acceptation of the term,
would not have contented the thor-
oughgoingness of the socialist idea.
No doubt it was better than reform,
for it was a fuller development of
the socialist principle, but it did
not constitute a perfect develop-
ment, it was not the ultimatum of
the idea. Transformation was not
enough in the eyes of radical so-
cialism, or, rf you like the term bet-
ter, socialist radicalism ; destruction

was better, and, to speak plainly r
its conception of the former was
equivalent to the latter. Socialism
had dissected the body of society,
examined and analyzed it in all
directions, and then . pronounced
its verdict in these words, brimful
of supreme contempt : " Rottenness !
Let the corpse perish, and the true
social body, moulded by our hands,
spring from its remains." - Socialism
had examined and probed the still
standing building of our past and
present social polity, and had said :
" It is evident to all that the
building is bad ; better rebuild it,
from cellar to attic. The human
abode is not stable ; to buttress it
is useless ; let us destroy it. This
is no longer the time to reform, or
even transform ; nothing short of
destruction is of any avail. Let
the old social Babylon crumble
and decay, and from her fruitful
ruins, if needful even watered with
blood, let the new Jerusalem of
society come forth. Social reform
was the dream of our fathers ; so-
cial transformation is but another
dream, a generous fallacy, but still
a fallacy, attempting impossibilities
and ending in nothingness. A
ruin cannot be reformed nor a
crumbling shed transformed ; we
see only a building to pull down
and a building to put up. What I
will do is this : I will use the popu-
lar arm to destroy, and on the
ruins of the past I will erect the
edifice of the future."

The socialist idea, in its logical
march irresistible as fate, had
reached its inevitable goal. It be-
gan by deciding to reform, then it
said, " I will transform" and fin-
ally it announced boldly, "I will
destroy, shatter, and demolish."
The beginning was reform with its
alluring Utopias of social unity and
harmony ; the middle stage was

398

The Socialist Idea.

transformation, with specious pro-
mises of improvement and hopes
of a renewed social youth ; the end-
ing is destruction, with open threats
of anarchy and social annihilation.
It is impossible to cherish illusions
any longer on this subject : the re-
formers glided into transformers
and the transformers coolly turned
destroyers, not in haste and pas-
sion, but in cold blood, theoreti-
cally, we might almost say dogmati-
cally; for radical destruction, or
the uprooting of the existing social
order, is the foremost doctrine of
the syllabus of the socialist idea,
which is itself the most perfect
outcome of the revolutionary idea.
Living socialism that is, social-
ism personified in its real repre-
sentatives no longer makes any
mystery as to this, and cannot pre-
tend to feel itself injured or calum-
niated if we reproduce and lay bare
its own formulas. It is its own
voice that cries aloud over the
world : " Society as it is must per-
ish, and from its ruins a new so-
cial system shall and must spring
forth." - The first prophets and
teachers of the socialist idea had
hoped that the idea in itself, and
for its own sake, would be accept-
ed at once, and that humanity
would spontaneously open its heart
to it, as it does its eyes to the rays
of the sun. The disciples have far
outrun the programme of their mas-
ters; they no longer mention the
ideal revolution, and if the ideal
alone, preached by word of mouth,
should not be strong enough to
fulfil the programme at any given
time, they mean to back it with the
strong hand, and force it by vio-
lence to become a fact and hasten
towards its definitive triumph. So-
cial destruction is at present the
latest phase of the socialist idea,
which boldly comes forward, pro-

gramme in hand, and bids us ac-
cept it and help to build up its
rule as an inevitable necessity. It
summons living society publicly
and contemptuously to its bar, and
bids it be ready to be demolished
and afterwards re-established ac-
cording to the fancy of this evil
spirit, powerful indeed to destroy,
but helpless to create.

Thus it is that this doctrine if
it can be called a doctrine so phi-
lanthropic at the outset, so peace-
ful, so brotherly ; this doctrine, which
announced itself as a new gospel of
peace, freedom, and brotherhood,
has come to speak sternly of war,
of massacre, of destruction ; has
sworn that no matter what opposi-
tion it raises and what blood it
costs, the socialist idea shall tri-
umph, and has decided that if it
be necessary to reach the throne at
which it aims over ruins and over
corpses, it will stride over ruins
and over corpses ! Let the human
sacrifices seal, if need be, the bloody
covenant of the new social order.

It will scarcely be believed that
this work of social destruction has
been compared to the work of
Christ, the reformer and transform-
er of society. It is so, however ;
and this new era which is before
us has actually been likened to the
social transformation, or rather re-
storation, achieved by Christianity
as if anything could be more fla-
grantly antagonistic to the great
transformation worked by the
Christian idea than this pretended
transformation dreamed of and
sung by the prophets of the social-
ist idea ; as if a revolution brought
about by force and violence could
ever be compared to a restoration
accomplished through love and
self-sacrifice !

Yoii reformers and innovators,
do you forget that Jesus Christ at-

The Socialist Idea.

399

tacked nothing by force and de-
stroyed nothing by violence; that
in his divine wisdom he was con-
tent to sow truth in men's souls
and love in their hearts as the hus-
bandman casts seed into the fur-
row ; and that truth and love have
done their work among humankind
as germs in the earth, as the blood
in our veins, as electricity through-
out nature that is, in mysterious
silence, with a strength full of gen-
tleness and patience, yet with un-
erring certainty ? You forget that
if Christ cursed the unjust rich
man that is, wealth abusing its pri-
vileges, wealth without love, com-
passion, or sympathy for others
yet he never dreamt of leading the
poor against the rich, but simply
placed between the two the power-
ful but x .sweet link of charity. You
forget that if he delivered captives
from their bonds and slaves from
their chains, he never incited mas-
ter or slave to wage fratricidal war
on each other, and that it was only
as his teaching sank into the heart
of the master that the fetters of
the slave set free through love
dropped of themselves, as ripe fruit
drops from the tree in its good
time and season. You forget that
if the divine Reformer came to
found a new society, it was by a
new creation, and not through de-
struction ; that he came to rehabi-
litate even bodily society while he
created the true kingdom of souls ;
and that, far from breathing into it
the spirit of social hatred and jea-
lousy, he came to restore, or rather
found within it, the rule of love
and social self-denial. The very
goal which the socialist idea has
reached by identifying itself with
the idea of social destruction is it-
self the best proof of the irrecon-
cilable antagonism between social-
ism and Christianity.

I do not say that each individual
in the ranks of contemporary so-
cialism defines and adopts this pro-
gramme of destruction so clearly
and so resolutely as I have stated.
Under all standards there are many
men who neither see nor under-
stand where the chiefs whose or-
ders they obey are leading them
honest, upright men, duped by vil-
lains ; passionate lovers of good,
while strayed and lost in the great
army of evil. I fully admit these
exceptions, possible, nay, probable,
everywhere; and, indeed, why deny
their existence ? Nevertheless, the
mainspring of socialist action in
our day lies in the idea of destruc-
tion, and the problem which con-
temporary socialism no longer seeks
to veil is simply this : " What are
the speediest means for completely de-
molishing the old structure of society,
which is already bursting asunder in
all its parts ; and when down, what is
to be done to rebuild from its ruins
the edifice of the new social order 1"
Yes, such is the problem whose so-
lution socialism boasts of finding,
even though it be through rivers of
blood and mountains of corpses ;
and yet this social body, rotten as
it is said to be, still rests on strong
foundations as old as humanity it-
self.

Property is its material founda-
tion, the family its human founda-
tion, and religion its divine foun-
dation ; and therefore the logical
march of the socialist idea drives it,
like fate, to clamor not only for the
reform and transformation but for
the ruin and destruction of these
three things on which rests the
whole of society, religion, family, and
property. I do not hesitate to de-
clare it, in spite of the vehement
denials of men still unaccountably
blinded to facts : the real scope of
the socialist idea when pursued to

40O

The Socialist Idea.

its logical conclusion is the radical
transformation or the utter uproot-
ing of these stable and ancient in-
stitutions, as old as human society
itself -property, family, and religion.
and thereby the fall of our whole
social system, as of a building on
its shattered foundations and its
broken supports. There are many
theoretical socialists who do not
dare to exhibit their theory in
terms whose brutality seems to ex-
ceed even the grotesqueness of the
idea they embody, and many who
still cling to a few illusions and
have a regard for decency. Such
as" these protest against what they
call our calumnies and exaggera-
tions. Destroy? they exclaim; we
do not wish to destroy, we only
long to transform. There was a
time when, with mistaken faith in
the honesty of purpose I loved to
find or imagine everywhere, I, and
you perchance, were deceived by
this specious excuse, these alluring
formulas ; but to-day it is impossi-
ble to mistake the sense of this for-
mer mystery ; it has too disas-
trously been revealed to us.

The socialist idea directly at-
tacks the principle of property that
is, individual possession of one's
fields, house, capital, or patrimony,
so happily called the domain ; pro-
perty that is, in the common order
of things, the fruit of individual
labor or of the labor and self-de-
nial of one's forefathers ; property
that is, the pledge of man's inde-
pendence, *and the sign of his king-
ship in his own home, small as it
may be ; property, which in all na-
tions and ages has been sheltered
under the triple shield of nature,
justice, and religion ; property, the
material basis of society indeed, its
necessary condition and the link
by which the family is bound to its
native soil as the tree by its roots ;

property, always and everywhere
looked upon as sacred and inviola-
ble among nations who have claim-
ed the honors of civilization ; pro-
perty, which all societies have ac-
knowledged even while appearing
to deny its rights, violating them
by force; property, in a word,
which is a thing so familiar to us
that the least infraction of its laws
would cause us a remorse only to
be allayed by reparation. Such is
the nature of property ; and shall
we believe the teaching of this new
jurisprudence, the propagators of
these new laws, who maintain that
there is no question of destroying
but only of reforming, or at most
transforming, the nature of prop-
erty ?

In what does this miraculous,
proposed transformation consist ?
The expedient is very simple
namely, to strip the mass of own-
ers in order to constitute one sole
and supreme owner; for it is obvi-
ous, after all, that some one must
still possess the earth. This legal
spoliation, no doubt, will be a work
of time, but it will be sure. And
who is the new owner to be, in
whom the right of universal proper-
ty shall be vested, and on whose
shoulders will be flung the burden
of universal wealth ? The state,
forsooth ; the god-state, the " state "
which may be an honest man to-day,
but to-morrow may be a rogue ; the
god-state, whom infatuated philoso-
phers are constantly working to ag-
grandize, to make all-powerful, and
for which they strive night and day
to win more worshippers. This is
to be the one owner and possessor
of all; the state shall have all, or-
ganize and work all, distribute and
apportion all, be the centre, the foun-
tain head, and the goal of all ; while
in this universal domain where the
state controls all, this huge arsenal

The Socialist Idea.

401

where the state produces, executes,
or orders all, society shall become
a human hive, vast as the earth it-
self, but -in which every individual
shall be reduced, as a terse writer
has put it, to the size and functions
of a bee. This is the masterpiece
elaborated by the socialist idea the
dream of universal property, which
is likewise a dream of universal lev-
elling, universal stuntedness. In-
dividual responsibility or initiative
is swept away ; human kingship
and free-will disappear; domestic
society is left without a material
basis, and even public society with-
out a foundation ; the right of all
is practically the right of none, and
the result is universal slavery to
universal despotism. Such is the
miracle of this transformation of
property, so glibly promised by the
socialist theory to future genera-
tions ; and though all who fight un-
der the banner of legal spoliation
do not carry thus far their social
ideal, and do not look forward to
such absolute communism, all are
on the road to it by the very fact
of vesting in their god-state the
right of increasing and decreasing,
making or unmaking, individual
property under the name of taxes
on the rich and rates for the poor.
What astonishes me above all in
this respect is to see in certain
men, the most interested personally
in the upholding of the conserva-
tive principle of property, a certain
pandering to, or half-support of,
this eminently anti-social idea.

The same socialism which at-
tacks the immemorial constitution
of property attacks likewise the
immemorial constitution of the
family. The socialist idea attacks
specially in the family, together
with the principle of property,
the three things which are its
pride, its strength, and its stability
VOL. xxvn. 26

namely, unity ^ indis solubility, and in-
heritance, which, it is needless to
say, uphold its permanence and per-
petuity. First of all, it attacks
unity, and unity in trinity : one
man, one woman, and one whole
family springing from both ; one
life produced by two sources fused
into one a unity which, in the
family as everywhere - else, is the
essential condition of harmony, or-
der, beauty, and happiness. This
unity does not please the socialist.
An advocate of free morals and free
love, he prefers polygamy, as allow-
ed by the Koran and practised by
Moslems, to the conjugal unity en-
joined by the Gospel and sanction-
ed by the teaching and practice
of Christendom. Socialism attacks
the indissolubility that is, the per-
manence of the marriage tie. Such
an indissolubility before God and
before the state is in its eyes only
the civil and religious endorsement
of slavery, the legal and theological
confiscation of liberty. The apos-
tles of free love are unable to un-
derstand the principle which binds
two human beings to each other
for ever and tinder no matter what
circumstances. What revolution
allows to society socialism would
fain make accessible to the family
that is, perpetual change and un-
limited option concerning divorce
and separation. Socialism claims
unblushingly, in the name of nature
and progress, the revolutionary
right of a husband to send away his
wife, and a wife to leave her hus-
band, as easily as a nation disposes
of its sovereigns and its govern-
ments a right equivalent to a per-
manent revolution in the family
and the state, and bearing as its
fruit the abolition of inheritance.
Inheritance means the tradition of
a patrimony ; it is the pledge of the
stability and perpetuity of domestic

4O2

the Socialist Idea.

or home society; bereft of it, the
family, without moorings in the
past or hopes in the future, be-
comes, like the individual, an ephe-
meral phenomenon, gone in a breath
and holding to nothing but the
present hour. This right of inher-
itance has its place in God's plan
and man's laws ; it represents to
coming generations the labors, the
benefits, the sacrifices of their fore-
fathers; it extends the influence of
the latter over their descendants.
But socialism does not shrink from
questioning it in theory and at-
tacking it in practice. How, it
asks, should the will of a dying
man be able to transmit beyond his
grave a domain to his posterity ?
Down with a privilege which gives
man, when he is a corpse, a post-
humous omnipotence in contra-
diction with the very condition of
the dead, and injurious to the free-
dom of action of the living ! So-
cialism thus saps every conserva-
tive family principle, and the spirit
it instils into the human mind is
destructive to the foundations of
home society, in order that it may
prepare a clearer path to the even-
tual destruction of public society.

It is scarcely necessary to follow
the socialist idea throughout its
destructive march in order to real-
ize the havoc it makes of domestic
society; a glance at its practice is
enough. Look at the homes and
hearths where this idea has seated
itself and taken practical possession.
What homes, great God ! and
what morals; they might astonish
even a heathen. The acknowledged
reign of license and disorder, sanc-
tioned by a so-called doctrine, and
careless of any outward badge of
respectability, whether civil or re-
ligious ; a boasting display of a
foulness for which the very faculty
of blushing is lost, for the social-

ist idea, breathing its poison over
these hearths, has extinguished the
lamp of domestic virtue, and tossed
into the mire not only the ideal of
Christian perfection but that of
moral blamelessness. No wonder
that men preaching such doctrine
and practising such morals should
be eager to transform the family ;
they do it, indeed, in a strange and
appalling manner by turning the
sanctuary of honor and virtue into
a sink of corruption and vice.

Furthermore,! maintain that they
would turn the home, the school of
faith and religion, into a school of
unbelief and impiety ; for socialism,
which detests the family and pro-
perty, hates religion still worse, be-
cause it is the chief bulwark of
property and the family. It hates
religion as such not only this or
that religion, but the very principle
of communication between God
and man, and the main object of
the socialist idea is to transform
that is, destroy this element in man-
kind. The ^/ has gone forth, the
watchword is given, " No more reli-
gion in humanity " ; and the ideal
of progress, as pointed out to the
world by the socialist, is simply
the suppression of all religion,
which he dubs with the unpopular
names of fanaticism, superstition,
clericalism. The cry is not only
no more property, no more family,
no more homestead, no more
hearth ; but the frantic cry takes
up other matters and echoes to the
ends of the world a more sweeping
denunciation : No more religion,
no more altars, no more priests,
no more churches, no more ritual,
no more oblation, no more cere-
monies, no more religious festivals.
The like has never before been
seen in history; it could not have
been even conceived. This public
attempt to drive out all religion

The Socialist Idea.

403

from humanity in the name of pro-
gress is an absolutely unparalleled
phenomenon, not only within but
beyond Christianity. It is a mon-
ster in human history, the deformity
of the nineteenth century. Our
age will appear before history with
this shameful inscription on its
forehead, which will sufficiently
brand it in the opinion of after
ages : " I, the nineteenth century,
have proclaimed by the voice
of a million of atheists, as the law
and condition of all progress, the
abolition of all religion."

And yet you will find religion at-
tending the birth of every new so-
ciety ; you will meet it at the source
of every growing society, and will
perceive it shining and triumphing
when that society has reached its
utmost greatness and perfection, for
a great heathen writer has truly
called it the motive force of all
things : Omnia rcligione moventur.
Religion is to the world of men
what sap is to the plant, blood to
the animal, electricity to the system
of nature an indispensable condi-
tion of life, of motion, of fruitful-
ness. Who would dare undertake
to drive fipm the earth and uproot
from the soul of man this divine
link between God and human na-
ture, this boundary of human life,
this vivifying force which permeates
all, fertilizes all, directs and con-
trols all ?

Why, I ask these frantic demol-
ishers, why not pluck electricity
from nature, sap from the plant,
and blood from our veins? For it
is true that it were easier for the
tree to live without sap, the plant
without root, the body without
blood, than it is for the human
soul to exist without religion re-
ligion, that need of something di-
vine,-that longing after something
durable, that step towards the infi-

nite ; religion, that natural breath
of the soul, as the air is of the
body, that attraction heavenwards
which corresponds to the physical
attraction earthwards of our body !
A mysterious but very sensible
force draws us towards our physi-
cal centre of gravity, but a force
still more mysterious, more sensi-
ble, and, above all, more powerful
draws us towards our heavenly, our
spiritual centre; and while we are
physically bound by a chain as
strong as life to the stage of our
earthly existence, yet spiritually we
soar by as irresistible an impulse
towards the place of spirits, the
eternal and the infinite.

The flagrant antagonism between
the socialist idea and the religious
idea is easily explained. Socialism
knows by instinct that in religion,
and especially in Christianity, the
religion above all others, exists the
divine foundation of the world ;
that as long as this foundation is
not shaken the social polity can
never be thoroughly destroyed;
that religion, even stripped of direct
and, as it were, official influence in
the political and social order, is
still the last bulwark that interposes
between socialism and its avowed
object; in a word, that there rests
the supreme force, the insurmount-
able obstacle to the new ideas, there
the truth that repudiates the new
errors, there the holiness that repu-
diates the new corruption, there the
authority that repudiates the new
anarchy, there the divine Might
which says to the idea of devasta-
tion what God the Creator says to
the ocean : " So far shalt thou go,
and no further " "hue usque venies*

To sum up, there is a disastrous
idea prowling through the modern
world the socialist idea. This idea,
which at first was only that of so-
cial reform, and later became that

404

A Romaunt of the Rose.

of social transformation, has devel-
oped at present into that of social
destruction.

And whereas every social struc-
ture rests on three foundations,
property, the family, and religion,
so the socialist idea more or less
directly attacks these three founda-
tions. The socialist idea, or so-
cialism looked upon as a theory,
pushes its anti-social aggression up
to this climax ; it stands there
in radical and fearful opposition,
threatening all that is most vital
and most fundamental in society.

Therefore we are bound to resist
it face to face, everywhere and al-
ways, and do battle against the so-
cialist idea that is, the idea of de-
struction, disaster, and ruin. I im-
press upon you the necessity of, and
claim your help in, a doctrinal re-
sistance to this idea, a defence of
all it attacks, an assertion of all it
denies; a sturdy repetition of the
credo of universal affirmation, and
not only a repetition, but a" publi-
cation, a triumphant challenge, to
the socialist idea which embodies
in itself a universal negation.

A ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE.

A FAIRER light than ever since has shone

Fell on that garden where Queen Eve's sweet bower

Was hid in roses and the jasmine flower,
Curtained with eglantine, and overrun
With morning-glories glowing in the sun

Late into noon, unheeding of the hour

When now they close : these were our mother's dower ;
She lived and loved amid all flowers, save one.
There was no red rose in the garden wide

Of all her world, until its mistress went

From out its gates with roses in her hand,
Spoil of past joys ; then, like a new-made bride,

She blushed in shame,, and that first blush has lent
The rose its color over all our land.

Helen Lee.

405

HELEN LEE.

A ROMANCE OF OLD MARYLAND.

" I MAINTAIN it is a glory for
the Catholics of Maryland that, in
this age of religious strife, our col-
ony has been made a home for the
persecuted, and that we are the
first to proclaim the equal rights of
all who profess to be Christians. "

These words were spoken by a
young man named William Berke-
ley, who formed one of a group of
five persons seated under the shade
of an oak-tree one summer after-
noon in the year 1636. His com-
panions were Sir Charles Evelyn,
who was of about his own age; an
old gentleman, Sir Henry Lee; his
daughter, a maiden of three-and-
twenty; and, lastly, a way-worn
traveller, whose sad, wan face and
unkempt locks told that he had
suffered much and been long in
reaching a place of safety and re-
pose.

"Yea, Mr. Berkeley, this colony
hath set a glorious example," an-
swered the Last-mentioned individ-
ual. " And I wish my worthy friend
Roger Williams had accompanied
me hither, instead of halting where
he did on Narraganset Bay; for
he hath a rigorous climate to con-
tend with. Oh ! how cold it was
last winter, how bitter cold, as
we journeyed through the wilder-
ness. And, moreover, the Puritans
of Massachusetts, not content with
having exiled him once for his reli-
gious opinions, may claim jurisdic-
tion over the haven where he is
now resting, and drive him still fur-
ther away."

<l Well, ours is indeed a charming

country," spoke Helen Lee. "It
is now two years since we landed
from the Ark and the Dove, and
we have all enjoyed uninterrupted
good health, while our numbers,
which at first were only two hun-
dred, are now much increased.
Oh ! St. Mary's is a blessed spot."

" And we shall very soon have
our church finished," observed the
young baronet, who sat between
Helen and her father. "The big
wigwam which the Indians kindly
gave us wherein to celebrate holy
Mass is become a great deal too
small and many are obliged to
kneel outside."

After a little further conversation,
and after again praising the climate
and people of Maryland, Roger
Williams' friend arose ; then, hav-
ing thanked Sir Henry for his hos-
pitality the latter had entertained
him at dinner he silently waved
his hand to the others and bent his
steps towards the town.

" I am glad that stranger has
found his way here," said Berkeley
almost as soon as his back was
turned ; " and to-morrow I will
try to get him employment."

" I entertained the fellow at my
table ; I could not have done less,"
growled Sir Henry, knitting his
brow. "But I hope I have seen
the last of him."

At this remark Helen turned to-
wards Berkeley, making him a sign
with her finger, which unfortunately
he did not perceive. She knew her
parent's hasty temper, his bitter feel-
ings against Dissenters, and feared

406

Helen Lee.

lest they might engage in a dispute
over the question of religious tolera-
tion.

** The true glory of our char-
ter," went on Berkeley, "consists
in"

" 'Tis precisely its weak point,"
interrupted Sir Henry, who knew
well what he was about to say.
" Ay, this religious freedom
which you so much admire will
one day prove our ruin. Only let
enough Puritans and fellows like
him who has just quitted us settle
here, and then you and I and Lord
Baltimore, in fact every Catholic
and Anglican, will be hurried out of
the colony."

" I do not believe it," said Berke-
ley.

" But I do; and it shows what
little sense you have," continued
Sir Henry, now quite red in the
face.

We need not give the rest of the
discussion between them, which
waxed louder and hotter, until fin-
ally, at something the old gentle-
man said, Berkeley got up, made a
silent bow to Helen, and walked
away. In a moment Evelyn follow-
ed him.

" What ! go back and make
peace with Sir Henry?" exclaimed
Berkeley, as the other took his
arm " after calling me low-born,
and saying that was the reason I
sympathized with common folk and
Puritans? No, no, I cannot."

To any one of a less generous na-
ture than Evelyn this might have
been a welcome announcement, for
both he and Berkeley were suitors
for Helen's hand. But Evelyn did
not let this fact for a moment lessen
his desire to restore harmony be-
tween his rival and Helen's father.
"Look," he said, "how pained his
daughter is ! She is weeping. Do
return and be friends for her sake."

" You are a noble fellow to speak
thus," answered Berkeley. " But I
cannot ; for, besides calling me
what he did, he bade me henceforth
hold aloof from him, and I will
obey. As for Helen, she is too
good, too meek, too patient ; she is
a martyr."

After they had walked together
a short distance, Evelyn, finding
that his efforts to persuade Berke-
ley to retrace his steps were vain,
let him go his way, and during the
rest of the afternoon he had Helen
all to himself.

These two had been friends from
childhood, and their natures were
much alike. Both were dreamers.
Well-nigh as far back as their mem-
ories went they had built castles in
the air ; and after they had been
strolling hand-in-hand, as they of-
tentimes used to do, amid the pleas-
ant groves of Evelinton Park, York-
shire, the boy would always bid his
gentle comrade good-by with a
kiss; then little Helen would be-
take herself to her father's mansion,
which was next to that of Sir
Charles Evelyn's, and pass the time
until she was put to bed thinking
about the pretty boy, who had
made so many vows to be with her
all through her life ; and she closed
her eyes with his words ringing in
her ears : " If a giant comes to at-
tack you, Helen, or a dragon, I
will defend you ; I will kill the hor-
rid beast or wicked man." And
often in sleep she witnessed a
desperate fight, wherein her knight,
after many wounds received in her
defence, always came off victorious.

Happy indeed were those days
of childhood. And when in the
course of time Helen grew to be a
woman and Charles a man, it was
wonderful how little they had chang-
ed, how like children still they were.
Indeed, the only new thing which

Helen Lee.

407

Helen observed in him was that he
did not kiss her any more as he
used; while the youth occasionally
saw a flush steal over her cheek as
she listened to some innocent speech
of his innocent yet full of rapture
wherein he said there might be
maidens in heaven who were like
herself, but only in heaven. And
so they continued to be much in
each other's company; and when
at length Helen's father fell into
debt for old blood is spendthrift
blood and determined to cross the
sea with the hope of retrieving his
credit and decayed fortune in the
New World, Evelyn would not stay
behind.

Sir Henry Lee, let us here re-
mark, was a cavalier of the truest
stamp ; chivalrous, devoted heart
and soul to his king, utterly care-
less of money. " And never was
there a queen like Queen Henri-
etta Maria," * he would say. Her
being a Catholic mattered not a
jot ; for, although he himself be-
longed to the Church of England,
he had married a Catholic wife and
allowed his daughter to be brought
up a Catholic. The only people
he hated were Presbyterians, and
his beau ideal of the devil was
John Knox.

As soon as Sir Henry had resolv-
ed to join the company of Lord
Baltimore he sent for a surveyor to
make a map of his encumbered es-
tate, which he could no longer af-
ford to hold; and the surveyor's
name was William Berkeley. While
the latter was engaged on this
work Lady Lee would often go
and talk with him; and among the
last words which this excellent wo-
man spoke to her daughter before
she died were these : " Helen, you
are now of an age to marry. Yon-

color

Queen of Charles I., and in whose honor the
colony was called Maryland.

der is a man who would be of
great help in mending our shatter-
ed fortune. William Berkeley is a
Catholic, and he tells me that he
too intends to go with Lord Balti-
more. As for his having no title,
think none the less of him for that ;
he hath a pedigree 'tis even said
he comes down from Robin Hood-
Child, you might do worse than
wed that honest, able yeoman."
And the girl treasured up these
words ; and now this summer
evening, while Evelyn is alone
with her in Sir Henry Lee's new
home in Maryland, trying to con-
sole her for the harsh language
which the old gentleman had used
towards Berkeley, her mother's ad-
vice came back upon Helen's
memory with very great force, and
she asked herself: " What' should
we do if Mr. Berkeley were hence-
forth to hold aloof from us ?" For
he was a worker, not a dreamer.
He gave Sir Henry good counsel
which might in time be listened to;
and if a day of urgent need ever
came, he would be a useful friend.
Whereas since they had been at St.
Mary's what had the gentle Eve-
lyn done to better his condition?
And his father, like her own, was
overwhelmed with debt : old blood
is spendthrift blood. True, his
morals were correct ; he was the
very soul of honor, well educated,
and of distinguished mien and
manners. But as time wore on
Helen felt more and more convinc-
ed that there was something want-
ing in Evelyn's character, and,
were sne to give him her hand,
was it not only too probable that
they would grow poorer and poor-
er? "For, alas!" she would sigh,
"I am too much of a dreamer my-
self, and we cannot live on dreams."
Moreover, Helen believed that
Evelyn's love for her partook too

408

Helen Lee.

much of a religious devotion ; what
he had told her years before he
kept telling; her still she was his
angel ; and Helen shrank from
taking a step which might unde-
ceive him :' For I fear if I be-
came his wife I should cease to be
his angel."

The room, where they now sat
conversing together was the one
known as the queen's room; for,
besides the portraits of the family,
it contained a picture of Queen
Henrietta Maria by Van Dyck.
Nothing in the world did Sir
Henry treasure more than this
work of art by the great master,
unless, perhaps, his own daughter.
Yet even this priceless gem lie
might ere long be obliged to part
with, as he had already parted with
Jiis old wine, in order to pay off
fresh debts.

"In a day. or two," spoke Eve-
lyn, "I will make another effort to
reconcile your father to Berkeley.
I do hope I shall succeed."

" I pray that- you may," answer-
ed Helen.

Then, as he toyed with one of
her rich chestnut curls, " Helen,"
he added, " I .am going to paint a
;grand picture- St. George deliver-
ing St. Margaret from the Dragon
and I want you to sit for my mo-
del of St. Margaret. Will you ?"

"I fear I am not worthy of such
an honor," replied Helen. " Poor
me ! What am 1?"

" You are the inspiration of my
life," pursued Evelyn. " Yes, the
little I have accomplished is all
owing to you. But for you I
should never have touched a
brush."

" Well well, I'll be St. Margaret ;
but who is to be St. George ?"

" Myself. And now, when may
I begin?"

" To-morrow, if you like."

" To-morrow ? Good !"

With this Evelyn withdrew, leav-
ing Helen meditating on his words:
" You are the inspiration of my
life"; and she said to herself:
"Alas! would that I had known
how to inspire you better, good,
kind Evelyn, my earliest friend.
But all I have taught you to do is
to play artist ; and you would
starve on the proceeds of your
brush."

Then presently her thoughts
turned to her other lover, the
strong, active, practical Berkeley,
who never fell into rhapsodies over
her eyes her eyes, deep as the sea,
blue as the sky, bright as the stars
as Evelyn did, nor said that his
prayers were little worth unless
she were kneeling near him.

Berkeley showed his feelings in
a plain, healthy.' way by a hearty
squeeze of the hand, and by now
and again begging her to mend
his buckskin gloves. " Because no
girl in St. Mary's can sew like you,
Helen." And, as might be expect-
ed, the young surveyor was better-
ing his condition every year, and
had always something to give away
to those who were not so well off
as himself. Helen knew, too, how
he had bestirred himself to find a
purchaser for her father's wine,
and it was through him she had
disposed of several jewels pre-
cious heirlooms from her mother.
In fact, Berkeley seemed able to
do everything; and few people in
St. Mary's began anything impor-
tant without first consulting him.
Then Helen recalled one of the
old fairy tales which Evelyn had
told her when they were children,
and wished that she were a fairy.
" For then," she said, " I would
quickly wave my magic wand over
Evelyn's head and change him into
Berkeley, and so make everything

Helen Lee.

409

smooth, and my poor heart would
be at peace."

She was beginning, moreover, to
agree with Berkeley that it was not
wise to undertake to build a castle;
a simple log- house would be much
better. Already her father was in-
volved in fresh trouble on account
of this folly. Yet, even after sell-
ing his wine, and she her jewels,
there was still money owing ; and
only one tower was finished.

Evelyn, on the contrary, had
praised the undertaking, and told
Sir Henry that as soon as the edi-
fice was completed he would make
a fine painting of it. Thus from
musing over days gone by the
happy days in England, when her
dear, prudent mother was living,
who always had urged economy
and the sad present, tears came to
Helen's eyes, while the chamber
grew darker and darker, until she
could no longer distinguish Queen
Henrietta Maria's face looking
down upon her from the wall. By
and by she groped her way to her
harpsichord, and began to play a
mournful tune which was in har-
mony with the shadows and her
own thoughts.

"Well, really, child !" exclaimed
Sir Henry, entering presently with
a light, " as if this abode were
not cheerless enough with only you
and me to inhabit it, you must needs
give me melancholy music."

Quick Helen changed the air and
struck up something full of life and
gladness, " A Carol to the Sun " 'twas
called ; and when he asked where
she had got this delightful music
for it was new to him and she an-
swered, "From Evelyn," her father
seemed much pleased. " But, child,"
he said, "why- do you hesitate so
long about accepting Sir Charles ?
Is it because Berkeley is courting
you too? Why, one has a title and

is of gentle blood ; the other is a
plebeian, and I hope will make his
visits less frequent in future. I
spoke sharply to Berkeley to-day
did I not ? and if he comes again
I'll speak more sharply still."

Seeing that Helen made no re-
sponse, Sir Henry continued: "Why,
the fellow actually had the impu-
dence to advise me not to go on
with this castle, which I intend to
make the finest structure in the
colony. But Evelyn has better
taste; blood tells in everything,
and he agrees with me that Lord
Baltimore will be highly gratified
when it is finished, and will write
to the king about it."

" Well, there is indeed a magni-
ficent view from the top of the
tower," observed Helen timidly.
Then, plucking up a little courage,
" But, father," she added, " think of
the money it will cost ; think of
the future."

" A view ! A magnificent view !"
cried Sir Henry. "God-a-Mercy !
is that all you have to say in praise
of this tower ? A magnificent
view ! Would you have the por-
trait of our gracious queen hanging
in a log-cabin ? And that suit of
armor which your ancestor wore
at Agincourt, which bears upon it
the dents of a battle-axe would
you wish to see it in a log-cabin ?
Child, you are not worthy of your
name." Then, after a pause, dur-
ing which he strode excitedly back
and forth, Sir Henry continued :
" As for money, I never trouble my
head about money. But when you
bid me think of the future well, I
have indeed bitter thoughts when
I allow my mind to dwell on the
future."

This was true enough. Helen's
father was no longer young. Helen
had not yet chosen a husband;
would he live to see a male de-

4io

Helen Lee.

scendant of his house ? " Oh ! it
wrings my heart," he murmured
half aloud and his daughter heard
the lament "it wrings my heart to
think of the old stock dying out."
After giving vent to his sorrow
even by tears, the old gentleman
bade Helen commence the usual
evening reading. And let us here
observe that the only book he
cared for was Don Quixote, which
Helen read to him in the original ;
for he had been in Spain and had
taught her Spanish. Accordingly,
she opened the volume 'twas the
third time she had gone through it
and began to read in a loud,
clear voice, while Sir Henry sat
with his back towards her and his
eyes resting on the ancient suit of
armor, whence they never strayed,
except for a moment to glance at
the portrait of the queen.

Helen had found Don Quixote
quite entertaining the first time she
had perused it ; but now the inte-
rest was all gone, and only the
dread of offending her father kept
her from often pausing and nod-
ding her head. But this she durst
not do; and so on and on she read
through five chapters, without so
much as lifting her eyes off the
page, after which Sir Henry told
her to put the volume aside, then
withdrew in what for him was a
very genial humor.

The night which closed this sum-
mer day was a restless one for
Helen Lee. She lay awake several
hours listening to a whip-poor-will
perched on a tree by her window.
She got thinking about her father,
whom, despite his acerbity of tem-
per, she dearly loved; she thought
of the rash way he was squander-
ing his means, and said to herself:
" Dear mother was right : in order
to save ourselves from utter ruin
we should live as economically as

possible. But, alas ! he will not do
it, and we may be forced ere long
to sell our new home here, as we
did our old home in England."
And when at length she fell asleep,
these mournful thoughts followed
her in a dream.

The next morning Helen repair-
ed to Evelyn's abode, which stood
on the outskirts of the town, and
found him all ready to begin the
painting of which he had spoken
the day before.

" You look a little pale, Helen,"
he said as she entered his studio.
"You are always as blooming as
a rose. Are you not well?"

The girl did not answer, and pre-
sently her countenance brightened,
for by nature she was of a cheery dis-
position, ever hoping for the best,
even when the sky looked darkest ;
and, besides, it was never difficult
for the companion of her earliest
years to interest her.

" Look," continued Evelyn, " look
at that oriole singing on the elm-
tree yonder; his mate is hidden in
the deep pear-shaped nest, with a
tiny door on the side, which you
see dangling from the end of the
limb. Well, I have given that beau-
tiful bird a new name; I have
christened it the Baltimore bird,
because we find in its golden plu-
mage, mixed with deep black, the
colors of Lord Baltimore's arms.
And his lordship was highly pleas-
ed yesterday when he heard the
new name."

" What, a fanciful boy you are !"
answered Helen> smiling.

" And, Helen," he went on, " I
am composing a new song for your
harpsichord. You see you have
inspired me to become a poet as
well as an artist."

" I sometimes fear that I have
caused you to dwell too much in
Cloud-land," said Helen. Then, a

Helen Lee.

411

little abruptly, "Evelyn," she add-
ed, " did you ever cut down a
tree?"

Ere the young baronet could
make reply Berkeley, with an axe
strapped across his shoulders, gal-
loped up to the open window of
the studio.

" Good morning ! good-morning !"
cried the surveyor. " Why, Helen,
I am lucky to catch you here ; I
was going as nigh the tower as I
durst venture, in order to bid you
good-by."

" Good-by ! What mean you ?"
exclaimed Helen, betraying in her
voice and looks the anxiety she
felt.

" I am going forty miles up the
Potomac, in order to lay out a new
settlement," answered Berkeley;
" for our colony is growing, you
know, and I am kept pretty busy."
Then, bending down from the sad-
dle and taking her hand, "Helen,"
he added, " please tell Sir Henry
how sorry I am that I showed' so
much temper yesterday. I ought
to have held my tongue, or not
spoken out so openly, for I might
have known that we should not
agree. Tell him I ask his pardon.'"

Helen gazed up in Berkeley's
face a moment, then her eyes drop-
ped and she murmured : " Yes, I
will tell him."

" But of course," pursued her
lover, " I do not change my opin-
ion. I still firmly believe that the
example of religious toleration
which Maryland has set will in
time be followed by the other colo-
nies ; and who knows what a cen-
tury may bring forth ? Why, I be-
lieve the day is coming when all
North America will be occupied by
English-speaking commonwealths,
where there will be no religious
wars as in Europe; Catholics and
Protestants will dwell in harmony

together, and then it will be said:
* Maryland began it. God bless
Maryland ! ' '

"You have quite won me over
to your way of thinking," interpos-
ed Evelyn. " A man may be tol-
erant of the views of others without
being himself indifferent."

"Why, Roger Williams' friend,
whom we saw yesterday," spoke
Helen, " was drawn hither by our
very toleration. Yes, we have out-
stripped the Puritans in common
sense, and who knows but this poor
exile may end by embracing the
true faith?"

" But now, to change the sub-
ject," went on Berkeley, who saw a
fresh canvas spread out and a cray-
on in his friendly rival's hand,
" are you about to begin a new
picture ?"

" Yes," said Evelyn ; " a picture
of St. George rescuing St. Marga-
ret from the Dragon, and Helen is
to sit for St. Margaret."

" Indeed !" Here Berkeley med-
itated a moment in silence. The
fact is, he feared lest he might
be absent from St. Mary's three
or four months perhaps longer :
would it not, therefore, be wise, if
he wished to secure Helen for his
bride, to ask her forthwith to plight
him her troth ? Had he not al-
ready deferred it long enough ?
He could now afford to marry;
and if he still put off the weighty
question, might not Evelyn during
his absence become the chosen
one ? " Why wait," he asked him-
self, "until I have made friends
with Sir Henry ? He never would
look with a favoring eye on our
union, for I have no title; I am
plain William Berkeley. Yet Hel-
en is of age, she is not a slave, I
love her dearly; and if she loves
me enough to accept me, why, in
God's name, let us be married."

412

Helen Lee.

Then aloud he said: "Evelyn,
before I go I must pass a few min-
utes in your studio, just to see
you commence the picture."

" Yes, do ; and let me call a ser-
vant to take your horse to the sta-
ble," said Evelyn.

"Thanks. I'll take him there
myself," answered Berkeley, who
was now determined not to set out
for the wilderness without knowing
.his fate,

"How well he rides !" observed
the artist. " What a soldierly bear-
ing he has !"

Then, gazing earnestly in Helen's
face, he added :

"Berkeley would make a capital
St. George. Would he not? Shall
I put him in the painting instead
of myself ?"

At this question Helen's cheek
crimsoned, and without making
any response she awaited Berke-
ley's return; while Evelyn mur-
mured to himself : "Alas! alas! I
see I should do well enough for a
picture ; but he would be her real
St. George."

In a few minutes Berkeley reap-
peared, and as he entered the room
he seemed to read Helen's thoughts
at a glance ; for the first words he
uttered were :

" Evelyn, may I enquire who is
to sit for St. George ?"

Here Evelyn turned to Helen,
upon whom Berkeley's eyes were
fastened, saying: "Dear Helen,
please answer for me."

This was a cruel moment for the
girl most cruel! What a throng
of memories rushed upon her !
memories of far-off, sunny days,
when she and the pretty boy used
to saunter and dream hand-in-
hand together along the shady
paths that lay between her native
home and his. And now all these
memories became so many voices

pleading powerfully in Evelyn's
behalf; he had loved her from the
beginning, and she had only met
Berkeley when she was grown up
to womanhood.

But when she thought of the lat-
ter, she remembered her dead mo-
ther and what she had said of him
of his inner worth, his talents,
his energy. Then, too, since Hel-
en had been in Maryland, Berke-
ley had shown in many ways that
he was attached to her ; and, more-
over, he was a man in the truest
sense of the word a man on whom
she and her heedless father might
lean and find support. His every
waking hour was devoted to some
useful employment. Far and wide
he was known as an able, active,
daring man; and at this very mo-
ment he stood before her all equip-
ped to plunge into the trackless
forest to pioneer the way for an-
other settlement. His views, too,
of the future had won Helen's
heart; she believed, as he did, that
in America the church was destin-
ed to spread and to glean a more
golden harvest than in old, worn-
out Europe. And so, after a pain-
*ful inward struggle, which revealed
itself not faintly in her counte-
nance, Helen's response came, and,
turning with tearful eyes to Berke-
ley, she said :

" William, do you be my St.
George."

" For life, Helen ?"

" Yes, for life."

At these words of doom poor
Evelyn, who had felt what was
coming, averted his face and star-
ed on the vacant wall. Then, pre-
sently, bidding them remain a
short while in his studio, that he
would not be gone long, the heart-
broken man hurriedly quitted the
house.

The church whither he went was

Helen Lee.

4*3

close by ; and there at the foot of
the altar he flung himself, bowed
down his head, and tried hard to
breathe a prayer. But he had
never suffered before as he was
suffering now, and it was not easy
for him to be resigned, to have a
Christian spirit, to say, "God's
will be done." For a moment even
a rebellious, devil-sent word quiv-
ered on his lips ; and thus did he
kneel dumbstricken before the al-
tar, until by and by brought to
him, perhaps, by his guardian angel
came a sweet, holy calm; the
storm passed away, and, spreading
forth his arms, he gazed upon the
ever-burning lamp which told of
the Blessed Presence of his Saviour
truly near him. And as he gazed
upon it Evelyn took a high re-
solve ; the words of the Psalmist
came to him : " When my heart
was in anguish, thou hast exalted
me on a rock. Thou hast conduct-
ed me ; for thou hast been my
hope. ... In thy tabernacle I
shall dwell for ever."*

Then straightway followed a
flood of joy; like a bright, sun-
shiny wave it flowed over his soul.
In his rapture he sang aloud the
Gloria, the Magnificat, the T De-
urn Laudamus. After which, rising
up off his knees, he went back to his
friends, who were wonder-stricken
at the change that had come over
him in the brief space since he. had
left them. Evelyn's whole counte-
nance beamed with a fire that was
in striking contrast with his for-
mer listless self; and in a voice
wherein was no tone of sadness he
addressed Berkeley, saying : " Now
to work ! Let me quick begin St.
George ; I will draw rapidly, and
in a couple of hours you shall be
free to depart."

Accordingly the picture was com-

* Ps, Ix. 3-5.

menced,nor had the artist's crayon
ever touched the canvas so deftly
before ; indeed, so swiftly did he
work that by the time the Angelus
bell told them it was noon the
rough sketch was finished.

Nor did the parting betwixt
Berkeley and Evelyn bear the least
trace of coldness ; they seemed like
two brothers, and Helen like an
affectionate sister between them.

" And now," spoke Evelyn, when
the other was gone, and as he and
Helen turned towards the tower
" now I'll go see your father, and
try my best to appease his anger
against your betrothed."

"Oh! how kind, how good you
are," answered Helen, who would
fain have said more ; but how
could she? What language could
express her gratitude to Evelyn for
being so forgiving? And she in-
wardly owned that, whatever his
weak points were, he was a rare,
high-minded man a man the like
of whom this world had few in-
deed.

" Sister," pursued Evelyn, in the
tender accents she knew so well,
" I am only too happy to serve
you; and you know it is now more
important than ever to soften Sir
Henry's heart towards Berkeley."

" Yes," said Helen, " otherwise I
foresee great trouble in store for
me."

"But if I do not succeed, why,
then you must speak to him your-
self," added Evelyn.

A half-hour later the young ba-
ronet and Helen's father were clo-
seted in the queen's room, engaged
in earnest talk.

" Well, I have known many good
Papists in the course of my life,"
spoke the old gentleman, " but upon
my word you are the best one of
all. Why, you ought rather to re-
joice to have Berkeley hold aloof;

414

Helen Lee*

yet here you are pleading his
cause."

"Berkeley is a most honorable,
excellent fellow," rejoined Evelyn,
" and"

" Oh ! there you go again," in-
terrupted Sir Henry. "Your cha-
nty gets the better of your common
sense. Why, what is he if you
strip him of all disguises what is
he but the son of a forester, who,
having turned surveyor, is no doubt
earning money ? But does that
make him a gentleman a fit one
to be your rival for my daughter's
hand ?" Then, after pausing and
wiping his brow, Helen's father,
continued : " No, indeed ! And I
would be really thankful, Sir
Charles, if you would prevent him
from ever coming again within a
mile of my castle."

" How might I accomplish that ?"
inquired Evelyn, inwardly smiling.

" How ? Why, by asking He-
len's hand. From her cradle she
has known you, and you her; she
cannot help but love you if she has
any heart at all and she has a
heart ; oh ! yes, a warm, loving
heart."

" Sir Henry," replied Evelyn,
with a faint tremor in his voice,
" Helen can never be -more than a
dear friend, a sister, to me ; I intend
to become a priest."

" What ! a priest ?" cried Sir
Henry, utterly amazed. " A priest !
O Evelyn ! Evelyn !" Then, drop-
ping his forehead in his hands, he
began to sigh and wail. " I count-
ed upon you," he said in accents
of unfeigned grief. " I counted
upon you. But now. alas ! all my
bright hopes are vanished all!
all !" Then presently, clenching
the hilt of his rapier the old cava-
lier always carried a rapier " But
Berkeley shall not have her," he
thundered, working himself up to

a] violent passion. "No! by hea-
ven, he sha'n't ! Never! never! I
swear by "

Leaving Sir Henry storming and
invoking anything but blessings on
poor Berkeley's head, Evelyn with-
drew to seek Helen, whom he found
waiting outside the" door. The girl
trembled when she learnt the re-
sult of his interview with her fa-
ther, and scarcely had courage to
enter the latter's presence. Urged,
however, by Evelyn, she overcame
her timidity and passed into the
room ; then, in as firm a voice as
she could command, she told Sir
Henry that Berkeley had requested
her to beg his pardon for having
angered him. Helen told him, too,
that the surveyor was gone off forty
or fifty miles from St. Mary's ; and
concluded by reminding her father
of the high opinion which her mo-
ther had entertained of the young
man, of his industry, honor, manly
courage.

" And dear mother was not given
to praising people unless they wete^
really good and worthy of praise.
So, father, I implore you, do not
harbor any ill-feeling against Wil-.
Ham Berkeley. Indeed, I am quite
sure my mother would have agreed
with him."

Here Helen paused to hear her
father's answer ; if he relented
and she hoped that he might, for,
despite the rage he was in, he had
listened without interrupting if he
relented, she intended immediately
to reveal her engagement. But if
he did not relent what then?
With heart violently beating she
watched him ; his hand was still
upon his sword, and after waiting a
good minute, as if to see whether
she had aught else to say, Sir Hen-
ry replied :

" You tell me Berkeley has quit-
ted St. Mary's for a while; well, I

Helen Lee.

415

hope he will remain away. As for
what Lady Lee may have thought
of him alas ! your mother held
certain very unseemly opinions,
which more befitted Wat Tyler's
wench than a nobleman's spouse.
Why, she once even denied to my
face the divine right of kings ; and
she was obstinate most obstinate.
But, nevertheless, I little doubt that
the Almighty hath already grant-
ed her forgiveness. O child ! al-
though I am not a Papist, I own
there is much consolation in your
doctrine of purgatory ; it is a most
consoling doctrine."

Knowing that to stay and argue
with her father in his present mood
would only make the matter worse,
Helen was about to withdraw when
she was startled by a loud groan
which escaped him :

" Evelyn a priest ! a priest ! a
priest !" ejaculated the old knight.'

" What ! is he going to become
a priest ?" exclaimed Helen, turn-
ing back from the door. " Oh !
then he has chosen wisely. Fa-
ther, do not deplore it. Let us
say rather, * God be praised !' "

''Then you did not know this?
It is news to you ?" inquired Sir
Henry, eyeing her closely.

" Upon my honor I knew it not,"
replied Helen, trembling, for she
feared lest he might follow up his
question by another, which she
would dread to answer.

" Well, now leave me," continued
her father, waving her off. " Leave
me alone a space. Go ! I am heart-
sick."

For well-nigh a week Sir Henry
remained inconsolable ; even Don
Quixote's adventures failed to en-
tertain him, nor his daughter's
cheeriest music and blithest songs
move him to mirth. The workmen,
too, whom he was fond of superin-
tending and thus whiling away

some hours each day, did not come
any more to labor at the castle
walls ; for Sir Henry's funds were
running low and he had not where-
withal to pay their wages.

His favorite haunt was a small is-
land christened the Island of Tran-
quil Delight. It was named after a
pretty isle in a lovely stream which
flowed hard by Sir Henry's old home
in England. But in several respects
the two islands differed greatly :
one was shaded by the wide-spread-
ing branches of an oak an oak
planted in the days of William the
Conqueror and at the foot of this
venerable tree lay the ruins of what
once had been a hermit's cell.
The other island had a persimmon-
tree growing in the middle of it,
and every time Sir Henry ap-
proached this retired corner of his
domain he espied an opossum
waddling off; and the name of both
tree and animal sounded exceed-
ingly vulgar to his ears. But, as we
have remarked, this was his favorite
spot. Here he loved to come and
listen to the murmuring brook, to
see the trout jump up, and watch
some beautiful lilies, the bulbs of
which he had brought over from
his native land.

One day Helen determined to go
down to the Island of Tranquil
Delight and make another attempt
to soften her father's heart towards
her future husband. "And then,"
she said to herself, "I'll tell him
that I am William's betrothed ; and
oh ! what a weight will be lifted off
my heart."

Accordingly, she repaired thither.
But Sir Henry quickly checked
her, saying : " Why, child, one might
think from the interest you take in
Berkeley that you were fast in love
with him. Good Ged ! child, I
hope not. I "

What else he might have spoken

416

Helen Lee.

we cannot tell, for just at this
critical moment who should be
seen advancing towards them but
one of Sir Henry's oldest and best
friends, a boon companion of his
youth, who had just arrived from
England ; and in the hearty greet-
ing and long talk that followed all
thought of Berkeley was happily
driven out of the old gentleman's
mind.

We may imagine what a Godsend
this proved to be for Helen. And,
moreover, her father's friend was
invited to snake the castle his home
as long as he remained at St.
Mary's, so that his visit afforded
the girl not a little spare time ; for
Sir Henry did not oblige her to
read to him a couple of hours daily
nor sing and play for him on the
harpsichord. Indeed, he took his
watchful eye off her movements
entirely ; neither asked whither she
was going when she went out, nor
where she had been when she re-
turned home ; and language can
but faintly express the blessings
which Helen breathed on her fa-
ther's guest for thus unwittingly
procuring her so much liberty.

Every day she spent some time
in Evelyn's company, whose new-
born energy gave her as much
wonder as delight. Nothing he had
ever painted before was so instinct
with life, showed such marks of
genius, as the painting he was now
engaged upon. And seeing her
there so often, and hearing them
converse together so familiarly,
caused more than one gossip to say :
" There will be a wedding ere long
at the Tower."

But Sir Charles did something
else besides ply his crayon and
brush : he was up every morning as
early as the ^riole whose nest hung
close by his window, studying and
otherwise preparing himself for his

new life ; and the stars were long
twinkling in the heavens when he
retired to rest at night. And if
sometimes in the still hours a vision
of what might have been passed
before him a vision of home, of a
hearthstone of his own, of wife and
children gathered around him the
sweet vision vanished, nor left a
pang behind, as soon as he opened
his eyes and murmured a prayer.

Thus passed away August, Sep-
tember, October, and Sir Henry
began to hope that Evelyn had got
over his folly for such he called
the notion of becoming a priest ;
and this hope, together with the
companionship of his friend (who
Helen prayed might never go away,
and who had brought over from
London a pipe of Canary, which he
insisted on sharing with his host),
caused Sir Henry's spirits to revive"
greatly ; and one morning he kiss-
ed Helen, and said in what for him
was a very mild voice : ** Child,
when will you bring me the glad
tidings I am yearning to hear?"

Whereupon she smiled, rubbed
her cheek against his grizzly beard,
and without answering thought to
herself: " The fantastic plan which
came last night in a dream will
succeed ; I feel sure it will. And
though I shall have to brave your
wrath once more, in the end, father,
you will forgive me."

And now was ushered in the
loveliest season of the year Indian
Summer. Of an early morning on
one of these lovely days Helen
mounted a pillion behind Evelyn,
and, accompanied by her waiting-
. woman, set out for St. Joseph's,
which was the name Berkeley had
given to the new settlement, and
where report said he was become
the chief man. Her father made
no objection to her taking this trip,
for he knew there was a widow lady,

The Future of Faith.

417

with whom Helen had been once
exceedingly intimate, who was now
living at St. Joseph's, and it was
quite natural that the girl should
wish to visit her.

Moreover, good Father McElroy
formerly Helen's confessor was
living there too; so that the old
gentleman, as guileless as he was
proud, did not suspect the real ob-
ject of this journey, for he had not
heard Helen breathe Berkeley's
name in several months.

As for Helen daring to wed him,
nay, even to plight Berkeley her
troth this Sir Henry could have
sworn that his meek, obedient child
never would do.

Accordingly, as we have said,
Helen departed for St. Joseph's,
her father wishing her " God
speed! and come back soon," and

she waving her hand to him until
the forest hid him from view.
Then Sir Henry turned to his old
comrade, saying : " ' Tis well I have
you with me, Dick, otherwise this
castle would be horribly dull now";
on which the other answered :
" Depend upon it, Harry, there's a
match brewing 'tween Miss Helen
and Sir Charles. Ay, I can tell
by the sparkle of a lassie's eye when
she's in love; nor is there any
thought of priesthood in Evelyn.
And at the wedding feast we'll
drain dry my cask of Canary and
set the whole town in a roar."

" May the Lord hasten that day!"
returned Sir Henry. " Oh! I long
with a longing words cannot ex-
press to see a grandchild ere I
die."

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.

THE FUTURE OF FAITH.

" LOOKING, then, at the Church of Rome
from a strictly logical stand-point, it is
hard to see how, if we believe in free
will and morality in the face *of these
modern discoveries, which, as far as they
go, show us all life as nothing but a
vast machine it is hard to see how we
can consider the Church of Rome as log-
ically in any way wounded, or crippled,
or in a condition, should occasion offer,
to be less active than she was in the
days of her most undisputed ascendency.
I conceive of her as a ship that seems
now unable to go upon any voyage, or
to carry men anywhere, but that this is
not because, as was said not long since,
that her ' hull was riddled by logic,' or
that she is dismasted or has lost her
sails, but merely because she has no
wind to fill them. In other words, with
regard to supernatural religion, and Ca-

VOL. XXVII. 27

tholicism as its one form that still sur-
vives unshattered, I conceive that the
imagination of the world has been to a
great measure paralyzed ; but that it may
be seen eventually that it never was in
any way convinced ; and that nothing is
wanting to revive the Roman Church
into stronger life than ever but a crav-
ing amongst men for the certainty, the
guidance, and the consolation that she
alone offers them.

" The only question is whether such
an outburst of feeling is in any way pro-
bable. It is possible that the world may
be outgrowing such a craving as that I
speak of ; or that it may find some new
way of appeasing it."

Such is the conclusion of an arti-
cle on " The Future of Faith," by
W. H. Mallock, in the London Con-

4i8

The Future of Faith.

temporary Review, March, 1878. It
goes without saying that the writer
is not a Catholic ; his very phraseo-
logy sufficiently shows this. His
testimony, therefore, to the truth,
the strength, and the stability of the
Catholic Church is the more impor-
tant as being that of an outsider.
He is a man, judging by such of his
writings as we have seen, who in a
time of intellectual doubt and ques-
tioning, almost of despair, is search-
ing honestly and earnestly for some
truth on which to rest, if truth there
be. He examines all things, shirks
nothing, shrinks from nothing. He
is not terrified by phrases ; he is not
to be put off with jargon, scientific
or otherwise. If a man descants to
him on " the great Unknown and
Unknowable," he listens with calm
politeness, and then asks quietly,
What is the great Unknown or the
great Unknowable ? And so with
any other term and real or alleged
fact. He sifts and sifts until he gets
at the bottom. If the bottom is
emptiness he says so ; if he finds
something there he says so. He ac-
knowledges established facts, wheth-
er or not those facts go against his na-
tural inclinations, or his preconceived
theories, or the prejudices that in the
course of a lifetime grow up around
even the broadest and most honest
minds; for pure intelligence is a rare
quality indeed in man. The testi-
mony, then, of a man like Mr. Mai-
lock, a man who in every line he
writes shows a keen intelligence, a
mind formed by careful study and
stored with knowledge, a rare cul-
ture, and a thorough honesty of pur-
pose the testimony, we say, of such
a man is of real value on any sub-
ject of which he treats, and worthy
of all respect.

The article which we purpose ex-
amining, and presenting in great
part to our readers, seems to us to

be almost the closing link in a long
chain of reasoning. It is closely
connected with other writings by the
same author, and, though complete
and independent in itself, thanks to
the writer's skill and logical strength,
it ought really to be read with them
in order to grasp its full force and
significance as intended by the au-
thor himself. It should be read in
connection with The New Republic ;
or, Culture, I 1 aith, and Philosophy in
an English Country House (Scrib-
ner, Armstrong & Co., 1878) ; " Is
Life Worth Living ?" (the Nine-
teenth Century, September, 1877, and
January, 1878) ; to which may be
added " Positivism on an Island "
(the Contemporary Review, April,
1878). All of these bear one upon
another. In them the most brilliant
and refined satire alternates with,
may be said rather to lighten, illus-
trate, and render fascinating, the
most eager and earnest and search-
ing inquiry into the very foundations
of all that constitutes human society,
especially in its modern and unchris-
tian form. Mr. Mallock does not
laugh simply for the laugh's sake.
Indeed, there is a deep mournfulness
in his satire, notwithstanding its bril-
liancy an undertone of sadness that
causes one to doubt sometimes wheth-
er it is a laugh or a wail that we
hear. It seems to us that the high-
est satire should always leave this
doubt on the mind the satire that is
only bitter with the healthy bitter-
ness of truth cleverly presented. How-
ever, we will not discuss that matter
now ; and with the mere mention of
Mr. Mallock's other writings, and
the recommendation of them as af-
fording reading that is at once very
pleasant while it is healthy and
strong, we turn to the more imme-
diate subject of our article.

The future of faith is of course a
question that deeply concerns all the

The Future of Faith.

419

world, more especially in these days,
perhaps, when faith in its honest old
meaning is dying according to some,
dead according to others, an effete
and pitiable superstition according
to very many more. Delightful and
quaint and chivalrous old Kenelm
Digby would seem half inclined to
restrict the Ages of Faith to days
when Christian knights went forth
to battle for the Holy Sepulchre,
when there was in all Christendom
but one Christian faith held by all,
and when Europe was forming and
emerging out of .paganism and bar-
barism under the beneficent hand of
the Catholic Church. Those old
days have passed away, and with
them, according to many modern
and enlightened thinkers, has passed
the old faith. Christendom itself
has passed away, too. Those were
the days of the infancy of Christian
nations, and an infantine belief akin
to, where it was not wholly, super-
stition befitted them, according to
what claims to be modern enlighten-
ment. One religion was very natur-
al then, and did much good, perhaps,
in softening and checking barbarism
and saving the very life of Europe.
But as the infants grew into youth,
and the youth developed into man-
hood, it was only natural that they
should cut aloose from their leading-
strings, tire of the mother who had
watched so tenderly over their birth
and growth and development, and
discover that she was a shrewish old
termagant, who wanted to keep them
in leading-strings all their lives. So
they cut their leading-strings and
emancipated themselves, and believ-
ed as they liked and did as they
liked, and left their mother to live or
die as she might. Mother-like she
refused to die ; she lived for them.
Though grown to man's estate, they
were still her children. Though they
would disown her,* she was still their

mother. And her eyes went cut
wistfully after them ; her heart yearn-
ed always for their return ; her pray-
ers went up unceasingly to heaven
for them. Will the " Ages of Faith "
ever come back, the old unity, the
old simplicity ? Is such a thing as
the old faith ever dreamed of in this
faithless age ? Is there a desire any-
where among men for Christian
unity, or is the tendency not rather
the other way, towards still greater
disintegration, until the very name
of faith be banished from the world,
and all mankind shall have attained
to the supreme scientific beatitude
of placid disbelief in a God whom
they cannot see with their earthly
eyes, touch with their earthly hands,
set under t^eir microscopes, exa-
mine and analyze and measure and
weigh ? This is really the ques-
tion to which Mr. Mallock applies
himself.

To those who note the signs
of the times there is observable a
strong centripetal as well as an
equally strong, and perhaps more
pronounced, centrifugal moral force
working among men to-day. The
centre from which the one party
seeks to fly, and to which the other
party seeks to turn, is Rome, the
centre of Catholic unity. Take the
Anglican Church as an instance.
More than once in its history of
three centuries has there been an at-
tempt among some of its members
to turn backwards to Rome. Never
was that attempt more open and
avowed 'than it is to-day, and, on the
other hand, never was that attempt
more bitterly resented by an oppos-
ing and more numerous party in the
same church than it is to-day. There
were at one time, under Alexander
I., strong hopes of Russia becoming
reconciled to the mother church.
The sudden death of the emperor
effectually quenched those hopes for

42O

The Future of Faith*

the time being. The very large
and ever-increasing number of con-
versions to the Catholic faith within
the last half-century, of men of every
form of belief or of no belief, very
many of whom have been conspicu-
ous for their learning and ability,
some of them for their genius, is an-
other indication of the real existence
and strength of what we have term-
ed this centripetal moral force. We
only note these facts now, without
stopping to inquire into their cause.
But whether we be right or wrong in
our belief that there is a strong and
growing tendency towards reunion
in Christendom, there is no denying
that outside of the Catholic Church
there never did exist so open and
pronounced a feeling of religious
unrest and disquietud/as exists to-
day among all bodies of profess-
ed Christians. What they have
of religion, and what their fathers
professed, no longer satisfies them.
What were once held to be indispu-
table articles of faith are so no longer.
Deep mistrust of the old ways, dis-
belief in the old tenets, have set in,
and men who wish to be Christians
find themselves without any fixed
ground of faith. Thus infidelity is
reaping a rich harvest, for the rea-
son that Christianity in the minds of
non-Catholics was identified with
Protestantism in its various forms.
But Protestantism now is found in-
sufficient and wanting. It has fallen
to pieces under the attacks of its own
children, who to-day find themselves
without a faith, and without any
positive moral guide save such frag-
ments of the truth as are still left to
them, and to which the best of them
adhere as a matter of necessity with-
out exactly knowing why. They
feel that Christianity is right, is the
best; but they have not quite made
up their minds as to what Christian-
ity is or where it is. In fact, they

shrink from the painful inquiry, and
naturally enough ; for the very fact
of such an inquiry is an admission
that there is something very wrong in
their system, and that the wrong is
an old growth.

This general feeling of unrest and
disquietude shows itself in a thou-
sand ways, and in no way more con-
spicuously than in the literature of
the day, even in its lighter forms.
What newspaper is without its " the-
ologian"? We keep a theologian,
say the newspapers, as the lady of
the nouveaux riches said : " We keep
a poet." In days when religion is
by many advanced minds supposed
to be altogether out of date we find
no subject of more general and en-
trancing interest than religion. The
first question asked when a respecta-
ble rascal is exposed is, To what
church did he belong ? And so
seemingly advantageous is religion,
at least in a social point of view, that
it generally turns out, especially, we
are sorry to confess, in our own
country, that the rascal was " a lead-
ing member of the church " and " in
good standing." We know to our
cost what the school of " Christian
statesmen " means. Even these de-
grading and disgraceful spectacles
show that Christianity cannot be so
very dead when its profession is
found to be so very profitable a mo-
ral investment and so strong a gua-
rantee of good character and sound
morals. The evidence is that, what
ever may be said, people still cling
it as something sacred and abo>
suspicion, and their sense is undoubt
edly right, however often and how-
ever sadly they may find themselvc
mistaken. It is not yet a reproacl
to a man that he is a professed
Christian. On the contrary, it is
the greatest stigma, as it ought to
be, on his character when he falls.
If he avowedly believed in nothing,

The Future of Faith.

in no moral law, men could easily
understand why he should refuse to
be bound by any moral law. But
when he professes to be a follower
of Christ and betrays his trust, even
the infidel is shocked and turns with
special loathing from the hypocrite.
Emerson, who is avowedly no
Christian, in these his late days and,
let us hope, his best can find no
subjects so interesting as morals, re-
ligion, ethics ; and his tendency, al-
lowing for his early training, his ac-
quired habit of mind and expression,
is unquestionably in the right direc-
tion. Some of Carlyle's latest and
noblest utterances are Christian in
spite of himself. At least he can
find nothing in the world, which he
long ago consigned to the devil, of
| such real worth as Christian faith.
Bulwer Lytton's last and, to our
thinking, his best story presents a
noble Catholic youth as the* very
beau ideal of excellence, and excel-
lent because of his Catholicity.
Thackeray sighed long ago for what
to him seemed a hopeless reunion
with Rome. George Eliot's stories
are a perpetual wail of despair for
lack of fixed belief and a moral right
which she cannot see. Others, the
scientific minds more especially, are
fiercer and bitterly attack anything
that recognizes the supernatural.
, James Anthony Froude, while con-
fessing that Protestantism as a whole
has gone to the devil and allowed
Protestants to go wholesale the same
way, is startled at a " revival of Ro-
manism." We are only taking these
few and varied instances as charac-
teristic of the multitude of non-Ca-
tholics to-day who would fain be-
lieve in something and take refuge
from the awful blank of infidelity.*
The magazines are full of them and
of many like them. Mr. Disraeli
moves England with a religious
novel; and his political rival, Mr.

421

Gladstone, has only lately deserted
Rome to take up the Turk. Indeed,
he seems to take even a more pas-
sionate interest in his theological
than in his political discussions ; and,
facilis descensus, our own Secretary of
the Navy shows his supreme fitness
for his position by writing a remark-
ably bad and stupid book remarka-
bly bad and stupid even for him
against Rome.

We have not lost sight of our sub-
ject nor parted company with Mr.
Mallock. All that has been said
has only been intended to show how
general is the interest to-day among
all classes of minds in religious dis-
cussion. This of itself is an assur-
ance that there is something to dis-
cuss; that there are disputed ques-
tions abroad which interest all men
alike; and that these questions are
not settled. And that is the point to
which we wish to call special atten-
tion. Outside of the Catholic Church
there is no body to-day claiming
to be Christian which is fixed "and
steadfast in its belief; and this
is only another way of saying that
there is no belief which wholly com-
mends itself to its professed fol-
lowers, save the Catholic. Mr.
Mailock does not write for Catholics.
They are, as he acknowledges, and
as all acknowledge, at least firm and
steadfast. There is no shaking them.
They may be wrong, utterly wrong,
but at least men can see exactly
what they believe and why they be-
lieve. Are they right in their be-
lief, or are others right ? Is there
any such thing as faith in this world
to-day, and is there any reasonable
hope of its holding its ground and
approving itself to the intelligence
of mankind? These are the ques-
tions which Mr. Mallock puts in the
calmest of tempers and with the
thorough honesty of purpose we
have already noticed.

422

The Future of Faith.

In discussing " the future of faith "
Mr. Mallock naturally turns his at-
tention to those who profess to have
and to hold Christian faith. The
prospects of faith in the present or-
der of the world he does not find
very encouraging. What is called
modern thought is against it; mod-
ern tone is against it "a tone
of confident and supercilious ani-
mosity that is gradually dying into
triumph." "It is true," says Mr.
Mallock, " that this leaven in its
full bitterness is to be found only in
a narrow circle; but flavors of it,
more or less diluted, meet us far
and wide. Indeed, it is difficult to
find any place where they are not
traceable." This is undoubtedly
true ; it is equally true that " there is
doubtless much definite religion left
around us, arid many firm believers.
But the modern tone has its influ-
ence even on these. Religion must
be changed in some ways by the
neighborhood of irreligion." This he
explains by showing the amicable
social relations that exist between
religious and irreligious people in
these days.

" They are united by habits, by blood,
and by friendship ; and they are each
accustomed to ignore or to excuse what
they hold to be the errors of the other.
In a state of things like this it is plain
that the convictions of believers can
neither have the fierce intensity found in
a minority under persecution, nor the
placid confidence that belongs to an
overwhelming majority. They can nei-
ther hate the unbelievers, for they daily
live in amity with them ; nor despise al-
together their judgment, for the most
eminent thinkers of the day belong to
them. The believers are forced into a
sort of compromise, which is a new fea-
ture in their history. They see that the
age is against them ; and they are oblig-
ed to make excuses for their enemy."

Mr. Mallock, it will be seen, does
not here characterize his a believers."
We are not prepared to agree alto-

gether with what . he says in this.
At the very least the influence result-
ing from a social truce between be-
lievers and unbelievers need not tell
entirely on the side of unbelief.
There is no reason why believers
should not be as steadfast in a draw-
ing-room as in a church or on a bat-
tle-field, and politeness to an oppo-
nent does not of necessity imply a
concession of weakness. Religious
fervor is by no means incompatible
with civility ; but doubtless Mr.
Mallock has in view more particular-
ly Protestant believers, though he
would not seem to restrict himself to
them, judging from the following
passage :

" If the modern tone has thus affected
even those who are most opposed to it,
what must not its effect be upon those
who have, in part of their own free will,
adopted it? And these form to-day a
great^mass of our educated public. A
large number of these still call them-
selves Protestants ; and were the matter
to be treated lightly, they might afford
countless studies for the humorist. The
state to which they have reduced their
religion is indeed a curious one. With
a facile eclecticism that is based on no
principle, and that changes from year to
year, or more probably from mood to
mood, they pick and choose their doc-
trines^aying ; ' I keep this and I reject
this,' in some such manner as the follow-
ing : ' Of course the Apostles' Creed is
true, and of course the Athanasian Creed
is false. And then, after all, suppose
neither is true, the meaning of the thing
is the real heart of the matter.' Such is
the Protestant language of to day. Nor
is it the language of foolish or of igno-
rant people ; it is the language of count-
less clever men who have much to do,
and of countless clever women who have
nothing to do."

The author proceeds to test the
actual value on a person's life of such
a faith as this a faith that has noth-
ing really fixed in it, and that varies
with the mood of the holder. There
come the great trials of life, when
those who sorrow or those who suffer

The Future of Faith.

423

or are sorely tempted require all their
fortitude, must trample on themselves
and on their own feelings and natural
instincts, or yield to despair and give
way to wrong.

" A great sorrow comes, or a great
temptation comes. At once the tone of
to-day grows more pronounced, and a
new set of arguments suggest themselves
with singular readiness: 'God is not
good, or he would never have robbed me
of so good a husband ' ; or, ' God is not
good, or he would never have let me mar-
ry such a bad one'; and then follows, as
a corollary to these propositions, ' God
is nothing if not good, and therefore
there is no God at all.' Or the syllogism,
especially in the feminine mind, takes
not uncommonly some such form as this :
" If there was a God he would put me into
hell for being in love with so-and-so ;
but I am certain in my own mind that I
do not deserve hell ; therefore I am cer-
tain in my own mind that there can be
no God to put me there.' "

The aptness and force with which
Mr. Mallock brings the application
of these vague speculations about
religion and these loose principles
of belief home to daily life is cha-
racteristic of the man. He is not
content with wandering in the clouds.
He brings everything down to solid
earth, and tests and weighs it there.
He does not ask, How will this ap-
pear to the philosopher? but How
will this affect the lives of men and
women ? Religion is not for the
philosophers only, but for every man
born into this world. A recent trial
in Brooklyn gives peculiar point to
his remarks on this head. " In for-
mer times," says Mr. Mallock, " when
such thoughts occurred to men, the
whole weight of the world's opinion
always was ready to condemn them as
vain and wicked. But now the case is
just reversed. However foolish may
be the actual conduct of such reason-
ing, the opinion of the enlightened
world is ready to corroborate the con-
clusion."

He goes on to take another circle,
"a probably far larger one." This
is made up of men who are in sus-
pense altogether. " They see much
to revere and to regret in Christianity,
but they make no pretence of be-
lieving in its details. They do not
even think them worth arguing
against." And, lastly, " there are
the extreme destroyers, who would
break altogether with the past ; and
who, though probably wishing to re-
tain some of the emotions that were
once directed to God and to heaven,
would give them an entirely different
object in the shape of humanity, and
would never suffer them to wander
from the earth's surface."

" Such are the various parties that
the world of thought now shows to
us," says Mr. Mallock a small
body who cling heart and soul to
the past; a small body that would
utterly break with the past ; and
between them " a vast and varied
crowd, tinged in various proportions
with the colors of each extreme.
And amongst them all there is a
continual arguing, and anxiety, and
perplexity."

There is no denying the truth of
this picture. Such is Christendom
to-day, and what is to be the out-
come of it all ? The keen and truth-
ful observer whom we are quoting
thinks " it cannot be doubted that
the modern tone is spreading," and
the tendency is therefore against
faith'. " To all except a small mi-
nority faith, in the old sense of the
word, is growing a cold and shadowy
thing.' 5

" The dogmas, the services, the minis-
ters of the church are coming all of
them to have a belated look for us. They
seem out of place in the busy world
around us. Ever and again we hear of
a new Catholic miracle and the fame of
some new pilgrimage. And the strange
effect that these things have on us shows
us how far our minds have travelled,

424

The Future of Faith.

Do such things still exist? we ask in
surprise and irritation, and we set them
down as ' the grimacings of a dead su-
perstition ' galvanized into a ghastly imi-
tation of life. And then from the mo-
dern miracles the mind goes back to the
older ones, once held so sacred and so
certain. And they, too, have undergone
a change for us. Not only are Lourdes
and Paray-le-Monial contemptible, but
Calvary is disenchanted. There may
have been a death there, but there was
never a Sacrifice. Scales have fallen
from our eyes. We see it all clearly.
The creed we were brought up in is an
earthly myth, not a heavenly revelation.
We know exactly whence it came, and
we see pretty certainly whither it is go-
ing. The signs of it still survive ; but
they signify nothing. They will soon be
swept away, and will make place, we
hope earnestly, for something better."

Such is the modern tone, wonder-
fully well presented. Is it so uni-
versal as Mr. Mallock seems to
think, or so deeply rooted in the
minds and hearts of men ? He him-
self is in doubt on this point, and
proceeds to inquire with characteris-
tic honesty and persistence. He
takes up and classifies the various
objections against Christianity that
are popular to-day : the objections
a priori, which are opposed to all re-
ligion, natural as well as revealed ;
and the objections a posteriori, which
are opposed to revealed religion
only. We must refer the reader to
Mr. Mallock's article for these ob-
jections, as space does not allow us
to present them, nor is their presen-
tation necessary to our immediate
purpose. The conclusion at which
he arrives is briefly this : " If Chris-
tianity relies for support on the ex-
ternal evidence of its truth, it can
never again hope to convince men.
These supports are seen to be utterly
inadequate to the weight that is put
upon them. They might possibly
serve as props, but they crash and
crumble instantly if they are used as
pillars."

We are not so much arguing with
Mr. Mallock as allowing him free
utterance, therefore we make no for-
mal exception to what he here says.
But, he goes on, ' it is as pillars that
the whole Protestant community
uses them," the " props "above men-
tioned, and he takes up Protestant-
ism as the religion of the Bible.

" There," it says, " is the word of God ;
there is my infallible guide. I listen to
none but that. It is my first axiom that
the Bible is infallible ; and granting that,
history teaches me that all other
churches are fallible. On the Bible,
and the Bible only, I rest myself. Out
of its mouth shall you judge me. And
for a long time this language had much
force in it, for the Protestant axiom was
received by all parties. It is true that it
might be hard to decide what God's
word meant ; but still every one admit-
ted that God's word was there, and it at
any rate meant something. But now all
this is changed. The great axiom is re-
ceived no longer. Many, indeed, con-
sider it not an axiom but an absurdity ;
at best it appears but as a very doubtful
fact ; and if external proof is to be what
guides us, we shall, need more proofs to
convince us that the Bible is the word of
God than that Protestantism is the reli-
gion of the Bible." .

We agree with Mr. Mallock that
if this be Christianity, Christianity
has lost its use and its place in this
world. Reasonable men cannot be
brought to understand how so stu-
pendous and vast an edifice as
Christianity can by any possibility
rest on so very narrow and shaky a
foundation as that presented by Pro-
testantism. The whole thing is
either a gigantic sham, which has
enslaved and overshadowed men's
minds too long already and wrought
infinite mischief in the world, or else
we must seek some deeper and
broader foundation for it than this.
" In this country " (England), says
Mr. Mallock, " nearly all the ablest
attacks upon supernatural religion
have been directed against it as em-

The Future of Faith.

425

bodied in the Protestant form ; and
they have widely, and not unnatu-
rally, been regarded as quite victo-
rious." There is left then only one
of two alternatives: either Christian-
ity is false, or Protestantism is not
Christianity.

Protestantism has fallen, as we
said, under the hands of its own
children. They have demolished it,
and left only scattered fragments of
what was a body with something
like life in it. In destroying it have
they destroyed what they identified
with it supernatural religion, or
Christianity ?

" It seems to escape the assailants,"
observes Mr. Mallock, " that though
they may have burnt the outworks, there
is still a citadel inside, which, though it
seems to them almost too contemptible
to take account of, may yet not prove
combustible, and, when the conflagration
outside has subsided, may still remain
to annoy them. They forget altogether,
I mean, the Church of Rome ; nor do
they seem to consider that, though for
other causes she may perhaps be dying,
yet many of their logical darts can do
nothing to hasten her end."

Having found Protestantism so
complete a failure, Mr. Mallock turns
to the Catholic Church and ex-
amines it. He finds that " Catholics
have one characteristic which funda-
mentally separates them from the
Protestants " with respect to the
chief points at which modern thought
and science have assailed revealed
religion. Protestantism, he says, of-
fers itself to the world as a strange ser-
vant might bringing with it a number
of written testimonials to character.
It expressly begs us not to trust to
its own word. The world examines
the testimonials carefully; "it at last
sees that they look suspicious, that
they may very possibly be forgeries ;
it asks the Protestant Church to
prove them genuine, and the Pro-
testant Church cannot."

Catholicism comes in an exactly
opposite way. It brings the very
same testimonials, but sets itself
above them. It speaks with its own
authority. It speaks as Christ spoke,
Who said openly and boldly : " Be-
lieve in me ; I am the way, the
truth, and the life ; the Father and
/ are one". He used the Scriptures
also, but only as adjuncts to his own
teaching. His credentials were ex-
clusively his own. The Scriptures
were his ; he was not the Scriptures'.
And so the church which he found-
ed surely ought to speak the
church which is his living body,
higher and greater than any Scrip-
tures. "It " (the Catholic Church),
says Mr. Mallock, " asks us to
make some acquaintance with it;
to look into its living eyes, to hear
the words of its mouth, to watch
its ways and works, and to feel its
inner spirit ; and then it says to the
world, ' Can you trust me ? If so,
you must trust me all in all, for the
first thing I declare to you is that I
have never lied. Can you trust me
thus far ? Then listen, and I will
tell you my story. You have heard
it told one way, I know; and that
way often goes against me. I admit
myself that it has many suspicious
circumstances. But none of them
positively condemn me. All are
capable of a guiltless interpretation ;
and now you know me as I am, you
will give me the benefit of evety
doubt.' It is in this spirit that Ca-
tholicism offers us the Bible. ' Be-
lieve the Bible for my sake,' it says,
'not me for the Bible's.' And the
book, as thus offered us, changes its
whole character."

We have no fault to find with this
presentation of the Catholic claims
so far. Mr. Mallock has here fully
grasped an essential difference be-
tween Catholics and Protestants
which few non-Catholics are able to

426

The Future of Faith.

grasp. How clearly and well he
elucidates this important point will
be seen by those who care to read
his article, of which we can only
present the substance. His conclu-
sion with regard to Catholicity and
the Bible is: "As Catholicism
stands at the present moment, it
seems hard to say that, were we for
any other reasons inclined to trust
it, it makes any claim for the Bible
that would absolutely prevent our
doing so." That being the case, it
follows as a matter of course that
all the " logical darts " aimed at the
Bible fall, harmless from the invinci-
ble armor of the Catholic Church.

He then goes on to consider the
various doctrines of the Catholic
Church, and herein he shows the
same capability of appreciating the
Catholic stand-point, an appreciation
of which stand-point is, of course,
necessary to any one who would
honestly inquire into what Catholi-
city really is, and what Catholics ac-
tually do believe. These doctrines,
he says, " though it is claimed that
they are all implied in the Bible, are
confessedly not expressed in it, and
were confessedly not consciously as-
sented to by the church till long
after the sacred canon was closed."
We would here remark that this is
true only of some Catholic doctrines.
Well, says Mr. Mallock, " let us here
grant the extreme position of the
church's most hostile critics. Let us
grant that all the doctrines in ques-
tion can be traced to external and
often to n on- Christian sources. And
what is the result on Romanism ?
Does this go any way whatever
towards logically discrediting its
claims?" We will let him answer
his own question in his own way :

" If we do but consider the matter
fairly, we shall see that it does not even
tend to do so. Here, as in the case of

the Bible, the Roman doctrine of infal-
libility meets all objections. For the
real question here is not in what store-
house of opinions the church found its
doctrines ; but why it selected those it
did, and why it rejected and condemned
the rest. History cannot answer this.
History can show us only who made the
separate bricks ; it cannot show us who
made and designed the building. . . .
And the doctrines of the church are but
as the stones in a building, the letters of
an alphabet, or the words of a language.
Many are offered and few chosen. Tlie
supernatural action is to be defected in ttie
choice. The whole history of the church,
in fact, as she herself tells it, is a history
of supernatural selection. It is quite
possible that she may claim it to be
more than that ; but could she vindicate
for herself but this one faculty of an in-
fallible choice, she would vindicate to the
full her claim to be under a superhuman
guidance. The church may be conceiv-
ed of as a living organism, for ever and
on all sides putting forth feelers and ten-
tacles, that seize, try, and seem to dally
with all kinds of nutriment. A part of
this she at length takes into herself. A
large part she at length puts down again.
Much that is thus rejected she seems
for a long time on the point of choosing.
But however slow may be the -final de-
cision in coming, however reluctant or
hesitating it may seem to be, when it is
once made it is claimed r or it that it is
infallible. And this claim, when we once
understand its nature, will be seen, I
think, to be one that neither our know-
ledge of ecclesiastical history nor of
comparative mythology can invalidate
now or even promise ever to do so."

It will be seen that we are a long
way from Protestantism already, and
that we have here a very different
kind of church, which, be it right or
wrong, rests on a very deep and firm
foundation.. At least this must be
said of it by all : Granting its truth,
there is no stronger foundation con-
ceivable. Granting it to be false
even, it is hard to conceive a strong-
er foundation, or one that could
commend itself with more force and
assurance of safety to reasonable
men. If there be a God living and

The Future of Faith.

427

moving in this world, this looks very
like God's handiwork.

Mr. Mallock concedes that " the
Catholic Church can still claim, in
the face of all the new lights thrown
on her history, to be sprung from a
supernatural root." But it may be
that she " will be found to be be-
trayed by her fruits " when these
are inspected in detail. Her prima-
ry dogmas and her general sacred
character may be conceded ; but
"numberless deductions from them
and indirect consequences" may
" revolt our common sense and our
moral sense, though we have no
exact means of disproving them."
Such difficulties, he finds, do exist;
" but if we examine them carefully,
many, at least, will be found to rest
upon misconceptions."

The difficulties in question are
that Catholicity " makes salvation
depend on our assenting to a num-
ber of obscure propositions "; that
to many Catholic ritual seems to be
an integral part of the church's mys-
tical body, and that thus salvation is
made to hang "not only on an as-
sent to occult propositions of phi-
losophy, but upon altar-candles and
the colored clothes of priests ";
again, " the temper and intellectual
tone which she seems to develop in
her members " makes the church " a
rock of offence to many "; there are
" a number of miraculous legends and
quaint beliefs which are or have
been prevalent amongst Catholics."
Of all these difficulties Mr. Mallock
himself very lucidly and effectively
disposes,, and shows that they " will
be seen to be not really formidable."
There are other difficulties, however,
which he finds " worse than these."
They consist of " certain moral ob-
jections to the Catholic Church's
scheme altogether, and objections of
science and common sense to other
necessary parts of it."

" The moral objections consist princi-
pally of these: the exclusiveness of the
church, which leaves the rest of mankind
uncared for ; the church's doctrine of re-
wards and punishments, which are bar-
barous or ridiculous in their details,
and which, besides that, make all virtue
venal ; and the doctrine of a vicarious
satisfaction for sin, which to many minds
carries its own condemnation on the face
of it. Lastly, besides these, there is the
entire question of miracles."

Into all these matters Mr. Mal-
lock goes with the same patient pur-
pose and honest mind that distin-
guish him everywhere. His con-
clusion, as a wkole, is given at the
head of this article. Space forbids
us to follow him any farther, but we
cannot resist the temptation to quote
for the benefit of our non-Catholic
readers what he says on infallibility
and on the "exclusiveness" of the
Catholic Church :

"The doctrine of the church's infalli-
bility," he says, "has a side that is just
the opposite of that which is commonly
thought to be its only one. It is sup-
posed to have simply gendered bondage,
not to have gendered liberty. But as a
matter of fact it has done both ; and if
we view the matter fairly we shall see
that it has done the latter at least as
completely as the former. The doctrine
of infallibility is undoubtedly a rope that
tethers those that hold it to certain real
or supposed facts of the past ; but it is a
rope that is capable of indefinite length-
ening. It is not a fetter only ; it is a
support also, and those who cling to it
can venture fearlessly, as explorers, into
currents of speculation that would sweep
away altogether men who did but trust
to their own powers of swimming. Nor
does, as is often supposed, the central-
izing of this infallibility in the person of
one man present any difficulty from the
Catholic point of view. It is said that
the pope might any day make a dogma
of any absurdity that might happen to
occur to him ; and that the Catholic
would be bound to accept these, how-
ever strongly his reason might repudiate
them. And it is quite true that the pope
might do this any day, in the sense that
there is no external power to prevent

428

The Future of Faith.

him. But he who has assented to the
central doctrine of Catholicism knows
that he never will. And it is precisely
the obvious absence of any restraint from
without that brings home to the Catholic
his faith in the guiding power from with-

Of the " exclusiveness " of the Ca-
tholic Church, or, as it is more com-
monly put, of the doctrine that " out
of the Catholic Church there is no
salvation," Mr. Mallock thus writes :

" As to the exclusiveness of the Ca-
tholic Church, it must be of course con-
fessed that much perplexity is caused by
any view of the world which obliges us
to think of the most saving truths, and
the most precious helps to a right life,
being confined to a minority of the hu-
man race. But, supposing we attach to
a knowledge of the truth any real impor-
tance, let us hold the supreme truths of
life to be what we may, until the whole
human race are unanimous about them
we shall have to regard a part, probably
through no fault of their own, as con-
demned to disastrous error. But of all
creeds Catholicism is the one that does
most to alleviate this perplexity. Of all
religious bodies the Roman Church has
the largest hope and charity for those
outside her own pale. She condemns
men, not for not accepting her teaching,
but only for rejecting it ; and they can-
not reject it until they know it, what it
is know its inner spirit as well as its
outward forms and formulas. Such a
knowledge, in the opinion of many Ca-
tholics, it may be a very hard thing to
convey to some men. Prejudices for
which they themselves are not responsi-
ble may have blinded their eyes ; and if
they have been blind they will not have
had sin. They will be able to plead in-
vincible ignorance ; and the judgments
the church pronounces are not against
those who have not known, but against
those only who have known and hated.
Nor is it too much to say that a zealous
Catholic can afford to harbor more hope
for an infidel than a zealous Protestant
can afford to harbor for a Catholic."

And now comes the final ques-
tion, What is to be the future of
faith ? As we regard the matter,
the answer to that, humanly speak-

ing, rests mainly with those who
have the faith. Faith is a sacred
deposit, to be used, spread, and pro-
pagated over the world; to lead men
to a right manner of living, to the
true knowledge of God, and up to
God. Thus the future of faith is in
the hands of the faithful. Faith has
two antagonists : the devil and, in
a sense, man's free-will. Of course
modern* thought scornfully dismisses
the first antagonist as a myth. We
cannot follow modern thought in
this ; we have a very profound be-
lief in the existence of an ever-active
and intelligent spirit of evil, who can
and does tempt man into revolt
against God, and who finds his rea-
diest instrument, where he ought to
find his chief resistance* in that high-
est prerogative of freedom which
God confers on man. We take, then,
first the devil, and, in a secondary
sense, man's free-will as the two
great antagonists to faith. That is
to say, if man 'will rebel, if he will
not accept the faith, there is no
power to hinder his rebellion.

And here we leave the devil aside
and turn only to man. The future
of faith is for him to say. What will
he do with it ? Why does he not
accept it ? Why should his free-
will reject it, if it is good and ap-
proves itself so strongly to human
intelligence, and if, moreover, God
and all heaven are for ever standing
on its side ? There was at one time
a united faith in Christendom ; why
was it ever broken ?

Of course we can lay a great deal
on the back of the devil and on the
perversity of the human will. But
it may be as well to remember also
that those who have the faith may
prove false to their trust. St. James
tells us that even the devils believe
and tremble. And so a man may
possess the letter of the faith in full
with very little of its spirit. A man

The Future of Faith.

429

may know St. Thomas from cover to
cover, and assent to all his proposi-
tions, yet lead a bad life. Faith
without works is dead. Christians
must show forth in their lives whose
disciples they are. If their lives are
good ; if the lives of a large body
of believers are good ; if they are
chaste, charitable, honest in word
and deed, and if such be the normal
condition of their lives, men will not
have far to go to look for faith.
Virtue is the great preacher and con-
verter. Even natural virtue cour-
age, sobriety, manliness, self-restraint
wins universal admiration. Su-
pernatural virtue proclaims its god-
head.

If the world is to be converted to
faith, it will only be converted by
the good lives and works of the
faithful. The human intellect may
carp at intellectual difficulties, but
the human heart is overcome by
goodness, by charity, by chastity.
Faith is now what it always was ;
men are as they always were. But
from a faithless and corrupt genera-
tion the inheritance is taken away.
Thus the Jews lost it, thus Christian
nations lose it. Had there been no
corruption among the faithful there
would have been no Protestant Re-
formation. Had there been no cor-
ruption in France, had the leaders
of the people been true to the faith
that was in them, infidelity would
never have made such fearful havoc
in a land of saints. And so with
Germany, England, Scotland, Aus-
tria, Italy, and the other nations ;
when we examine closely we shall
find that the revolt had its origin less
in pride of intellect than in the con-
cupiscence of the flesh and the pride
of life. Intellectual assent to God's
teaching is not enough to lead a man
to heaven. There must be a corre-
sponding moral assent in his life.
Why did Ireland, the weakest of the

nations, not lose the faith ? She
was decimated, starved, made igno-
rant, brutalized as far as inhuman
legislation can go to brutalize man,
but she never lost the faith. Why ?
Because her sons and her daughters,
whatever they may have known or
not known of theology, of science, of
philosophy, of literature, lived ~thc
faith, kept it stored up in their
hearts, died for it, bequeathed it as a
sacred legacy their only legacy to
their children. Ah ! it is on this
that the future of faith hangs more
than on intellectual discussion, arti-
cles in magazines, or theological
writings. Shall \ve to-day doubt or
hesitate about the future of faith we
the members of a church that num-
bers its millions by the hundred thou-
sand ? Are not we the children of
Peter, of Paul, of Christ himself?
Have not we the deposit that he con-
fided to the twelve ? Did they hesi-
tate to face a world from which
faith was almost blotted out, a world
steeped in iniquity ? They went out
twelve men ; they preached Jesus,
and him crucified; they lived what
they preached, they suffered for what
they preached, and, when nothing
more was left for them to do, they
died for it. We are not called upon
to die for it to-day. The church is
established. Its temples cover the
world. Its children are in every
land. From the rising of the sun to
the going down thereof the living
Sacrifice of Christ's redeeming body
and blood is daily offered up to God
from the world and for the world.
Can we tremble for the future of
faith ?

Of course sin and schism and in-
fidelity will exist in the world till the
end ; but great multitudes may be
saved and brought back if only the
faithful are true. One great oppos-
ing element to the advance of faith
is dissolving before our eyes Protes-

430

New Publications*

tantism. Shall all the children of
Protestants perish and be given over
to infidelity ? Are there no earnest
and well-inclined minds among them,
no good people ? There are multi-
tudes of such, who are wavering and
in doubt and sore perplexity because
such support even as they had is
slipping from under them, and be-
neath they see nothing but a blank
and awful abyss. We do not antici-
pate that they will come back to us
in multitudes. We scarcely look for
that general tf craving amongst men
for the certainty, the guidance, and

the consolation that the Catholic
Church alone offers them," as Mr.
Mallock puts it. We do not rely
upon " such an outburst of feeling " ;
and yet even that might come.
Sensim sine sensu will the wanderers
come back. What we Catholics
have to consider is our duty in the
matter. We can indeed hasten that
coming. If we would do so effectu-
ally we must be brothers to them in
charity, examples to them in our
lives, above them in intelligence as
in that faith which is the highest
intelligence.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

ELEMENTS OF ECCLESIASTICAL LAW. By
Rev. S. B. Smith, D.D. Second edi-
tion, revised and enlarged. Benziger
Bros., New York.

We are glad to see that the Rev. Dr.
Smith has been obliged to issue a se-
cond edition of his Elements of Eccle-
siastical Law so soon after his first edi-
tion. This is an evidence that his book
was a desideratum in our country.
Though considered as a missionary
country and under the direction of the
Propaganda, yet, owing to the progress
which the church has made here during
the last twenty-five years, we have almost
all the qualifications for being put on
the same regular footing as the oldest
churches of Europe. At all events it
cannot be denied that we are steadily and
swiftly approaching that stage. Very
soon the church in this country will as-
sume the regular canonical status of
the churches on the Continent ofEurope.
The necessity, therefore, is apparent
of studying the common legislation of
the church universal, in order to assimi-
late ourselves to the spirit and, as far
as possible, to the letter of that legisla-
tion, and to apply its general principles
to the particular conditions, wants, and
requirements of our country. This has
been Dr. Smith's aim in the Elements he
has published. He gives, in the first
place, an idea of law and jus in gen-

eral, and in particular of canon law
with its divisions. Next he inquires
into the sources of canon law which
are the Scriptures, tradition, aposto-
lic enactments, decrees of the Roman
pontiffs and of the councils, oecumeni-
cal, national, provincial, and diocesan,
the Roman congregations and customs
along with a history of canon law in the
Latin church, and especially a history of
canon law in our country. This occu-
pies the whole of the first part. In the
second part our author treats of juris-
diction in general as vested in ecclesi-
astical persons, of the different kinds of
jurisdiction, of the manner of acquiring
it in general and in particular, of the
manner of resigning ar\d losing juris-
diction, and of the right and duties of
such as are vested with ecclesiastical
jurisdiction ; hence in the third part he
speaks in particular of the Sovereign
Pontiff, his election, primacy, and
other prerogatives, of cardinals and cf
the Roman congregations, of legates,
nuncios, of patriarchs, primates, met-
ropolitan bishops, auxiliary bishops, co-
adjutor-bishops, vicars-general, deans
and pastors, etc., of the rights, privileges,
and duties of all these respective digni-
taries.

It might be said against this book that
all these things are treated in every ele-
mentary treatise on canon law. Of course

New Publications.

431

the auth.or of the book before us does
not claim to discuss any matter which
has not found its place already in the
canonical legislation of the church. But
that does not make Dr. Smith's book
less valuable nor its author less wor-
thy of praise for having rendered a great
service to the church in this country.
In the first place, he has put together in
a comparatively small volume and at
great labor what would only be found
scattered in many books. In the second
place, he has given us his Elements in
the English language, so that every one,
even those who are not familiar with the
Latin tongue, can acquire a fair know-
ledge of the church's legislation.

Thirdly, and above all, he has taken
great pains to give us the particular
legislation of our country as derived
from the first and second Plenary Coun-
cils of Baltimore, of both of which he
has fairly interpreted the spirit and the
aim. At the first glance, and upon a
superficial perusal of their enactments, it
would seem that the whole tendency of
these two councils was a centralization
of power as vested in the hierarchy as,
for instance, the power of governing
without consulting the chapter or the
advisers of the bishop ; the power of
having seminaries regulated altogether
by the bishop without the three canoni-
cal committees of the clergy, one to look
after the spiritual welfare, the other two
after the temporal interests, of semina-
ries; the power of appointing priests to
parishes without the concursus, or com-
petitive examination ; the power of
moving priests from parishes, and many
other instances, would seem to indicate
a tendency of centralizing all power in
the hierarchy. Yet the spirit of the two
Plenary Councils of Baltimore was far
from intending any such thing, as is
evident by other enactments, and by the
desire which the fathers of the council
frequently express of conforming them-
selves as far as possible to the general
legislation of the church, and by the re-
gret which they manifest that, owing to
the particular circumstances of our
country, they are unable to adopt the
general canon law of the church in many
things. Dr. Smith's book clearly puts
forward this spirit of our two plenary
councils, and the enactments which the
fathers made in order to put a just and
fair limit to their power, as in the ques-
tion of removing pastors; in which case

the last Plenary Council of Baltimore
enacted that no bishop should remove a
pastor without a proper cause.

In questions which these two councils
left undecided our author, with all pro-
per respect, gives a decision more con-
sonant with the general canon law of
the church and with the dictates of na-
tural jus, thus conforming himself to the
spirit of the two councils.

How far it would be desirable to adopt
the common canonical law in this coun-
try, or whether the time has fully arriv-
ed for doing so, the author very properly
leaves for the decision of the hierarchy
and the Holy See. We do not deem it
inconsistent with the respect we owe to
our American prelates in coinciding
with the desire expressed by the Coun-
cil of Baltimore that some few things
pertaining to the common canonical law
of the church might be carried out ; for in-
stance, the exacting of a concursus for par-
ishes. Our bishops could require a con-
cursus at least for the larger parishes, and
abstain from appointing any one to such
parishes except one of those who have
received a sufficient number of points
required for approbation. This would
secure always for the larger parishes at
least an occupant sufficiently instructed
in moral as well as parenetic theology. It
would also be a great inducement for
the younger clergy to cultivate these
sciences, and not to abandon them as
soon as they are out of the seminary.
Our bishops would attain these great
beneficial results without losing their
perfect right and freedom of appointment,
as they would not be bound to give the
parish to the best in learning, but to the
best all things considered, learning as
well as probity, prudence, and ability in
looking after the temporal welfare of the
church ; as, indeed, they would not be
bound to give it to the best at all, but
only to one of the approved.

With reference to other things our
opinion would be to let things remain as
they are ; because the common canoni-
cal law as it stands only obtains in a
very few parts of Europe, and we may
say that the church legislation, owing
to the circumstances of the times, is in
a transition state. When the Vatican
Council opens again and we hope our
Holy Father Pope Leo XIII. may
soon see fit to reopen it many changes
may take place in the legislation of the
church. It will be time enough then for

432

New Publications*

the American Church to adopt such
legislation as will be conformable with
the common law of the church.

Dr. Smith deserves high praise for his
work, and our seminarians and clergy
would do well to study his book as emi-
nently useful and important, giving us
quite an accurate idea of the common,
canonical law and of the particular legis-
lation of the American Church.

THE BOOK OF PSALMS. Translated from
the Latin Vulgate, etc. London :
Burns & Gates. 1878. (For sale by
The Catholic Publication Society Co.)

This small and neat edition of the
Psalms is most welcome. With all re-
spect we apply to it the words of an old
English Catholic poet, Crashaw :

" Lo ! here a little volume, but large book,
Much larger in itself than in its look."

Cardinal Manning has written the
preface, and the Psalms are enriched
throughout with explanatory notes as the
church requires for the Scriptures in the
vulgar tongue.

The Psalter of David was among all
classes of Christians, from the beginning,
the favorite expression both of private
and public devotions. The apostles
themselves (Ephes. v. 19, Coloss. iii. 16)
instructed the faithful in the use of these
inspired canticles, and we learn from va-
rious passages in the writings of Tertul-
lian, Augustine, Jerome, and Ven. Bede
particularly, how familiar the early
Christians must have been with them
until the eighth century, when public or
liturgical psalmody was left to the clergy
exclusively. We hope that a taste for
the reading of the Sacred Scriptures, a*nd
the devotional use of the Psalms espe-
cially, will increase we had almost said
will revive among the laity.

BOOKS FOR SUMMER READING.

The Catholic Publication Society Com-
pany has just published quite a batch of
very seasonable and interesting books.
For those looking for summer reading
nothing better could possibly be recom-
mended than the graphic sketches of
Italian life and manners, of scenery and
monuments of faith and history, embo-

died in the charming Six Sunny Months,
which ran as a serial in this magazine.
Its gifted author, the writer of the House
of Yo/ke, Grapes and Thorns, etc., needs
no introduction to our readers. A com-
panion volume to this is the Letters of a
Young Irishwoman to her Sister, which
excited so much interest and no little
controversy while appearing in these
pages. The pictures of French home-
life and scenery, of French and Irish
character, of thrilling contemporary
events, given in these letters are to
our thinking unsurpassed in unaffect-
ed grace and naive simplicity, while
the growing sadness of the end lifts
what was intended to be the unpub-
lished narrative of unassuming every-
day existence to the heights of tragic
pathos. Sir Thomas More carries us
back into other days and weaves history
into a powerful romance. The Trowel
and the Cross, from the strong pen of Con-
rad von Bolanden, gives us the German
social and political life of the da)' with a
force and a truth and a deep philosophi-
cal insight that very few pens can com-
mand. Bolanden has Disraeli's art of
throwing the living problems of the day
in social and political matters into inter-
esting stories, with the saving gift, that
Disraeli has not, of truth and right. Of
lighter calibre, yet thoroughly charming
and well adapted to while away the
lazy summer hours, are Assunta How-
ard and Other Stories, Albas Dream
(by the author of Are You My
Wife?} and Other Stories, Stray Leaves
from a Passing Life and Other Stories.
Nothing better, in the way of light litera-
ture, than any or all of these books is-
sues from the press, and nothing better
can be done by Catholics who read at
all than to read their own literature
and support the efforts of those who de-
vote their gifts exclusively to the Catho-
lic cause.

Pious books especially adapted for
this season are the Hand-book of Instruc-
tions and Devotions for the Children of
Mary (translated from the French by
Rev. J. P. O'Connell, D.D.), The Love of
Jesus to Penitents (by Cardinal Man-
ning), and The Young Girl's Month of
June (a companion to the Month of
May, noticed last month, and translat-
ed by Miss MacMahon).

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD

VOL. XXVII., No. 160. JULY, 1878.

GERMAN SOCIALISM.

DURING the last two months our
daily journals have contained re-
ports of the doings and the threat-
enings of numerous mysterious asso-
ciations in our Western cities. From
these reports it is clear that attempts
were being made to organize and
arm the disaffected against the pre-
sent constitution of society, and that
the purpose of these proposed as-
saults was utterly destructive, and
not at all constructive ; everything
as it exists was to be swept away,
but there was no agreement as to
what should take the place of the
destroyed system. To the tail of
the serpent there seemed to be no
head. Each of the leaders in the
agitation, when personally ques-
tioned by the agents of the daily
press, spoke for himself, with more
or less obscurity of meaning, but
with no recognition or mention of
a general organization or a direct-
ing head. In St. Louis, Cincin-
nati, Chicago, Milwaukee, San
Francisco, and a score of other
cities companies of men are meet-
ing secretly night after night, and
are drilling to accustom themselves
to the use of arms ; when they are

not drilling they are listening to
speeches in which most inflamma-
tory language is used : in this place
a certain list of " demands " is for-
mulated ; in another these so-call'ed
reforms are scouted as merely pal-
liative in their nature and as un-
worthy of consideration. But amid
this confusion it was* seen clearly
that the inspiration of the agita-
tion came from German sources,
and that the men engaged in fan-
ning the flame of the inchoate con-
flagration were chiefly of German
birth. Here we resist a tempta-
tion to diverge into an examination
of the causes of the origin and
growth of this revolutionary agita-
tion in the United States a most
fecund and interesting theme. But
just at this time the life of the
Emperor of Germany is attempted
by one of his own subjects ; and it
is made to appear that the would-
be assassin made the criminal at-
tempt in the interest of the social-
istic agitation in Germany. Each
branch of the German socialists, of
course, condemns and disowns him ;
he appears to have been initiated
into the secrets of the councils of

T. HECKER. 1878.

434

German Socialism.

many of these associations ; he cer-
tainly was thoroughly impregnated
with the theories of the German
socialistic philosophers of the most
advanced schools. These theories
are destructive and not construc-
tive; the man Hoedel had pro-
bably convinced himself that it
was time to begin this work of de-
struction, and that it would be well
to commence at the root of the
tree. So he struck at the empe-
ror happily with a bad aim.

Here, then, we have a striking
illustration of the fruition of Ger-
man socialism at the very time
when we see its initial workings in
our own country. This flower of
the tree the man Hoedel may,
however, be said to be a premature
and unnatural product of the plant.
The educated classes in Germany,
we believe, will not think so. If
they are blind to the natural ten-
dency of the socialistic theories of
their own philosophers, it is not
for lack of plain warnings and de-
monstrations from authorities whom
they are accustomed to respect.
The anxiety of the government re-
garding the spread of revolution-
ary and subversive opinions has
long been well known. It is only
a short time ago that a thorough
review of German socialism was
published in the Deutsche Rund-
schau the " German Contemporary
Review " a monthly magazine of
high standing, printed at Berlin.
This review extended through two
numbers of the magazine, and at
once attracted attention by the
thoroughness and acumen with
which the subject was treated. Its
author is Dr. Ludwig Bamberger,
a gentleman whose own history is
curious. Born in Mayence, in 1822,
he studied for the law at Giesen,
Heidelberg, and Gottingen, and in
1848-49116 edited the M aimer Zei-

tung. Carried away by the revo-
lutionary excitement of that pe-
riod, he took part in the insurrec-
tion in the Rheinphalz, and was
elected to the Frankfort Parlia-
ment. Instead of taking his seat,
he wisely went into Switzerland
and thence to London, where he
devoted himself to the study and
practice of banking. In 1851 he
founded a banking-house in Rot-
terdam, and two years afterwards
found himself at the head of a
large financial institution in Paris,
which he conducted with great
success for thirteen years. He has
written several works of impor-
tance ; his last production, a vol-
ume published in German and in
French a't Paris, in 1869, on Count
Bismarck, was not the least nota-
ble of his books. This is the au-
thor whose dissertation upon Ger-
man socialism has appeared so op-
portunely. It is worthy of the
most serious attention, and we give
the substance of it in the following
pages. Dr. Bamberger is not a
Catholic. He is decidedly anti-
Catholic, as will be seen, and
as we allow him to appear ; he
discusses his subject without the
slightest aid from the light which
true reason, aided by religion, would
throw upon it. But we shall take
him on his own ground, and, with-
out attempting to translate him
fully, follow with fidelity his line
of thought.

The people of Germany, he says,
are to-day waging as wordy a war
as did the nobility of France a
century ago. The men who best
know this are those who for a
generation have devoted themselves
to fomenting the war of those who
have nothing against those who
possess everything, and who are

German Socialism.

435

to-day the leaders of the proletariat.
The contrast between the theories
and the practice of these men is
ludicrous. A small number of
gifted, learned, diligent men, they
dwell in peace and luxury ; they
enjoy life like connoisseurs ; from
these secure and pleasant ports
they sail forth to attack the econo-
my by which the machinery of
society is kept in motion. In this
amusement there seems to be a
species of demoniacal pleasure.
If they were sincere, the contrast
between their habits and their pro-
fessed aims would be ludicrous.
The equalization they call for can
only be realized by placing an
equal proportion of the means ne-
cessary for gaining a livelihood
within the reach of all. Every
ownership exceeding this minimum
would be divided to increase the
necessary quota.

Is it objected that this is look-
ing at the question from the dark-
est side ? It is true that great
movements should not be measur-
ed by those nearest to them. But
events can never be separated from
those who bring them about. More-
over, we are not now concerned
with history but with to-day. In
the demonstration of philosophical
principles it may be asked whether
the teaclver is a philosopher in his
own life; this curiosity is still less
indiscreet when the issue is one of
life and death.

The originators of German so-
cialism Lassalle and his eulogist,
Herwegh were luxurious men of
the world, for whose desires the
voluptuous apparatus of modern
cities alone sufficed. Their suc-
cessors are like unto them. To
meet them is to scoff at the idea
that these men should have de-
scribed, as participants, the grim
battle for existence fought by the

common people. An ingenious
psychological explanation is offer-
ed for them. The conjunction of
bodily comfort with intellectual
distinction which they enjoy causes
them to shudder at the thought of
a life hard, painful, and colorless.
Their sympathy to this extent may
be genuine; but so much the
greater is the hypocrisy of their
battle-cry for a universal economy
whose cardinal principle shall be
the equal abnegation of all.

These men are not Catilinical
but Herostratic. We can have
some sympathy with the man who,
thrown out of his path, angry with
the whole world on account of his
evil fortune, seeks for a new order
of things. But these leaders, from
Marx to Bakumin, from the caustic
diatribe of the poisoned pen to
the torch steeped in petroleum,
exclaim : " For the world as it is
we care not ! If we can proclaim
our contempt for it by destroying
it, let it perish!" This is the cry
that has been growing louder for
thirty years from the date of tne
appearance of the first socialistic
articles in the Cologne Zeitung to
the present moment.

The public of to-day know the
high-priests of socialism only from
the thick books in which their
solemn declarations are spread out,
and from the interpretations of
these given at working-men's con-
gresses. The personal motives
from which the whole movement
sprang are forgotten. Carl Marx,
when he gazes over from his Lon-
don cottage upon the new German
Empire, can exclaim with pride
that after thirty years his seed has
brought forth abundantly. Who-
ever wishes to see this sower more
closely and in his true character
need only read Carl Vogt's pam-
phlet, Life of Fugitives in London.

43^

German Socialism.

Here are the revelations not of an
opponent but an adherent of the
cause and an admirer of Marx,
but a disillusionized admirer. He
sees that the meanest of tricks were
practised by Marx and his entourage
in the meanest manner; and that
the desire for power is ak strong
among these levellers as it is in
the court of a king. Here, for in-
stance, are extracts from Carl
Vogt's pamphlet :

" In the end it is all the same whether
this contemptible Europe falls an event
that must presently occur without the
revolution. They (Carl Marx and his
Janissaries) care nothing for the German
common people. They desire only to
remain eternally in the opposition, with-
out which the revolution would go to
sleep. . . . We drank first porter, then
claret, then red Bordeaux, then cham-
pagne. After the red wine Marx was
quite drunk. This was very desirable,
for he became more open hearted. I
heard much that otherwise would have
been concealed. But he kept up the
conversation to the end ; he impressed
me as a man of singular mental superi-
ority and of remarkable personality.
Had he as much heart as mind, as much
love as hatred, I would go through the
fire for him. I am sorry for our cause
that he does not possess a noble heart.
His ambition has eaten up all the good
qualities in him. He laughs over the
iools who repeat his proletariat catechism,
as well as over communists a la Willich
or the bourgeoisie. He cares only for
the aristocrats, purely and consciously
so. To drive them from power he em-
ploys a force that he finds only in the
proletariat, and for that reason has
adapted his system to it."

So much for Marx. The true
portraiture of Lassalle would be as
amusing. But the contrast between
the living and the preaching, be-
tween the private mode of thought
and the public utterances of the
German upper and middle classes
generally, is equally observable. And
in this respect they remind one of
the marquises and viscounts of the

eighteenth century. They do not
dance on the volcano, but gather
the fuel for the pile on which they
themselves are to be consumed ;
and the cry Sancta siwplic itas ! re-
sounds, not sympathetically from
the mouth of the victim, but mock-
ingly from the throat of the execu-
tioner. The fact that the interna-
tionalists, far away from German
shores, send mandates from be-
neath the, shelter of their English
homes for the destruction of our
civil comity, would give us little
cause for alarm, if men unwillingly
united, and doubly important by
their positions and their number,
were not seeking to accomplish
this work within our own walls.
The fruits of their activity are ob-
servable everywhere.

Many will answer: In these
symptoms appears the develop-
ment of a healthy process, similar
to the unconscious self-dissolution
of the French aristocracy which
brought about the revolution and
thus conferred the greatest benefit
upon posterity. So it is now the
duty of the people "the third
class " to make room for its le-
gitimate successor, " the fourth
class." Whether it was fortunate
for the world that the French Revo-
lution was accomplished we shall
not say. There is, however, not
a single analogous characteristic
between the epoch of that revolu-
tion and the present time..

One of the most absurd weak-
nesses of our time is that it hur-
ries on with formulas of a dialectic
development, and transforms them
into the business of life before
they are properly digested. What
is more ludicrous than the intro-
duction of parliamentary systems
into countries semi-barbarous ?
The attempt to cure Russia, Tur-
key, Roumania, and Egypt with

German Socialism.

437

parliamentary constitutions re-
minds us of the peasant who, when
the doctor has prescribed a medi-
cine for him, employs the same for
his wife and child in every disease.
He falls into the same error who
fancies that the German people
have arrived at that stage of their
development when, like the French
nobility of the eighteenth century,
they should betake themselves
with a good grace out of the world.
The very contrary is the case.
Never have extremes met more
closely than in the common at-
tack of reaction and socialism
against the German people. While
the temperate socialistic ideal has
for its end the revival of the state
of society during the middle ages,
the internationalists aim at the
dissolution of all that has been
gained since our ancestors were
barbarians. There is a lower
depth yet, for a school exists
which, going only a step farther,
calls itself "anarchist."*

The support given the socialists
by the agrarians and the ultra-
raontanes is more than an ordinary
political coalition. Their sympa-
thy reposes on inward concur-
rence; and for Germany it is es-
pecially dangerous, because their
attacks are directed against a peo-
ple neither matured nor secured.
Germany is almost wholly wanting
in everything needful for the forma-
tion of a united, intelligent, and in-
dependent body politic. The strong
material groundwork is yet want-
ing. The complaints made against
our industrial products are not
groundless. Nor can they be as-
cribed to the passing influence of
commercial folly which character-
ized the period immediately follow-

* The man Hoedel, who sought to kill the empe-
ror, stated that he belonged to this school ; he had
swung around the circle, and bad ended as L an
"anarchist/'

ing the war. We have to do with
evils as old as the century. Im-
provement of workmanship, in-
crease of general prosperity, and
elevation of political prestige bear
the closest relationship to each
other. The intoxication of victory
led to a foolish application of the
booty extorted from France. Those
who undertook the solution of this
stupendous financial problem ap-
proached it with too small a mea-
sure of its importance. But every-
where we meet with the same tech-
nical inadequacy in Germany.
Earnest work alone in domestic as
well as public economy can lead
us to the firm establishment of a
healthy, civilized state. Only fools
can propose to dispense with the
forms requisite for the collection
of strength which has made possi-
ble the stage of culture we now
are in, and only sophists can at-
tempt to establish this power with-
out capital, and capital without
property. But instead of allow-
ing the German people to attain,
its development, the inimical ele-
ments are now all pouncing up oil-
it, and telling it that it has outliv-
ed itself and is ready for dissolu-
tion.

In England, France, and Italy
there is an aristocracy with strong,
self-respect and conservative prin-
ciples an erudite community, fill-
ed with the quiet consciousness of
its intellectual superiority. But
these classes do not separate the:
task of their self-preservation from,
that of the preservation of the peo-
ple. There he who seeks to bring
forward particular ideas endea-
vors to carry them into the great
community of the people.

There are eccentric persons
everywhere; but only in Germany
exist entire groups of aristocratic,
learned, and religious men who*

438

German Socialism.

make war upon the people their
business. Aristocrats who take the
field against capital, professors who
teach that the road to wealth leads
to prison, bishops who conspire
with demagogues, are to be found
only in Germany. First one and
then another of these groups wish
to make experimentum in anima
vili with the people. Its pains
give them no care nay, in some
cases secret joy ; all are deluded
by the idea that they can abuse it
without imperilling their own safe-
ty. ... The nation, as a whole, does
not feel responsible for its own
support. It still believes that the
supreme power, reposing upon itself,
would take care to preserve order.
For this reason it doefe not per-
mit any interference with attacks
against itself,* and sometimes takes
pleasure in joining in the sport.

The ruling class is scarcely wis-
er. Its nerves are somewhat more
susceptible ; but as for a true in-
sight into the state of affairs it is
as much in the dark as the govern-
ed. It suspects, in small degree,
the extreme danger that threatens,
but it is at sea concerning the ori-
gin and nature of the danger. If
alarmed by a fresh incident, it
thinks that more stringent laws are
all that is needed, f or the revival
of a buried belief.

It is an error to measure Ger-
many by English or French ideas.
Here immature conditions have
penetrated over-ripe ideals. The
lesson of the war of classes has,
with us, fallen on a soil which for
pernicious growth is better adapt-

* But this interference is now to be insisted upon,
for Prince Bismarck has instructed the Parliament
to pass laws for the suppression of the publication
and spread of socialistic and revolutionary doc-
trines.

t Just as the emperor and the chancellor are now
urging upon Parliament the passage of laws to re-
strict the right of public meeting and of free speech
-on the platform and in the press.

ed than that of any country in the
world, Russia excepted. The con-
junction of our strongly-developed
intellectual life with our crude and
immature political and social sys-
tems has generated an atmosphere
in which the poisoned germs of
these seeds yielded fruit with un-
paralleled rapidity and plenty.

Germany has become the special
field of. this war of classes, because
she is a country divided into many
classes. Here every individual
holds to his own claims or promul-
gates new ones; and no one feels
himself united with the whole. No
group hesitates to assail the foun-
dations of society, if anything dis-
satisfies them. Our class strifes
are kindled and fomented from all
sides from above as well as from
below. No class knows for whom
it is really working. Only the pro-
fessional agitators know it ; these
are careful not to divulge the se-
cret, and strive to make it appear
that they do not suspect the con-
nection between their conscious
conspiracy and the unconscious
conspiracies of all the other parties.
They know that their principal
strength lies in this quiet coalition.

In this* unconscious raving
against ourselves lies our chief
danger. This assertion applies not
only to the bourgeoisie but to all
classes up to the highest. All
seem to be living in blessed igno-
rance of the real drift of affairs.
Their efforts are always futile ; they
always take hold of their subject at
the wrong end. Let us relate a
parliamentary incident. The ques-
tion of the best method of opposing
the socialistic movement was re-
cently debated in the Reichstag.*
A decree forbidding attacks in the
press upon the family, property,

* It is now being debated there under the direct
orders of the emperor and the chancellor.

German Socialism.

439

and religion was introduced. The
government attached the greatest
importance to the passage of this
decree. It was to be the bulwark
of existing institutions. The Prus-
sian Minister of the Interior, Count
von Eulenburg, made his first ap-
pearance in the Reichstag to advo-
cate this measure. The minister
betrayed his fear that the Parlia-
ment would not consent to increase
the restrictions upon the press by
reason of the ignorance of mem-
bers concerning the intrigues and
dogmas of the social democrats.
His lively and exhaustive delinea-
tion of these dangers bore the
stamp of a work ordered for the
purpose by the department to which
he belonged, which had supplied
him with the necessary data for the
instruction of the blind or unsus-
pecting parliamentarians. So far
all was well. But when members
arose, and, without contesting the
reality of the danger, reminded the
minister that the enemy in his own
camp was the most dangerous;
that the pet decree would find no
favor with these arch-conspirators;
that it would merely divert the
danger from its least perilous di-
rection ; in short, that socialism
had penetrated and found a home
in conservative and governmental
circles then it became evident
that " the world was nailed up be-
fore the eyes of the government."
They had no suspicion of what was
really going on around them ; the
minister had no real knowledge of
what he wished to explain. He
felt harshly assailed, and disappear-
ed; on the Right of the chamber
there was confusion ; as a closing
scene Monfang and Bebel swore
with touching unanimity that they
did not know each other. Is any
one surprised to find the most se-
lect audience in Germany so un-

prepared, so ignorant of the real
state of affairs ? It is always a
mistake to presuppose too much
wisdom. A little keener scent of
the secret forces that serve the so-
cialistic propaganda lias been gain-
ed by Prince Bismarck; but this is
due to the fact that the intrigues
directed against his person did not
hesitate to employ socialistic parti-
sans and catch-words. In this way
the existence of this unnatural com-
bination was forced upon his no-
tice. Under other circumstances
it was not to be expected of him
that he should trouble himself
about socialism. His method is to
employ every element of power to
his advantage according to circum-
stances, and to spare every one
that does not thrust itself with hos-
tile intent across his path.

" It is fortunate for us that a few
social democrats have taken ser-
vice in the camp of the ultramon-
tanes and junkers, and thereby
called attention to the consangui-
nity of their beautiful souls." :

ii.

Germany is the only great coun-
try in which exists a. social-demo-
cratic party using the word party
in the sense of a compact political
union which promulgates as its of-
ficial platform the determination to
secure by whatever means domina-
tion over the state and society.
Even in the much-agitated king-
dom of Denmark socialism has
not yet attained parliamentary re-
cognition. In England the mass
of laborers organized for common
purposes is disproportionately lar-
ger than in Germany, and all poli-
ticians there discuss the problems

* We give this passage literally, in order to fur-
nish an indisputable evidence of the animus of Dr.
Bamberger when he writes of the church or of Ca-
tholics. We shall see, as we go along, how this
spirit colors his reasoning.

440

German Socialism.

proposed by the workmen. The
programme of a state reposing on
a communistic groundwork, built
upon the ruins of the present sys-
tem, there is advocated but by few.
With us this is the only solution
sought by the entire social demo-
cracy ; of late it has become the
official profession of faith of the
whole body.

In England the dissension is
confined to the employer and the
employed. The one tries to se-
cure the best terms from the other.
Political objects confine themselves
within limits which, compared with
the professed aims of the German
social democrats, are very narrow.
Extension of the suffrage, limita-
tion of the labor of women and
children, free education these are
demands which do not imperil the
foundations of society.

In France the reaction from the
Commune has swept away all tan-
gible remains of the social-demo-
cratic party. France has fought
against communism in the streets.
No peaceful overtures have been
made to socialism, as in Germany.
With us it is recognized as a politi-
cal organization representing a par-
ticular line of thought. This con-
stitutes its great strength, and all
that strengthens it weakens us. In
Germany almost all the reaction-
ary parties strive to obtain the sup-
port of the social democrats. The
Protestant hypocrite, the Catholic
clergy, the combination of protec-
tionists and agrarians, offer their
hands to the social democrats in
solemn pledges of brotherhood.*

* Dr. Bamberger utterly misrepresents the atti-
tude of the Roman Catholics in Germany towards
the socialists. In the debate of May 23-24 in the
Reichstag, on the proposed restrictive measures
against the socialists, the Catholic members aided
in defeating the government's bill : on the very ra-
tional ground that the laws already in existence
were sufficiently strong to accomplish all that the
government required, if only they were properly
applied. In any case it is to be hoped that a man
may defend freedom of speech and public assembly

Thiers, in his political will, be-
queathed the Commune to us.
France, he said, has overcome this
misery ; in her place Germany must
carry the cross. The old man knew
what he was talking about. When
with Bismarck at Versailles he said
his greatest fear was of the coquins
of Paris. After him came Jules
Favre, who opposed the disarming
of the national guard, and sublime-
ly exclaimed: "There is no mob
in Paris!" We have our Favres,
who pretend to be. in love with all
the world. Woe unto us if we
should be placed on trial ! The ele-
vation of the social democracy to
a recognized power dates from the
creation of the German Empire.
The causes were many ; the deci-
sive one was universal suffrage.
This is made the scape-goat of
many sins most unjustly. The
harm it carries in its train does not
lie in the fact that it permits the
expression of the opinions of all
classes. On the contrary, this is a
gain. It has only worked badly
because it appeared as a new, pow-
erful incentive to greater activity
to those into whose heads confuse*
notions are sought to be instilled.
While the new elective law brought
to its support a part of the popula-
tion which had until then not pos-
sessed the right of suffrage, it com-
pelled those desirous of gain to
devote themselves mainly to this
fresh ground.

To beget dissatisfaction, vague
desires, and unlimited hopes was
very easy here. Those who ex-
pected to gain the advantage of

without necessarily being ranked among the social-
ists. Men may defend right principles without at
all defending a wrong application of them. The
Protestants and National Liberals who, in this in-
stance, joined with the Catholics in condemning
what was essentially a tyrannous measure, were not
"hypocrites." All condemned alike the wicked
'attempt on the life of the German emperor. But
even that attempt did not justify what practically
amounted to a wholesale gagging of the German
people. ED. C. W.

German Socialism.

441

leadership from it determined quick-
ly to take possession of this invit-
ing land.

The regular organization of the so-
cialistic party dates only from 1867.
A careful dissemination of ideas had
first been accomplished. The new
constituencies had been imbued
with the notions of the propaganda,
and the way to obtain their votes
was to advocate these notions.
" If you wish to be elected to the
Reichstag, apply yourself with all
energy to the new voters," was the
mot d'ordre. The sentiment of ha-
tred against property-owners, and
hunger for the distribution of es-
tates, now became merchantable
commodities. Thus the election of
a new German Reichstag offered a
premium for the propagation of so-
cialistic ideas. The leaders of the
combination took immediate ad-
vantage of this. The necessary
freedom accompanying the elec-
tion cleared the road of a mass of
police and legal obstacles. The
rostrum of the Reichstag is of im-
mense use. Those elected attain
greater respect both in and out-
side their party. We should never
have heard of the most renowned
socialists of Bebel or Liebknecht,
of Most or Hasselmann if a nomi-
nation to the Reichstag had not
put them in a position of impor-
tance. Besides, the leaders learn
much in Parliament, and take ad-
vantage of the opportunities given
them. There is, for instance, no
doubt that the introduction of free
passage by railroads for the benefit
of members of the Reichstag will
be successfully employed for the
dissemination of socialistic teach-
ings, and perhaps gain new mem-
bers of like tendencies. Per diems
(Tagegelder) would of course prove
even more valuable. The social-
istic organization at present pays

each of its representatives nine
marks per day during his stay in
Berlin. If they were paid by the
state the saving to the socialistic
treasury would be thirty thousand
marks; and this increase of the
sinews of war would result, at the
next election, in new accessions of
strength.

There are only a dozen socialists
in the Reichstag, but they rely upon
the support given by the divisions
of the other parties; and this is a
peculiarity which runs through our
whole national character. Every
person pursues his own private and
local ends, and there is no united
feeling. It is for this reason that
the socialists and ultramontanes
make such rapid headway. Through
the narrow-minded system of elect-
ing men to the Reichstag as a re-
ward for local services, men of
great talent are often neglected.
The Reichstag has three hundred
and ninety-seven members, among
them twelve socialists. Deducting
the latter, there are altogether only
seven districts which are repre-
sented by deputies who are not na-
tives of the places from which they
were returned.

But how is this picture changed
as soon as we look upon the social
democrats! Here national unity is
the rule. Of the twelve elected,
eight are without any local relation
to their districts. Even with the
other four birth, representation, and
residence do not go hand-in-hand.
Bebel, though residing in Saxony,
is a native of Rhenish Prussia ;
Fritzsche is a native of Saxony,
but lives in Berlin ; Motteler lives
in Saxony, but is a native of the
Palatinate. (These three were
elected in Saxony.) The only one
who falls within the general rule
is Rittinghausen, who represents
Solingen.

442

German Socialism.

The kingdom of Saxony, the
hot-bed of particularism, is the
rendezvous of the whole German
social democracy. Auer, Kapell,
Bracke, Liebknecht, Most, and
Demmler were returned from that
kingdom. Thesameis trueofSchles-
wig-Holstein; and if it were an inde-
pendent duchy instead of a Prus-
sian province, it would probably
have sent three social democrats
into the Reichstag.

The German people have not
attained a degree of development
sufficient to permit of their coping
successfully with the political and
social problems spread before them.
Meanwhile socialism is widening
its sway. Whither it tends we
shall proceed to show.

in.

In ten years the German social-
democratic party has sprung into
importance. In the American Con-
gress no representative of the so-
cial democracy is yet seated. In
the French Assembly no member
would subscribe to the confession
of faith of the German socialists.
In the English House of Com-
mons there are two working-class
members Burt and Macdonald
but neither have ever thought of
the abolition of private industry,
the organization of the proletariat
with state capital, or the destruc-
tion of private property. In Den-
mark no socialist has yet gain-
ed an entrance into Parliament.
The German nation alone is repre-
sented by men who have declared
war against our whole political and
social economy. There are twelve
of them. Ever since a German
Reichstag has existed they have
increased. In 1867 two of them
entered the constituent Reichstag ;
in 1868 five entered the North

German Reichstag; in 1871 two
entered the first German Reichs-
tag; in 1874 nine entered the
second German Reichstag ; in
1877 twelve entered the present
Parliament. To understand these
figures it must be noticed that
South Germany was without influ-
ence in this regular increase, for
the districts beyond the line of the
Main have not as yet returned one
social democrat ; the increase oc-
curred wholly on the old ground.
The figures speak still more con-
vincingly when we go from the
elected to the electors. In the
year 1874 only 350,000 votes were
cast in favor of the social demo-
cracy ; in the year 1877 they re-
ceived 485,000 an increase of
well-nigh forty per cent. The
whole number of electors who cast
valid votes in 1877 was 5,535,000.
Of this total 3,600,000 votes were
cast for the successful candidates.
The last number divided by 397
(the number of members) gives us
the average of the number of voters
which go to a representative, 9,000.
The same process applied to the
twelve social-democratic represen-
tatives, and the 111,000 votes which
are united upon them, makes the
proportion remain the same : each
one elected represents 9,200 votes.
A different picture is presented
if we regard the votes lost by scat-
tering. The 3,600,000 successful
voters are in the ratio of 67 per
cent, of the total number of voters.
This repeats itself if we apply the
investigation to the several parties.
The total of votes for the national-
liberal party was 1,594,000. The
number of votes represented in the
Reichstag of this persuasion is
1,082,000 that is, a little more than
67 per cent, of those 1,594,000.
By comparing with this the corre-
sponding proportion between the

German Socialism.

443

number of social-democratic votes
and the number which obtained re-
presentation, we find that this party
has not attained to an equal degree
of concentration in its elective ele-
ments. Against 485,000 votes cast
we find here only 111,000 at the
back of successful deputies i.e.,
only 23 per cent, of the voters have
effected representation. If the
general proportion had gained ex-
pression here, the number of social-
democratic deputies would be thir-
ty-two, or almost as many as the
members of the German liberal
party. Only for this reason, that
77 per cent, of these votes were
scattered, whereas by the general
rule only 33 percent, are scattered,
have we escaped the fate of giving
the world, in tangible figures, an
idea of the intensity of the disease
which is threatening our nation.
But if for the present we remain
safe from such a humiliation, it is
none the less true that our politi-
cal thinking and feeling are already
as strongly affected as these figures
attest. There may not as yet be
any immediate danger from the
action of the Reichstag. But in
the very fact which is as yet para-
lyzing the effectiveness of the social-
istic elective power lies the great-
est danger. For this scattering of
votes is an omen of a distribution
of advance posts throughout the
whole empire, which, if particular
circumstances favor it, will sud-
denly gain in strength, and, joining
hands, can obtain control of the
country. Had we introduced a
method of minority representation
into the elective law, the socialistic
faction would already be on an
equal footing with the other par-
ties. If we had the French method,
by which several deputies in large
districts are elected on one list,
we would, perhaps, already num-

ber two dozen social-democratic
members in the Reichstag.

The socialistic party may justly
boast that it is stronger than it ap-
pears to be by its representation in
the Reickstag, and that it may rea-
sonably hope for a speedy develop-
ment of its parliamentary power.
But even to-day it is strong. The
twelve socialistic members may pos-
sibly hold the balance of power.
A closer inspection of the election
returns shows that nearly one-half
of the voters in 1877 were hostile
to the development of the German
Empire on its present basis. Poles,
Welfs, Swabian democrats, protes-
ters from Alsace, social democrats,
added to the ultramontanes who
serve them as a firm nucleus, bring
the sum of the combination up to
2,395,000 voters out of 5,535,000.
An increase of but three or four hun-
dred thousand votes would deliver
the empire into the hands of its foes.
Besides, circumstances favor the
socialists. In large cities like Ber-
lin, Hamburg, Breslau, Eberfeld,
Bremen, and Liibeck a strong
working-class element is easily con-
centrated. Seven of the twelve so-
cialist members of the Reichstag
were elected in Saxony. But wher-
ever the local mind has had a defi-
nite and fixed idea socialism has
made no progress. It is thus in
the Catholic portions of Bavaria
and in Alsace-Lorraine. In other
quarters, where opinions are more
divided, the Catholics form coali-
tions with the socialists. In France
a large class of property-owners in-
cline to Catholicism, because they
believe that through it they can
save the state and society. In Ger-
many Catholicism throws itself into
the arms of inimical elements, in
order to strengthen itself.

The official reports of the an-
nual congress of the socialists are

444

German Socialism.

highly instructive. The Protocols
of the Socialistic Congresses are
issued at Hamburg, " printed and
published by the brotherhood's
book-printing establishment." For
twenty-five cents as much instruc-
tion may be gleaned from them as in
the whole mass of socialistic litera-
ture. Until recently the socialists
were divided into two factions, each
represented by a journal which at-
tacked the other violently. But in
1875 they settled their differences,
and united in issuing a paper called
Forwaerts, or " Progress." This is
the official organ; but besides it
there are forty-one socialistic jour-
nals in Germany, one of them an
illustrated paper, The New World ;
and fourteen industrial journals,
more or less imbued with the spirit
of socialism. Of these forty-one
organs of the social democracy thir-
teen appear daily, thirteen tri-week-
ly, three bi-weekly, and eleven
weekly. Twenty-five of them are
printed in offices belonging to the
brotherhood. Eighteen of these
journals have had their birth with-
in the last year.- " The rapid aug-
mentation of our press," says the
report of the last congress, " is
enormous, not only in the number
of journals but in the number of
subscribers."

Germany is the breeding-house
for the representation and distribu-
tion of socialistic teachings in the
rest of the world ; it is the aposto-
lic seat of the new faith, whence
missionaries are sent to all lands,
preaching in all tongues. Wherever
in Europe or America a communistic
congress or insurrection is to be noted,
Germans are at its head, or exercise
control. At the congresses of the
International, held since 1866 in
Geneva, the Hague, and Brussels,
Germans have always taken the
front: seats. The English commun-

ists were represented in Geneva in
1873 by the tailor Eccarius, a Ger-
man Swiss, with whom, in truth,
the congress of English workmen
which met at Sheffield in 1874
wished to have nothing to do. *
Next to Eccarius, the Germans
Johann, Philip, Becker, and Aman-
dus were especially prominent at
Geneva. At the Congress of the
International at the Hague in 1872
Carl Marx presided in person.
This German ascendency is seen
also in America.

Here Dr. Bamberger enters into
a long description of our railway
strike last summer, tracing its ori-
gin to German influences. The
beginning of all socialistic combi-
nations in America, he says, can
be traced to German origin. The
" International Working Confeder-
ation " of 1867 was founded by
German emissaries from Marx's
mother-lodge, and Chicago was its
headquarters. The point is made
that at the meeting in New York
on the 25th of July last Germans
were prominent; at a similar meet-
ing in St. Louis, suppressed by the
police, among the arrested leaders
were Germans, one of whom on the
26th of July, when the 'mob for a
moment seemed victorious, had
sent this despatch to Leipzig : " St.
Louis, a city of three hundred thou-
sand souls, is in our power."

In Switzerland, Dr. Bamberger
goes on to say, the international
element is strongest where the Ger-
man influence is greatest in Zu-
rich. The intellectual head of the
whole international propaganda is

* As a matter of fact, Mr. Eccarius could not
have gone to this congress at all had not the Lon-
don correspondent of one of our New York journals
furnished him with the necessary funds for his
journey, taking his letters as payment. Mr. Ecca-
rius, who is an able writer and personally an
estimable man, made excellent use of his visit, as
the London Times took his letters from the con-
gress and paid him at the rate of 2 a column for
them.

German Socialism.

445

the German Carl Marx, whose first
lieutenant is the German Friedrich
Engels. Marx framed the founda-
tion of the International. The con-
gress of the sect at the Hague in
1872 was his work. Among the
sixty-five members of that body
twenty-five were Germans; New
York and Zurich were there repre-
sented by Germans.

The French socialism which rul-
ed the field from 1830 to 1850 has
been laid aside and forgotten. But
the German socialism of to-day has
the French system for its founda-
tion. To St. Simon and Fourier,
to Cabet and Considerant, however,
reference is no longer made.

Louis Blanc's " organization of
labor " has been scientifically, and
even piously, absorbed into " syste-
matic production." Proudhon has
long been branded as a " miserable
bourgeois" while the most devout
of German Protestants, Pastor
Todt, does not hesitate to exclaim
in his latest organ : " The war of
competition (Concurrenzkampf) to-
day is nothing but a system of ex-
propriations, shrouded in illusions
with regard to property " (Eigen-
thumsillusionen). " La propritid
c'est le vol." The pastor says the
same thing, only in other words.

The sum total of the theories in
all their gradations, from the formu-
lating of the brutal war of classes
to the most honey-toned appeal to
the duties of men and Christians,
to-day bears the predominating
stamp of German invention. No
country in the world can point to
so extensive an existence of learned
and unlearned literature in this
province. Especially in the pro-
vince of learned socialistic theories
France and England stand far be-
hind us. Socialism in Italy is con-
fined to a small number of younger
savants, who understand German,

and acknowledge themselves pupils
of our masters. The most promi-
nent trait of the national character
of German socialism is the trace of
scientific coloring which is retain-
ed in the rudest revolutionary cir-
cles. Scientific epicures like Marx
and Lassalle have written the gos-
pels of the new brotherhood of
working-men ; professors and philo-
sophically learned men like Schaef-
fie and Adolph Wagner, Rodbertus,
Duehring, and Lange, have assorted
them canonically; and even with
the smell of powder and petroleum
emitted by the congresses of social-
ists, composed mainly of working-
men, is mingled something of the
delicate perfume of quintessent
abstraction. Herr Liebknecht, a
man of learning, is the real spiritus
rector of the whole brotherhood,
and it was his energy which finally
triumphed over the different sects
of the party and consummated the
difficult work of consolidation.

Perhaps there is no man in or
out of Germany better versed in
the literature and history of social-
ism than this vaunter of the prais-
es of the Commune. Has not this
something attractive besides so
much that is repulsive ? Is it not
touching to hear that the same
Herr Liebknecht who in the tri-
bune of the Reichstag agitates the
nerves of his colleagues to excess
by his strongly-spiced speeches,
honors their library continually by
collections of interesting works
from the province of his "sci-
ence"? and that, according to
competent evidence, the social-de-
mocratic deputies are not only the
most industrious readers of this li-
brary, but distinguish themselves
by a prompt return and respectful
treatment of the books ? We could
even find a touching symptom in the
comical appearance of the deputy

44$

German Socialism.

and former book-binder, Most, who
is vicing with Prof. Mommsen for
the palm in the investigation of
Roman history. As if there was
nothing more important to do than
to allow one's self to be touched !
In fact, this hobnobbing with sci-
ence is resorted to for the purpose
of misleading the noblest tenden-
cies of the German character.
Something further is to be noted
here : nothing less than the organic
connection between the best and
the worst which is in us. Not for
nothing has Marx furnished with a
highly-learned scaffolding his in-
ternational platform which appeals
to "the proletarians of all lands."
Lassalle is prouder of nothing than
that, after the appearance of his
books on Herakleitos and The
System of Acquired Itig/its, Hum-
boldt and Boeckh should have
counted him as their equal.

The militant social democracy
well understand how to keep up
this delusion. At their last con-
gress it was proposed to issue in
Berlin, bi-monthly, "a scientific re-
view in an appropriate form. " The
scientific contributors to the For-
waerts, the central organ of the
sect, had overburdened it ; if these
had a journal to themselves the
Forwaerts could devote more space
to its work of agitation. One of
the delegates, Herr Geib, said that
by this step an alienation between
science and the workmen would
not be caused, as some feared;
and to anticipate the review he
recommended a half-monthly sci-
entific supplement to the Forwaerts
gratis. Another delegate said that
" the more political life stepped
into the foreground, the farther did
the scientific side of life recede,
unless official efforts were made to
promote it. It was necessary that
this should be cared for, in order

to prevent the levelling of the
party." The proposition was adopt-
ed, and the scientific review, The
Future, has appeared regularly
since October last in the " appro-
priate form " of a red-covered
magazine.

The commanders of the social-
istic army are wise in thus enlist-
ing scientific officers on their gene-
ral staff. They gain by this, in
literary circles, the position of
" the best-favored nation." In the
vast number of publications lately
issued on " the social question "
we seldom meet one which, even if
inspired with the utmost disfavor
for the new dogma, does not ap-
proach it with respectful and ludi-
crous timidity. The social demo-
cracy has for its first article of
faith open hostility to all other par-
ties; their extinction is its aim.
But almost all confutations, on the
other hand, strike the key-note of
a defender who is only pleading
for milder conditions. By aid of
the "scientific" coloring the so-
cial democracy has moved into a
position to which every assailant
makes an obeisance before firing.
Through the anti-socialistic litera-
ture runs a tone of humble apolo-
gy that seems to say : " Excuse us
that we belong to the contemptible
class of the bourgeoisie, and believe
our promise of future reform." As
with the cause, so do we approach
the individuals with uncovered
head. All presentations of the life
and teaching of Lassalle accept the
Titan's diploma which he has
given himself. If unbelievers and
half-believers do this, how natural
that the social democracy has de-
creed him Godlike honors after his
demise ! If we, however, look with
impartial eye into the biographic
material which is available to us,
we are struck by the characteristic

German Socialism.

447

trait of grotesque mockery oversha-
dowing all. Were it not sinful to
recount the names of Germany's
great men those who still live as
well as those who have left us in
one breath with the name of this
talented agitator, we might be
tempted to draw a parallel between
the letters which we possess of the
former and those which the Las-
salle literature has brought to
light. An instructive antithesis,
forsooth : the simple, human self-
sacrifice, thought, and feeling of
truly great souls, and the hollow
pretensions of a proletariat rescuer,
who lifts his martyrdoms into the
skies, in order to step down from
them into perfumed boudoirs !
This man writes to young women
that he was born to wage a contest
with the world, and in the same
text explains to them that never
had a woman resisted him, but he
had never yet done homage ; for
him it was only to accept, not to
give. How modest, in comparison
wkh this, does the address sound
with which Saint-Simon had himself
awakened every morning : " Levez-
vous, Monsieur le Comte, vous avez de
grandes chose s a fair e"

IV.

Fallacious as it might be to
judge of the effective socialistic
strength in time of war from the
number of votes it controls in time
of peace, it remains true that the
growth of these numbers points
v to a change in the sentiments' of
the voters. There is something
more at the disposal of the leaders
than a mass accidentally thrown
into their hands. We must guard
against too trivial an appraisement
of human appearances, especially
in Germany, where thought en-
larges its sway more than in any

other land. Ideals, real or false,
cannot become powerful with us
without going through the earnest-
thinking process of the nation. The
socialistic leaders have fully recog-
nized and acted on the principle
that he who wishes to have an in-
terest in the future must first do
his share for science. The German
mind being thus constituted, we
must, to explain the spread of so-
cialism, find the fountains of its
source. This is easy. The pro-
fessors of political economy in our
high-schools at the beginning of
this century turned their attention
to the socialistic problem. The
university professors, even, have
lately declared that they accept the
socialistic stand-point sans phrase.
The word expressing the nature of
the whole movement would not
have gained an introduction into
the language had not the charac-
teristic symptoms demanded an ex-
pression. The phrase "platform
socialism " is not permitted to be
left out of any German dictionary.
The German Socialistes de la chair e
are as familiar to French writers
as the Socialisti del la Cattedra are
to the Italians. All manner of
shades of opinion have been devel-
oped from this academic socialism.
But a series of stereotyped formulas
have come into existence with
which every one, in the press and
on the platform, plays ; as, for in-
stance, that the inequality of pro-
perty is greater now than formerly;
that the masses are more unhappy ;
that wealth remains confined to
the few and flows only to them ;
that capital rules supreme over la-
bor and prescribes its laws. From
these premises, which are all false,
the conclusion is drawn that the
present social system must be re-
jected and replaced by another;
that it was the government's busi-

448

German Socialism.

ness to do this ; and that " science "
should furnish a plan for a right-
eous economy, and a guardian to
regulate the same for all time to
come. " Science " did not wait for
a second invitation. Young souls
devoted themselves to the projec-
tion of plans for the salvation of
society ; systems were invented for
the organization of working-men
into historical and organic groups,
in order to enable them to with-
stand capital ; others discovered
methods of taxation by which the
inequalities of ownership could be
neutralized. He who had too much,
in the opinion of " science," was to
be deprived of it, and it was to be
given to him who had too little ;
persons were to be prevented from
getting rich by ingenious plans for
equalizing prices. " Permissible
luxury " was divided from prohi-
bited enjoyments; "science" un-
dertook to prescribe the limits of
individual action.

Former times offered stronger
contrasts, perhaps, of luxury and
misery. But the complaint now is
that some persons have by certain
manipulations become rapidly rich,
and have made a " loud " use of
their wealth. But are the heredi-
tary ownerships of nobles or of ex-
tensive mercantile houses more sa-
cred than the newly-won riches of
stock speculators ? Does the an-
cient castle with its solemn walls
fit better into the new system than
the luxurious villa of the parvenu?
Is one's desire for equality less
offended by the velvet train -which
a page bears behind a duchess
than by the satin skirt which the
wife of a contractor draws behind
her in the dust of the promenade ?
The bourgeoise spirit has nothing in
common with the principles of so-
cialism, nor with the sentiments of
the proletariat. But the fountain

of civil dissatisfaction has fed the
torrent of socialistic agitation.
Many a man, ruined by gambling-,
becomes a convert to the idea of
a more just division of property;
many, from grief over unlucky stock
speculations, have written essays on
the immorality of the acquisition of
capital.

Why has German science, justly
renowned for its exactness, and of-
ten accused because of its heavi-
ness, hurled itself into this whirl-
pool, in order to rise again, drip-
ping with foul water, and with its
hands full of prospectuses for the
eternal freeing of the world from
evil ? Well, one can have too much
of a good thing. The scientific
spirit can be driven to excess.
Science has done so much for us
that it was easy to believe that it
could accomplish everything. Sci-
ence and its disciples suddenly pro-
posed to solve all the problems of
life ; and every one with a project
was compelled to give out his me-
thod for science to decide upon.
Your German, as. a rule, has more
adaptability for theoretical learn-
ing than for practical action. Into
his head everything penetrates, and
in his head he accomplishes every-
thing. Other people do much with
their five senses and ten fingers
without their minds giving much
attention to it. We have more
learning than action ; more criti-
cism than taste ; we do better when
we work with circumspection than
when we attempt io improvise.
When, therefore, in the space of a
few years, we had conquered two
powerful states in war and in dip-
lomacy, and the world asked whence
we had taken the means, we reflect-
ed upon the secret of our success,
and believed that we had found
the correct answer in this : " The
school-teacher has won the battle

German Socialism.

449

of Sadowa!" In all probability it
was a school-teacher who invented
this sayingyforfecifcutflrffdest. Al-
ready has Lasker warned us of the
folly of this dictum. Nothing can
be less acquired in school than
genius, and the decisive turn to-
ward greatness which Germany has
accomplished was given by the
genius of the great men who in the
right moment took its destiny into
their hands. Statesmanship and
war are two arts, not two sciences.
To trace the secret of the power
of the commander is not vouch-
safed us ; but as regards the politi-
cal side of the question, it is cer-
tain that no German was ever less
of a pedagogue than the imperial
chancellor.

We might almost ask how a man
who is so exactly the opposite of a
school-teacher could be born in
Germany. Germany has at length
broken through the chain which so
long held it prostrate, just because
it found a statesman who was so
entirely differently constituted from
all the rest. For those who desire
to make nature and destiny demo-
cratic by teaching that no one is
irreplaceable this fact is unwel-
come ; but nothing is more aristo-
cratic than nature and destiny.

But as the schoolmaster carried
off and appropriated the laurels of
1866, those of 1870 were awarded
to him without question; and when,
in the German Empire which he
was supposed to have founded, a
breach showed itself here and
there, who should be called upon
to fill it but he ? The question
was seriously proposed whether
society should not be reconstruct-
ed from the core. And the school-
master undertook to reply.

The turn which public life has
thereby taken is of a very danger-
ous character. If we do not soon
VOL. xxvii. 29

turn away from this overrating of
the school we shall destroy the
whole of German life. By impos-
ing upon science tasks that do not
belong to her we would destroy
life through science, and science
through life, and that which was
Germany's pride and safeguard,
her learning and knowledge, would
become a burden and a curse.

Science and life have constantly
to learn from each other. In an
exchange of their riches is to be
found their salvation, not in the
domination of the one over the
other. The much-praised student-
life itself does its part in im-
buing the student with the incli-
nation for an isolated existence.
Many remain students all their
lives, and a love for the practical
tasks of life is not thereby fostered.
The consciousness of high scien-
tific attainments gives a degree of
self-confidence which is easily car-
ried too far when applied to world-
ly affairs. To this temptation
more than one succumbed when
he was told that it was his task to
reconstruct the social structure.
The cry was that the whole exist-
ing order of things had become
"bankrupt." By what rules, then,
was the new order to be establish-
ed ? These were sought and rang-
ed, as the expression went, in a
scientific way. The first of these
rules is : " The weak person must
be protected against the strong/'
How much can be brought under
this formula! We can pledge our-
selves with its aid to work out
every communistic programme to
the smallest details. If we only
once lose the sense of discrimina-
tion between theoretical knowledge
and practice, no limit can be plac-
ed upon self-confidence. Science
applied to dogs and frogs is one
thing, but it would not do to apply

450

German Socialism.

the same rules to men. For the
communists to assume for their
method of regulating society by
scientific means the title of a his-
torical school is indeed a piece of
communism !

How was it possible that a num-
ber of scholars, to whom no one
can deny ability and purity of in-
tentions, could permit themselves
to be led on to such extravagances ?
The overrated conception of the
avocation of the teacher is not
sufficient to explain this. An-
other exaggeration had to combine
with this : the exaggerated concep-
tion of the avocation of the state.
Teaching was to prescribe all, the
state to execute all.

In regard to the state we have
fallen from one extreme to the
other. After it had sunk to the
level of a caricature during our
political degeneracy, the recogni-
tion of its high vocation overcame
us, and we made an omniscient
and omnipotent deity of it. When
we say " state " philosophy takes a
hand in the matter, and immediately
the conception of absoluteness and
divinity is apparent the " state "
becomes a god in whom we can
place unlimited confidence and
from whom we can expect every-
thing. The truth that after all the
" state " is only a term for a body
of individual ministers or legisla-
tors has been forgotten. We make
a secret idol of the state. To look
behind the curtain is forbidden.
But the less the state benefits one,
just so much the more does he ex-
pect and demand from it. He
beats his idol in order to compel
it to work miracles. As Herbert
Spencer says, it is the fashion to
scold the government in one breath
for its awkwardness in the most
trifling matters, and in the next to
demand from it the solution of

the most difficult problems. State-
craft, at its best, is only the work
of individuals ; it must lose in fine-
ness in proportion to the number
of those who participate in it.
There is a thousand times more
wisdom in hero-worship than in the
adoration of the intangible collec-
tive being to which, under the name
of the state, we do divine honors
only because we cannot see it. A
parliament can be observed at its
work ; even ministers appear in
flesh and blood as parliaments do.
But of a sudden parliaments and
ministers end their work ; the cur-
tain falls; second act: the state!
It is divine !

Curiously enough this adhesion
to the collective system coincides
with the time of the disappoint-
ment over this system. For the fin-
ancial grief of the last few years
is nothing but sorrow for the losses
to which stock-companies have led.
If the anonymous corporation could
puzzle so many heads, it is due to
the fatal charm which the appara-
tus of the collective system exer-
cises. Whenever a man withdraws
from the eyes of men ; where in
place of the individual a corpora-
tion acts, under whose name the
individual is lost to view, there a
curtain is drawn which excites the
fancy of those without. Even
those who partake of the labor in-
side the curtain are enshrouded
by the clouds of anonymousness,
and believe more in themselves as
a part of the abstract whole than
they would believe in themselves
as individuals.

Nothing is more calculated to
make intelligible the mixture of de-
ceiving elements which lie latent
in abstract authorities than the
famous sixth great power, the press.
How much better were it for that
other abstraction, " public opinion,"

German Socialism.

451

if it kept in mind that it is only a
man (and often what a man !) that
stands behind the thought ! It has
been attempted to remove this cloud,
and to force men to see, by com-
pelling every one to sign his articles
with his own name. But this was of
no avail. The law never was enforc-
ed in its true sense. Public opinion
as an abstraction feels the need of in-
tercourse with something of a kin-
dred nature far too deeply to be wil-
ling to miss an abstraction repre-
senting that opinion in the form of
an anonymous press. It is the same
with anonymous business corpora-
tions as with the press. All efforts
have failed to effect a reform in the
laws relative to stock-gambling by
means of which the personal re-
sponsibility of the board of control
of an anonymous corporation could
be brought home to individuals.
A piece of fiction will and must al-
ways remain here. If the lawmaker
were to take upon himself the task
of changing this fiction into reality
the result would be the same as
with the press. Those associations
are the best which are most tyran-
nically administered, and in which
the director has the least respect
for his executive committee. Tant
vaut rhomme tant vaut la chose!
There will be no relief until the
stockholder knows that in entering
a company he sacrifices a part of
his motive for self-sustentation.*

Science is not all in all. To the
department of the u highest pow-

* Here Dr. Bamberger portrays at great length
and in a bantering manner the demands of those
who believe that the state can remedy all evils, and
describes with humor the various programmes for
state administration of domestic life, public amuse-
ments, education, and what not. He quotes the
Italian proverb that "a fool in his own house is
smarter than a wise man in another's mansion,
and says that the state falls into folly when it pene-
trates the houses of its subjects and regulates for
them their domestic economy.

ers " reason also belongs. Reason
must decide where the domain of
science begins and ends. When
science, because it has studied his-
tory, feels called upon to make his-
tory ; when, because it observes de-
velopments, it believes itself bound
to work out plans of development
for the future; when it sends out
its champions into political assem-
blies why, then it is out of its
own sphere.

In a country which, more than
all others, lives on "the milk of
the mind," the pest of socialistic
nonsense could not have spread so
widely if the unwholesome ingredi-
ents of this lacteal fluid had not
impregnated the country. For
him who studies men and things
in proximity it is curious to ob-
serve that when ministers come in-
to Parliament to thunder against
socialism, the offices under their
control are filled with younger offi-
cials who have, imbibed socialism
with the mother's milk of the high-
schools, and who esteem it their
duty, as far as their position ad-
mits, to aid in the inauguration of
small socialistic experiments. At
times the jargon of social demo-
cracy even finds its way into their
official reports. Still more notice-
able is this in journalism. The of-
ficial organs which the congress at
Gotha mentioned as being in its
service are really only a weak aux-
iliary corps to the great power
which works in the civilian press
for the social democracy. The
same reader who would grow pale
were he to discover on the last
page of his newspaper the news of
a sudden fall in stocks, is delighted
to peruse, on its first page, a lead-
ing article presaging the speedy
coming of the day of vengeance
for the proletariat. Such readers
count upon the protection of the

452

German Socialism.

army in the event of this theore-
t ; cal revolution becoming practi-
cal. But this does not hinder
them from assailing "militaryism."
That the strong and strictly-disci-
plined armed power would still re-
main indispensable for internal war,
even were the danger of outward
war removed, is a natural thought.
But this consolation, if it be one, is
not of so trustworthy a character
as is commonly supposed. So long
as the quiet course of history fol-
lows its accustomed path Germany
need not fear the dissolution of
her army organization by socialistic
agitation. But who can say what
a systematically-conducted dissem-
ination of ideas may not in the end
accomplish ?

In Wiirtemberg, Saxony, Hesse,
and Holstein the social democrats
have entered the municipal govern-
ments. The number of socialistic
students is large ; in Schleswig-
Holstein and Saxony the rural
population has allowed itself to be
drawn into the net of the propa-
ganda. Of course all this can go
much farther without changing the
outward aspect of life, and the sug-
gestion that life is threatened with
a radical alteration will only arouse
incredulous laughter, as being an
outgrowth of terror or the " red
shost." But we should take into

consideration the possibility of a
great catastrophe, and remember
how, in the breaking-out of a storm,
all the elements of evil augment
themselves, unite, and fall upon
everything with destructive force.
Thus would Christian socialists,
social-political-socialists, tax-re-
formers, and local-economic-re-
formers unite ; and among the
leaders themselves one would be
dragged on by ambition, the other
by a sense of his responsibility.
The motto of Carl Marx, "The

liberation of labor must be the
work of the working-class, to which
all other classes are only a reac-
tionary mass," has now become
the mot d'ordre of all the socialistic
organizations in Germany. The
"Brotherhood of Locomotive Engi-
neers," which last year formed the
nucleus of the terrible railway in-
surrection in America, began in
1863 in an association for mutual
aid in cases of sickness, and for
temperance in the taking of spirit-
uous liquors. This insurrection is
in its way better adapted than the
Paris Commune for the study of
those who are anxious to ascertain
how much longer the fire can
smoulder, and how suddenly and
with what irresistible force it may
break forth. Faithful to their
tender predilections in favor of
socialism, many German papers
have found in the destruction and
incendiarism at Chicago, Cincinna-
ti, Reading, Pittsburgh, Columbus,
Baltimore, and Marti nsburg only
material for throwing light upon
the American speculative mania ;
and the terrible devastations which
shadowed with gloom a third of the
Union were mostly presented as
though they were only to be ascrib-
ed to transgressions in the financial
economy. The truth that for years
the propaganda had won the mass
of the working-class, and had rear-
ed a conspiracy extending over the
whole country, remained in the
background. The season in which
the West sends its many products
to Eastern ports, and receives in re-
turn the means for carrying on its
business, was selected as the mo-
ment for interrupting traffic. At a
certain hour all trains were to stop,
and not again move until all the
workmen had achieved their object,
whose principle was that industry
was bound, even in times when it

German Socialism.

453

does not produce much, to pay"
just as high wages to working-men
as in seasons of the utmost prosper-
ity a principle which is announced
in the writings of the Christian so-
cialists of both confessions. After
the population had recovered it
asked how it had been possible for
it to be beset by such a monster,
whose existence it had not before
dreamt of? And yet three years be-
fore, on Christmas day of 1874, a
similar attempt, though on a small-
er scale, had been made. On that
day at the stroke of twelve the en-
gineers of all locomotives which
transported trains between the
States of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois,
Kentucky, and Missouri stepped
down, left the cars and passengers
where they were, and refused to
serve any farther until their de-
mands had been complied with.
But in that widely-agitated country
this note of warning was soon for-
gotten.

Must nations experience every-
thing for themselves? Does man
learn nothing from the misfortunes
of others? Forsooth, he seems
to learn nothing from his own.
Not insensibility to the wants of
the weak dictates the principle
that no legislation on the part of
the state can prevent poverty, ine-
quality, and suffering. Insight into
the nature of man shows us this
truth. This insight teaches us that

growths in freedom, in acquirement,
in diligence, and in possessions
bear inseparable relations to each
other and lead to the good of all.
It is not true that the proportion
of the poor and unhappy is larger
than formerly; not true that the
contrast between rich and poor is
harsher ; not true that the weak is
more at the mercy of the strong.
It is only true that the greater ap-
proximation between all classes
compels us to become more sensi-
tive to diversities of conditions and
to regard them as intolerable. The
idea of a mechanical levelling of
the fortunes of all is the non plus
ultra of folly, which in the course
of realization will result in nothing
but the destruction of all liberty,
for which reason all reactionary in-
stincts feel themselves attracted to
socialism. Socialism, it is true,
has not been productive wholly of
evil, because there are no absolute
truths (sic), and every anomaly, in
its way, performs a service. It has
led, and will in the future lead, the
community and individuals to un-
derstand the connection between
true interest and true humanity.
More important than to set in mo-
tion the motive of self-interest is-
it to direct attention to real abuses.
For, say what we may, never has a
time possessed more sensitiveness
for every ill and more craving, often
justice than ours.

454

Helen Lee.

HELEN LEF.

A ROMANCE OF OLD MARYLAND.

CONCLUSION.

IT were difficult to describe how
intensely Helen enjoyed her ride
through the wilderness. A good
part of the way they followed an
Indian trail which skirted the bank
of the Potomac ; but occasionally
they were guided in the right di-
rection by blazed trees. " The
work of my dear William's axe,"
thought Helen. In the most beau-
tiful parks in England she had ne-
ver beheld any scenery like this;
an ancient Greek might have told
her that the wood-nymphs and
fauns had come forth from their
sylvan retreats to deck her progress
through their dominion. It looked,
indeed, like a festive march ; the
gentian flowers were a-bloom in
every open spot ; the American ivy
flung out her gorgeous banners of
orange and yellow ; the cedars were
draped in scarlet woodbine ; the ma-
ple, the gum, the pepperidge-tree,
and the sassafras, each one wearing
*a color of its own, added glory to
the landscape ; while from amid
clusters of berries and chestnuts
the yellow-hammer and blue-jay
called out to Helen in shrill, glad-
some notes.

" I agree with you at last," said
Evelyn " I agree with you : the
Old World has no season which can
compare in loveliness with the Ame-
rican Indian Summer."

" And whatever father may say,"
-observed Helen, reaching out her
hand as they jogged past a persim-
mon-tree, " I do love ripe persim-
mons. Nor have I any objection
to a fat 'possum. Look! look!
there goes one." And sure enough

Evelyn caught a glimpse of one of
those " low, plebeian brutes," as
Sir Henry Lee called them, mak-
ing off through the bushes.

It was late in the evening when
they reached St. Joseph's. The
Angelus bell had long rung; but
there was a full moon shining, the
air was balmy, and Helen, tired
though she was, was not willing
to forego the pleasure of a stroll
with the surprised and enraptured
Berkeley at this witching hour. And
as they sauntered along she gave
him an account of her life since
they had parted; after which he
gave her an account of his, then
ended by making a fervent appeal
to her not to return to St. Mary's
except as his wife.

" Does this startle you ?" he
asked, as Helen stopped short and
half withdrew her arm from his,
murmuring :

" My father ! my father !"

" Oh ! I entreat you, do not let
Sir Henry stand in the way of
your plighted troth. Think think
of me ! Loving you with my whole
heart, yet condemned to live sepa-
rated from you Helen, it is cruel.
No, no ! Let the holy sacrament
of matrimony make us one ; then,
if circumstances still force us asun-
der, it will be most consoling to
know that the separation is only
for a brief space. I am sure God
will soften your father's heart to-
wards me, and that ere long he
will call me son. O Helen ! an-
swer. Do not refuse my petition."

While her lover was speaking
Helen remembered the dream she

Helen Lee.

455

had had, and the ingenious method
which had occurred to her in that
dream for overcoming her parent's
aversion to the young man. At
the same time her heart whispered
a thousand tender things, such as
only a heart deeply in love can
ever whisper; and now when Berke-
ley ended his supplication all fear
of her father had vanished from
her mind, and, looking up at him,
she said :

" Dear William, I consent ; let it
be as you wish."

"My own dear girl!" cried
Berkeley. " And now, my darling,
you have only to name the happy
day. When shall it be ?"

"Well, let us be wedded to-
morrow. I will tell Father Mc-
Eiroy our whole story ; when he
hears it I am certain he will marry
us."

And Helen was right. The wise,
kind-hearted priest, after lending
an attentive ear to what she nar-
rated to him early the next day,
agreed to perform the ceremony
forthwith. Indeed, there was no-
thing Father McElroy liked better
than to see young folks united in
wedlock, and whenever a young
couple announced to him that they
were betrothed he always clapped
his hands and cried : " Good ! good !
My children, you could not bring
me better news."

The wedding was as private as
possible. Then Helen abode a
fortnight at St. Joseph's a blissful
fortnight after which she went
back to her father, who, when he
saw her coming towards him, ex-
claimed :

" The jaunt has done the child
a world of good ! She needed a
change of air."

Whereupon Sir Henry's friend
answered :

"Ay, Harry, her cheeks are

rosier, and she is every way pret-
tier, than when she left us."

The winter that followed this
glorious Indian Summer was a
very happy winter indeed. Al-
most every evening Evelyn visited
the tower and passed an hour in
the queen's room, where Helen
played merry airs and sang joyous
songs; and so pleased was Sir
Henry at the way she behaved to-
wards the baronet that he laid
aside his gruff manner entirely, and
addressed her always in the kindest
voice ; for which, we may be sure,
Helen felt extremely grateful to
generous Evelyn, who was playing
his part to perfection. And once
when the old gentleman kissed her
and asked when the happy day
was to be " For, child, I am
growing old ; don't put it off much
longer " Helen answered : " I pro-
mise, father, that I will yet make
you the happiest man in the col-
ony."

At which he gave her another
kiss, then, walking up to the an-
cient suit of armor, he began talk-
ing to it in an undertone, to the
no small amusement of his friend
Dick, who had heard him say that
this armor was haunted by the
ghost of one of his forefathers.

But nothing contributed so much
to Helen's peace of mind as a cer-
tain resolution which her father
came to towards Christmastide.
Sir Henry had resolved to make a
visit to his native land in the com-
pany of his friend Dick, who
would be obliged to return in
spring. The Ark, the same vessel
that had brought him to Maryland,
would sail for England early in
March, and the temptation to see
his birth-place once more ere he
died was too strong to be resist-
ed. Sir Henry announced his inten-
tion to Helen with a tear in his

456

Helen Lee.

eye. "But I'll not be long gone,
child. I'll be back again before
autumn." Which when Helen
heard, instead of looking pensive,
as her father thought she would,
she sat down to her harpsichord
and played the most gleeful air he
had ever heard in his life an air
which Helen herself had composed
during her honeymoon at St. Jo-
seph's. Many times that winter
did she repeat this happy air, and
more than once, too, when she fin-
ished playing it, she burst into a
merry laugh ; and whenever Sir
Henry begged to be told what plea-
sant thought was amusing her, she
only laughed on, then ended by
twining her arms about his neck
and saying :

"Dear, dear father! don't be
longer away than the last day of
summer."

As for Evelyn, during those
months he was happy too. Yes,
he truly was, and often said to him-
self : " Thank God ! I am awakened
from the listless and supine life I
was leading." And he inwardly
confessed that Helen's refusal of
him had kindled him into a man.
Father McElroy, to whom he made
known his resolve to enter the
priesthood, was delighted, and lent
him several books which it was
needful that he should read ; and
having already taken his degree at
Oxford, Sir Charles was not ill
prepared for his glorious voca-
tion.

Yes, those days were days of
peace and sunshine for the young
wife, and when by and by March
arrived and her father bade her
adieu, she did not feel lonesome
for being left all alone in the tower.
The Ark, she knew, was a stanch
craft, and would carry Sir Henry
safe across the ocean, helped by
her prayers ; then back in a few

months he would come, to meet a
joyful surprise.

Of Helen's life during this spring
and summer naught need be said.
Time flew swiftly by ; every oppor-
tunity brought a letter from her
dear William ; and now we find
ourselves verging towards Septem-
ber, and Helen is gazing anxiously
from the highest window of her
home to catch sight of The Ark,
which may any hour be expected. At
length, on the very last day of Au-
gust, The Ark appeared ; and was
ever ship so beautiful in Helen's
eyes ?

Happy indeed was the meeting
between father and daughter.

" But you look a little pale,
child a little pale," spoke Sir
Henry, as he clasped her in his
arms. u Worrying, no doubt, about
me. Well, we had a tempestuous
voyage last spring, and coming
back the sea was not much smooth-
er ; I once thought we might
never reach land. But, neverthe-
less, here I am safe and sound,
and now your cheeks must bloom
again."

Then, after the fond greeting was
over, Sir Henry set out, accompa-
nied by Evelyn, to inspect his do-
main.

. " Let us first go see how your
lilies are thriving," suggested the
latter " the lilies which you plant-
ed by the Island of Tranquil De-
light."

" Yes, yes, we will visit them
first of all," answered Sir Henry.

Accordingly, off they went,
briskly too, for the old gentleman
was delighted to find himself on
solid earth again, and from a dis-
tance he caught sight of the lilies,
and of something else besides
which was not a lily, but lovely,
wonderful, bewitching, half hid-
den in a small birch canoe that

Helen Lee.

457

floated in the midst of the beauti-
ful flowers.

"Well, I do declare, here is
a baby a winsome blue-eyed
baby !" cried Sir Henry, beside
himself with astonishment, as he
bent his rheumatic back over the
little mortal, who seemed to know
him, for the prettiest of blue peep-
ers began straightway to wink and
make love to him ; and as soon as
he lifted it out of the canoe, deep
into his grizzly beard its tiny fingers
dove and wove themselves.

" Well ! well ! This is truly am-
azing !" he continued. "Somevil-
lanous Indian must have stolen
it from its mother. But I will
rescue it."

" So it would seem," remarked
Evelyn, with difficulty repressing a
smile, "for here are a bow and
arrows and deerskin blanket."

" The wretch ! the vile kid-
napper !" went on Sir Henry.
Then, wrapping the infant in his
coat, " Come, come," he added ;
" although 'tis a warm day, yet this
poor wee creature might take its
death of cold. Come, I must hurry
home; and do you make all speed
to the town and fetch a nurse."

" Helen ! Helen ! Where are
you ?" cried Sir Henry the moment
he reached the tower. " Quick,
Helen ! and look what I have
found. Helen! Helen !"

But his daughter did not appear
for half an hour, by which time a
nurse had been procured and was
already bestowing all needful at-
tention on the little stranger.

"Why, father !" exclaimed Helen,
with radiant countenance, as the
old gentleman led her into the
baby's presence, " why, what a trea-
sure this is ! It will no doubt bring
you good luck."

" I verily believe it will ; perhaps
money enough to finish my castle,"

said Sir Henry. "Although"
here he looked yearningly at his
daughter " although this is not
the babe I am longing to greet."

"Well, well, we will do our best
to make the pretty waif at home
among us," pursued Helen. "I
am sure we shall get to like it.
Why, see ! see ! 'tis reaching out its
hands towards you, father."

" Just what it did when I first
discovered it among the lilies," said
Sir Henry. '* But now let us re-
tire and leave it awhile with the
nurse ; for the little darling must
need sleep."

Accordingly they withdrew ; and
through all the rest of that memor-
able day Sir Henry could do no-
thing except talk about his won-
derful discovery by the Island of
Tranquil Delight.

During the week which followed
Sir Henry paid frequent visits to
the nursery, and his fondness for
the infant grew with the hours.
Like many a stern, imperious nature,
he completely unbent ; he became
woman-like in his devotion to it.
Closely and with fluttering heart
did Helen watch him as he fondled
the babe, who never whimpered
when he approached, but, on the
contrary, always smiled and made
funny signs with its fingers, which
Sir Henry declared that he under-
stood. Then her father would take
it in his arms and speak to it ; and
once he carried it into the queen's
room, where he showed it the rusty
armor and portrait of the queen.

It was during one of these plea-
sant promenades that he turned to
Helen and said, "My daughter,
ought we not to have the little one
baptized ?"

Helen breathed a short prayer
ere she answered, then spoke :
"Father, the baby is already bap-
tized ; his name is Harry Lee."

453

Helen Lee.

" Harry Lee ! What mean you ?"
exclaimed Sir Henry, giving a
start ; and he might have let his
precious charge drop, had not its
mother sprung forward and caught
it. Then, while she pressed it to
her bosom, the truth like lightning
flashed upon him.

" And I am now Helen Berke-
ley," went on Helen. " But we
have christened our darling Harry
Lee."

"Good heavens!" cried Sir Hen-
ry, utterly aghast. "Good hea-
vens ! How you have deceived
me !" As lie spoke his brow grew
dark as a thunder-cloud and the
mother trembled.

Presently, clasping her infant
still closer to her bosom, " O
father! father!" she sobbed, " for-
give me! forgive me!" And while
Helen sobbed and implored, and
while the old knight was trying to
cairn himself sufficiently to go on
and vent his indignation in measur-
ed terms, the baby, for the first
time since he had found it among
the lilies, turned away from him
and began to cry. This was more
than Sir Henry could stand. Its
wailing accents pierced deep into
his heart. There was a moment's
struggle within him ; then, going
up to it, he let fall a tear on its
bare head, saying : " Harry, Harry,
don't cry. For love of you I will
forgive all."

Berkeley, who had been for the
past three days at St. Mary's, was
not long in answering his wife's
summons to speed to the tower, and
with him came Father McElroy, who
offered to take the whole blame on
himself. But all was blue sky now ;
the baby had triumphed, and as Sir
Henry grasped the hand of his son-
in-law he said :

"I thank you, ay, from the bot-
tom of my heart I thank you, for

christening the child Harry Lee.
I hope it is his whole name, no
addition ?"

" Harry Lee and nothing else,"
replied the happy Berkeley ; where-
upon Sir Henry, in the fulness of
his joy, took the child away from
Helen, and, kneeling down at Fa-
ther McElroy's feet, said, Anglican
though he was : " Reverend father,
may I ask your blessing on me and
my grandson ?" Then, when the
blessing had been pronounced, he
rose up off his knees, and exclaim-
ed with a voice and mien which
those who were present never for-
got : "O God be thanked! I shall
not be the last of the Lees."

One autumn day in the year
1660 a young pale-face might have
been seen entering an Indian vil-
lage which stood on the western
slope of one of the Alleghany
mountains and not far from the
source of the Monongahela.

He was a tall, handsome yonth,
with long, chestnut hair resting on
his shoulders ; yet withal he had a
somewhat girlish countenance which
sorted ill with the deep scar across
his left cheek, that looked very like
a sabre-cut. Presently he reined
in his steed in front of a big cab-
in forming the centre of the vil-
lage, and on top of which was a
cross, and said to himself, "This
must be the church "; then inquired
for Father Evelyn.

A few minutes later the young
man entered a wigwam close by,
and found himself face to face with
his god-father ; but neither recog-
nized the other. " Are you truly
Harry Lee ?" exclaimed the priest,
with visible emotion. " Why, Har-
ry, I have not laid eyes on you
since you were a child. Is this in-
deed you ?"

We may be sure that Harry was

Helen Lee.

459

warmly welcomed to the mission-
ary's humble abode, where for a
score of years he had dwelt with
his savage flock around him ; but
no, not savages any longer. Virtue
reigned in the midst of this happy
tribe, and no prisoner had been
put to the torture by them for well-
nigh a hundred moons.

" You tell me Sir Henry is dead,"
said Father Evelyn, after the first
words of greeting were over.
"Well, well, God rest his soul !"

" Dear grandfather !" said Harry.
" Not many like him left in this
world. He was so loyal ; he was
steel itself. Why, he took to his
bed the very day the news reached
him of the battle of Naseby, and
never left it again no, never and
died within twenty-four hours after
hearing of the king's execution.

* Damn the Roundheads !' he cri-
ed, as he rose up on his pillow

* damn the Roundheads ! No, no ;
God God forgive them God save
the king!' Oh! I shall never for-
get his expression as he uttered these
his very last words." Here Harry
brushed away a tear and was silent

moment.

" Before dying," went on the
youth presently, " he gave me this
book " as he spoke he drew from
his pocket a well-fingered copy of
Don Quixote " and mother has
taught me Spanish, and I carry this
book about with me wherever I

go-"

"Your mother," said Father
Evelyn, " your mother tell me how
she is."

"Thank God! mother is in ex-
cellent health," answered Harry.
" But it was long before she recov-
ered from the shock of my father's
death. We have a comfortable home
at Jamestown, Virginia ; we want
for nothing." (Berkeley would have
died a much richer man, except

for his father-in-law's debts, which
he paid.) " But mother cannot
get over her love for Maryland, and
last year we made a visit to St.
Mary's. But we did not stay long;
'twas too sad. There the tower
stands, half hidden by wild vines
and creepers, and surrounded by
persimmon-trees. Once a rude
churl dared to call it ' Lee's folly ';
but I made him rue the day rue
the day."

As Harry spoke he sprang to his
feet ; his face, a moment before as
mild and tranquil as a woman's
his very mother's face, which Fa-
ther Evelyn remembered so well
changed in an instant ; and while
the lightning darted out of his
eyes, the priest beheld the face of
old Sir Henry. Ay, and farther
back, too, it went through the gen-
erations back, back : it was the
the self-same look which Harry's
ancestor wore who fell at Agin-
court.

"Well, is the old home desert-
ed ?" asked Father Evelyn, after
calming him and persuading him
to resume his seat.

" No ; it is used for a look-out
tower, and from its summit you
can see ships a long distance down
the river."

Presently Harry noticed a paint-
ing hanging on the wall above a
rude book-case, and, after eyeing it
a moment, said the two faces in the
picture reminded him of his father
and mother. To this the priest
made no response, except to ob-
serve that he intended to bequeath
him this painting when he died.
" My good Indians will keep it safe
for you, Harry. Do not forget to
come for it."

Then after a pause, during which
he ruthlessly crushed many a gold-
en memory, Father Evelyn added :
u The scene represented is not

460

Hermitages in the Pyre'ndes Orientates.

strictly historical, for St. George
lived some time later than St.
Margaret. But in one of the old
miracle plays of the middle ages
the knight is made to rescue St.
Margaret from the dragon."

Harry Lee tarried a week under
his god-father's roof, and a pleasant
week it was ; after which he return-
ed to his far-off home in Virginia.
But before departing Father Eve-
lyn took his hand in his, and, press-
ing it, said : " Harry, who knows
when we may meet again ? So listen
well to what I am about to say.

Your dear father I knew most inti-
mately. In the colony of Mary-
land there was no better man than
William Berkeley ; none more ac-
tive ; none to whom, after Lord
Baltimore himself, the people have
been more indebted for their pros-
perity and happiness. Therefore
tread in his footsteps. You tell me
that you are a surveyor. Well, la-
bor hard and honestly at your pro-
fession. Learn betimes to measure
life ; stay true to the faith ; and
above all things don't dream
don't dream."

HERMITAGES IN THE PYRENEES ORIENTALES.

II.

THREE miles from the village of
Passa is the hermitage of St. Luc
on an elevated plateau, surrounded
by thorny furze and the cistus, and
a few old mulberry-trees. It over-
looks a vast plain dotted with
villages, and in the distance is
the Mediterranean no melancholy
main, but a golden sea of light be-
neath a burning sun. This is a
place of strategical importance, and
in time of war has been alternately
occupied by French and Spanish
troops. The chapel has been re-
stored, and a hermit lives in the
adjoining cell. Near by is a foun-
tain shaded by plane-trees to slake
his thirst. On great festivals the
peasants come to sing the Goigs re-
lating to the chapel, and votive
Masses are frequently offered up
for the cure of various maladies.

About two miles from the little

walled town of Ille in the valley of
the Tet, on the side of the moun-
tains that separate it from the val-
ley of the Tech, is the hermitage
of St. Maurice shaded by walnut-
trees (what we call the Englisl
walnut). It is a lonely spot, bul
there is an agreeable view ovei
the broad valley. The chapel i;
dear to the people, and they comt
here with holy songs on the feast
of St. Maurice, who is invoked foi
fevers, common in this region.
Over the altar is his statue as a
Roman soldier, and near him are
two sainted virgins who overcame
the fiery dragon St. Martha and
St. Marguerite. In the pavement
is inserted a rare thing to find in
these chapels the tombstone of an
old hermit who died here in 1758,
with its

Pregau pei ell.

Hermitages in the Pyrenees Orientalcs.

461

Further up, on the right bank of
the Tet, you came to Prades, a vil-
lage north of the Canigou, in a val-
ley teeming with wheat, vines, deli-
cious peaches noted in the market
of Toulouse, and fruit of all kinds.
The very hills are terraced for cul-
tivation. A few miles distant is the
hermitage of St. Etienne on a spur
of the Canigou inaccessible to car-
riages a wild, desolate place where
rocks are piled on rocks, out of
which gush clear, sparkling rills
that keep alive the few plants and
shrubs that grow wherever soil can
collect. It once belonged to the
counts of the Cerdagne. The cha-
pel often serves as a refuge to
the shepherds of the mountain in
storms. Here is a picture of St.
Stephen with a stone on his head,
as he is painted by Carpaccio.
Just beyond the chapel rises the
Roc del Moro, a high peak crowned
by the ruins of an old watch-tow-
er perhaps a Moorish Atalaya.

Near Prades, on an elevation
iverlooking the fertile valley, is the
ancient hermitage of St. Jean Bap-
tiste, now private property, though
the chapel is open to the public.
The Canigou presents an imposing
aspect from the terrace, and not
far off are the interesting ruins of
an old monastery.

" The long ribbed aisles are burst and shrunk,
The holy shrines to ruin sunk,
Departed is the pious monk,

God's blessing on his soul !"

The hermitage of St. Christophe
is on a mountain shelf shaded by
a venerable hermit oak, looking
off over a beautiful valley sprinkled
with villages such as Ria, Sirach,
etc. Beyond tower the calm, grand
heights of the Canigou, that, like the
contemplative soul, stands above
the world, its gray sides relieved
by no soft green pasture-land, and
yielding no corn or oil to man, but

holding in its stern recesses the cold
glacier springs whose waters pour
down through summer heat from its
storehouses of ice and snow to re-
fresh the thirsty plain, fit emblem of
the holy influences that rain down
from the sanctuaries it overshadows.
The huge St. Christopher may well
be set up among these giant peaks,
'mid flood and fell. His beautiful
legend is toldjn a series of bas-re-
liefs around the walls of the old
chapel of rubble-work. On the
loth of July, when he is specially
honored here, as in Catalonia, the
surrounding villages come here in
procession, stopping on the way to
pray at the oratory of St. Sebastian.
After their devotions at St. Chris-
topher's they eat their lunch among
the rocks and drink from the stone
basins in the caves. Not far off is
Ria with its castle the cradle of /
an historic race from which de-
scended the old counts of Barce-
lona, as well as many a king and
queen of Aragon, Navarre, France,
etc. Several of the present sove-
reigns of Europe, in fact, might
trace their descent from the old
lords of the obscure hamlet of Ria.
The valtey of the Tet contracts
to a mere gorge at Villefranche,
where there is barely room for the
river and the two streets that con-
stitute the town. This is one of
the first places fortified by Vauban.
Further on there is only a mule-
path along the ravine shut in by
wild, rocky mountains whose sides
are lashed by fierce torrents. On
one of these is the hermitage of St.
Pierre de la Roca, reached by climb-
ing a steep path cut in the sides of
the cliff. The chapel fell to ruin at
the Revolution, and the Madonna,
which had been found ages before
in a cave, was carried to the parish
church. It is now owned by pri-
vate individuals, who have had it

462

Hermitages in the Pyrdntes Orient ales.

restored. Adjoining is the hermi-
tage, that looks down on the beau-
tiful villages of Fulla and Sahorre.
Directly behind rise tall cliffs, and
beyond is a vast amphitheatre of
mountains, above which towers the
majestic Canigou. A convent once
stood close by, the monks of which
served the church of the Tour Car-
ree at the foot of the mountain,
now in ruins. The convent, too, is
gone. You see only the remains of
the old kitchen with its marble
pavement and fine cistern ; and,
climbing up the side of the cliff by
means of a ladder, you come to a
terrace where the monks had their
parterre of flowers for the garden.
Close by is the Virgin's Cave, where
the Madonna was found. The
chapel, which is only twenty-five
feet long and ten wide, has few
ornaments except the statues of St.
Peter and St. Teresa. Before the
entrance are several tombstones,
on one of which is this inscription :

" Thou who regardest this tomb, why
dost thou not despise that which is mor-
tal ? A similar dwelling is reserved for
all mankind. What thou art, I was.
What I am, thou wilt be. I was honored
in the world, and now I arp laid away
and forgotten in the tomb. I shone in
the world with my rich garments ; now I
am naked in the grave. I only inspire
horror. I lived in delights ..."

Unfortunately the inscription is in-
complete. There is no name, no
device, to indicate who it was that
had thus tested the pleasures of
life. The stone only echoes the
eternal refrain : Vanitas vanitatis.

The hermitage of Notre Dame de
Doma Nova is on a peak in the an-
cient seigneurie of Domanove. At
the foot is a rivulet that feeds the
stream of Riu-Fages. The terrace
is shaded by evergreens. You en-
ter by a pretty porch and find your-
self before a mediaeval-looking al-
tar with a Madonna dressed in

the Spanish style. This statue was
found under a juniper by means of
a lamb that had strayed thither.
Among the ex-votos on the walls is
a painting of a hermit tied to a pil-
lar by a band of Huguenots who
are setting fire to the chapel he is
in. This commemorates a pleas-
ing instance of Protestant tolera-
tion in 1580.

The Huguenots of Beam made
several raids into Roussillon in the
sixteenth century, and a company
was organized to resist them, for
which several communes were re-
warded by the king of Spain with
special privileges. Ille, for in-
stance, was allowed to hold a fair.

The hermitage of Notre Dame
de la Roca stands on a naked cliff
not far from Nyer. In the depths
of the ravine below flows the Man-
tet 'mid rocks and frightful preci-
pices. Near by are the ruins of an
old battlemented tower, and on the
other side of the stream, in a still
wilder, more inaccessible spot, is
the cave where the Madonna was
found by a girl in search of fagots.
The chapel is vaulted and adorned
in Spanish fashion, with a retablo
over the altar, on the panels of
which are painted the mysteries of
religion. The Virgin and Child
are in silken garments; and an
iron reja protects the sanctuary.
People come here to pray in time
of calamity, and often hang their
votive offerings on the wall.

The hermitage of St. Jacques d
Calahors is but little frequented
It has a poor desolate chapel with
rude images of the Virgin and St.
James, and an altar to St. Antich,
probably some Spanish saint. If
any one wishes to live in poverty
and undisturbed solitude, he could
find no more suitable place than
the wild, desolate region of which St.
Jacques is the culminating point.

Hermitages in the Pyre'ne'es Orientates.

4 6 3

" Never was spot more sadly meet
For lonely prayet and hermit feet."

The hermitage of La Trinite is
known to have existed in the ninth
century. Think of that ! A thou-
sand years of prayer in this sacred
desert ! What fruits of immortal
life from this obscure region ! The
present chapel is of the twelfth
century. Here is a curious cruci-
fix known as the Santa Majestad,
said to have come down from the
age of Charlemagne. It is in great
veneration, and sung in quaint Ca-
talan Goigs perhaps as ancient as
the image itself. The Christ is
clothed in a long tunic that allows
only the hands and feet and head
to be seen. He is fastened to the
cross by four nails, and around the
head project long rays. There are
several of these singular crucifixes
in the Pyrenees Orientales, and
we remember seeing a similar one
at Naples, clad in its long crimson
tunic.

The chapel is surmounted by
three crosses, of which the central
one is the highest. Behind rises a
peak, on which stands the old don-
jon of Belpuig that dates at least
from the thirteenth century. La
Trinite is very popular in this pas-
toral region, and on St. Peter's day
and Trinity Sunday the mountains
ring with the Goigs of the shep-
herds and herdsmen.

One of the most picturesque her-
mitages in the valley of the Tet, and
certainly the most popular, is Notre
Dame de Font Romieu, a moun-
tain solitude surrounded by pines,
delightful in summer, but so snowy
in winter that the chapel is closed
to the public about the middle of
November, and scarcely opened
again till spring. But in the sum-
mer it is open night and day, that
the shepherds may come here at
any hour they are at leisure. The

actual chapel is of the seventeenth
century, but it is on the site of one
much older, built to receive the
Virgin found here in 1113. This
venerated statue is kept at Odello
the greater part of the year. On
Trinity Sunday it is brought here
in solemn procession and left for a
few months, when it is carried back
with equal pomp. On these days
there are five or six thousand pil-
grims. The Virgin and Child are
crowned and clothed in rich gar-
ments, so their faces alone are visi-
ble, but they are evidently very an-
cient. The fountain that, accord-
ing to the Goigs, sprang up where
the statue was discovered is be-
neath the high altar, and the water
is conveyed by pipes beneath the
pavement of the chapel to the court,
where the pilgrims go to drink. It
is remarkably pure and cool. One
pipe extends to a private room,
where there is a large reservoir,
twelve feet square, made of a single
block of granite, for the purpose of
bathing. This tank is inscribed :
Fons salutis Maria. Those who
come here to bathe first say the
rosary before a statue of the Virgin
at one end of the room, after which
they walk several times around the
reservoir, praying Our Lady de la
Salud as they go. A short distance
from the hermitage is another foun-
tain, called St. Jean.

One peculiarity about the chapel
is that one-half of it is higher than
the rest. You traverse part of the
nave, and then ascend seven steps
to the remainder, into which open
the side chapels and the sanctuary.
The retablo of the high altar is
covered with bas-reliefs of the life
of the Blessed Virgin, which, as well
as the other sculptures, were done
by Suner, an artist of the seven-
teenth century from Manresa,
Spain. The walls are covered with

464

Hermitages in the Py rentes Orient ales.

an infinite number of ex-votos, such
as crutches, long tresses of hair,
rude pictures of the Virgin invoked
in time of danger, etc. The whole
edifice is rich with gilding and
sculpture, and, when rilled with
lights and flowers on great festivals,
is quite dazzling. Over one of the
altars in a niche is an old painting
of San Ildefonso of Toledo receiv-
ing the Santa Casulla from the
hands of the Virgin. We love to
find this great servant of Mary in
her churches him who seemed
clothed with her virtues as with the
garment she gave him, and who is
never weary of dwelling on her ex-
alted mission. " Lo, by means of
this Virgin the whole earth is filled
"with the glory of God!" exclaims
he. The Mass here on his festival
is obligatory for the parish of
Odello.^

Near the church is a still higher
eminence, to which you ascend by
a path winding around the mount
with the Stations of the Cross up
the sad, funereal way, terminating in
a Calvary with the uplifted image
of Him who alone can heal the ser-
pent's wounds that filled our souls
with death.

The buildings at Font Romieu
are quite extensive. There is a
hostelry with a gallery of eleven
arcades in front, where meals are
prepared and rooms furnished
those who wish to make a retreat.
During the summer not a day
passes without visitors. But the
great day of the year is the patro-
nal festival on the 8th of Septem-
ber, when the people of all the
neighboring valleys come here, dis-
playing a variety of physiognomy
and costume hardly to be found
elsewhere. Sometimes they amount
to ten or twelve thousand. From
the earliest dawn you can see them
flocking in from every quarter, in the

costume of their own valley, pray-
ing aloud or singing sacred hymns.
As soon as they come in sight of
the Calvary they fall on their knees
to salute the uplifted Image so
powerful to save, and again at the
sight of the holy chapel. They
hear Mass, go to Holy Communion,
and, after completing their devo-
tions, they scatter over the green
to eat their lunch, when the whole
scene assumes the aspect of a rural
festival full of innocent gayety.
Venders of fruit, cakes, and all
kinds of wares, secular and holy,
fasten themselves upon you with
amusing pertinacity, while wander-
ing musicians, in hopes of a few
sous, begin to play on various rus-
tic instruments the flageolet, oboes,
and perchance, at a proper distance
from the holy chapel, the tambourine
and bag-pipe.

Meanwhile, Goigs succeed each
other all day long in the chapel,
sung by peasants to rude mountain
airs quite in harmony with the
words and place. Every valley
awaits its turn to sing its hymn be-
fore the Holy Mother of God.

u Love of Mary is to them
As the very outer hem
Of the Saviour's garments blessed !"

One would think the age here
still Golden, so naive is the piety,
so simple the manners, of these
mountaineers.

We come now to the valley of
the Tech, abounding in harvests
and rich meadows kept verdant by
the mountain streams. The air is
pure and exhilarating. The pas-
tures are full of sheep and goats.
On one hand are the ridges of the
Canigou with watch-towers and
ruins of old castles on the tops,
and mines of iron ore in their bo-
som. The sides of the gorges are
bristling with gloomy pines, and
the rocky cliffs aflame with the

Hermitages in the Pyre'ndes Oricntales.

465

rhododendrons that grow in their
crevices. On the other hand is the
long line of the Alberes with plea-
sant villages in their folds, and
torrents of crystal coursing down
their sides. Beyond is Spain, true
land of Mary. Prats-de-Mollo is
the last town on the frontier. It
is an old place, at the very source
of the Tech, surrounded by the
fortifications of a bygone age, and
commanded by a fort on one of the
heights a"bove. A few miles from
the town is the hermitage of Notre
Dame de Coral, delightfully situ-
ated on a mountain among trees
that afford an agreeable shade to
the weary pilgrim, while cool
springs are at hand to quench 'his
thirst, and rooms provided should
he wish to tarry. The Madonna is
in great repute, not only in the
province but across the border.
The word coral is supposed to re-
fer to the heart of the oak in which
the Virgin was found. But that
was ages ago. It is known to have
existed in 1261. This ancient im-
age is now enclosed in another,
likewise very old, as if to enshrine
it. It is over the high altar, be-
hind which is a stairway that ena-
bles the votary to approach it. At
one of the side altars is another of
those ancient crucifixes similar to
the Santa Majestad at La Trinite,
supposed to be of Spanish origin.
It came from an old hospice at the
entrance of a Coll, or mountain
pass, not far from Prats-de-Mollo,
where lodged pilgrims to Compos-
tella in the middle ages. There is
still a round building remaining that
formed part of this hospice, with
four openings towards the different
points of the compass, in which
lights used to be placed to guide the
traveller by night. The chapel, too,
called Notre Dame du Coll d'Ares,
is still standing, but is sequestrated.
VOL. xxvii. 30

But to return to our hermitage.
Among the numerous ex-votos on
the chapel walls is a curious paint-
ing of a young man, seized by two
demons, invoking the aid of the
Virgin, who appears and carries
him off by the hair of his head.
Beneath is the inscription : " This
miracle was wrought by Maria San-
tissima del Coral in favor of Joan
Solana in the year 1599. Thomas
Solana. his descendant, had this
painting done in 1704 for the honor
and glory of the Verge Purissima"

Mgr. Gerbet, Bishop of Perpig-
nan, visited this hermitage in 1857,
and commemorated his visit by a
graceful poem which runs thus in
more sober English prose :

" Sefiora del Coral, for ages the pro-
tectress of the pious people of Prats,
Tech, and St. Sauveur, as soon as a turn
in the mountains brought thy chapel in
view, the song of the pilgrim burst from
my heart. The rock of Aras, once con-
secrated to false gods, exorcised at thy
coming, has ever since proclaimed the
true Lord. Let thine ancient power be
again renewed. Destroy in us all devo-
tion to worldly idols with their lowering
influences. And accept this ephemeral
homage in union with the Goigs that for
so many ages have resounded in these
mountains. Let my verse mingle with
these ancient hymns, as among thy ven-
erable elms the flower of a day springs
up and then dies."

Between Prats-de-Mollo and
Tech, not far from the source of
the Comalada, a branch of the
Tech, is the hermitage of St. Guil-
lem de Combret in the midst of the
ridges that shoot off from the Cani-
gou like huge buttresses. In an-
cient times there was a Pattsa here
where pilgrims to Spain found shel-
ter a kind of station or hostelry,
where pious people exercised their
charity in allaying the fatigue of
such holy wanderers. The Pansa
Guillelmi is spoken of in the dona-
tion of a part of Mt. Canigou to

4 66

Hermitages in the Pyrtne'cs Orientales.

the abbey of St. Martin by Count
Wifredo of Barcelona. In the ele-
venth century it seems, however, to
have belonged to the Benedictines
of the neighboring village of Aries,
whose church, still standing, con-
tains the shrine of SS. Abdon and
Sennen, noted for the perpetual
flow of miraculous water. These
saints are very popular all through
these valleys, and are called by the
peasants Los Cossos Santos, or the
Sewed-Together Saints, perhaps
because they are never mentioned
apart. There is only a part of
their remains here, brought from
Rome at some remote period, as
the guide-book, sneeringly says, to
free the neighborhood from the
dragons and other wild animals
that infested it. We know that
when these saints were exposed to
the fury of two lions and four bears
in the Coliseum, the animals be-
came tame and harmless before
them. No wonder that, crowned
in heaven, they should be equally
powerful against error, or the wild
beasts, whichever it might be, that
infested these mountains.

The lives of the saints do not
mention St. William of Combret,
but the ancient Goigs and sculptures
of the chapel set forth a few de-
tails of his life. According to
these, he was a Frank who came to
seek solitude and oblivion among
these Pyrenees. The wild goats used
to come and offer him their milk
for nourishment. And to confound
the impiety of the smiths (who are
still numerous at Aries) he wrought,
as by miracle, a bell in their pre-
sence that still rings the hour of
prayer an iron bell, very broad in
shape and sharp of clang. The
rough altar of solid stone he is said
to have brought here unaided.
He died at Alp in the Spanish Cer-
dagne, and two blind women are

known to have recovered their
sight at his tomb. His statue in
the chapel represents him with
book and crosier, as if an abbot.
Beside the hermitage is a small
garden and a fountain of delicious
water. On St. Guillem's day the
parish of Tech comes here in pro-
cession ; High Mass is offered ; four
gospels are sung in the open air,
as if to proclaim it to the four
quarters of the globe; benediction
is given with a relic of the True
Cross; and flams bdnits are distri-
buted in remembrance of the hos-
pitality of the old Pausa. Prats-
de-Mollo comes here on St. Magda-
len's day, for to her the place was
dedicated before the time of St.
Guillem. Religious traditions nev-
er seem to grow dim in the memory
of these tenacious mountaineers.

Three miles from the watering-
place of Amelie-les-Bains is the
hermitage of St. Engracia in a green
valley that once belonged to the
Benedictines of Aries. The cell is
in ruins, and the little chapel very
poor. The walls are about four
feet thick, and the dim light makes
it seem like a cave. There is only
one altar, with the virgin martyr of
Zaragoza on it, a palm in her hand
and a nail piercing her brow. Her
legend is told is some old paintings
on the wall. There are statues,
too, of the Cossos Santos.

Coming down to Ceret, where the
Alberes sink into the plain, the
Tech is spanned by an immense
ar.ch, by no means so pretentious
in the spring, when the snow melts
in the mountains and the waters
come pouring down through the
wild gorges, sweeping everything
before them. A little way from
the village is the hermitage of St.
Ferre"ol on the plateau of a moun-
tain. The road to it passes
through vineyards, and is bordered

Hermitages in the Pyrenees Orient ales.

467

by cherry, walnut, and other trees.
The chapel is in such veneration
that the peasants often used to as-
cend the mountain on their knees
with a candle in their hands, in
fulfilment of their vows, and perhaps
do so still. Before it is a terrace
shaded by elms, beneath which are
two springs. Here is a fine view
over the valley of the Tech extend-
ing to the very sea, while in the
background are the everlasting
mountains. In the chapel is a
statue of St. Ferreol in the garb of
a Roman soldier, with a sword in
his left hand. He is said to have
been an officer of some high grade,
martyred for the faith at Vienne, in
Dauphine, in 303.

There is an altar here to Notre
Dame dels Desemparats the Ca-
talan for abandoned or forsaken.
There are times in every one's life
when one feels the need of invoking
such a Madonna, and she may well
be set up here in a solitude that
harmonizes with the feelings of
those who have need to appeal to
her. To be friendless is solitude,
says Epictetus. The women of
Valencia wear combs on which is
graven the image of Nuestra Sefio-
ra de los Desemparados, but wheth-
er this is by way of bewailing their
forsaken condition, or to announce
their readiness to be consoled, or
merely by way of averting the pos-
sible contingencies of life, we can-
not say.

A Catalan inscription on the
holy-water vase states that it was
given by a hermit of St. Ferreol
who had been a slave at Constan-
tinople twenty-four years. The
chapel is specially frequented in
time of epidemics, and on the fes-
tivals of SS. Lawrence and Ferreol,
when worship is conducted with
great pomp, the Goigs never cease
around the altars.

The hermitage of Notre Dame
del Castel is on a mount belonging
to the chain of the Alberes, a few
miles from the pretty village of
Sorrede. The pathway up the
height is bordered with violets,
wild thyme, furze, and various
shrubs. You pass three crosses,
and a small oratory where the pro-
cessions of Rogation week stop on
their way to the mount to sing a
hymn to the Virgin. The hermi-
tage is in a fine position, shaded by
trees, the terrace overlooking a
vast extent of country with the
immensity of the sea in the dis-
tance. In sight are several places
of interest the rock of Montblanc,
where once stood a royal chateau ;
the Cova de las JEncaniadas, or the
fairies' cave; and, on the top of an
isolated peak, the ruins of the old
castle of Ultrera^ which history says
was taken by Wamba, King of the
Visigoths, in the seventh century.
Don Pedro of Aragon received its
keys from Don Jaime of Majorca
in 1344. Finally, it became the
property of the lords of Sorrede.
Marshal Schomberg took it from
the Spanish in 1675,. and the place
his troops occupied is still pointed
out as the Camp des Frangais,
The castle being dismantled by
order of Louis XIV., Jeanne de
Beam, who had seigneurial rights
over it, took possession, among
other "things, of the ancient Ma-
donna in the chapel, and built an-
other to receive it. This statue
had long before been miraculously
discovered in a cave of the moun-
tains. There is a singular expres-
sion of sweetness in the face, and
both Mother and Child are consid-
ered muy hermosos. She is dressed
in Spanish style, the veil that falls
around her partly covering the
Child. Great crowds come here on
the festivals of the Virgin, where

468

Hermitages in the Pyre" tides Orient ales.

Mass is sometimes sung at an altar
under the trees, and the people,
spread around on the neighboring
heights, give it the aspect of an
amphitheatre.

Not a mile from the hamlet of
La Roca, where Philip le Hardi in
his campaign against Aragon lodg-
ed with all his court, is a pleasant
valley watered by a limpid stream
and shaded by trees. Out of it
rises a low hill from which you can
see the Alberes and their forests of
cork-trees, and among them the
ruins of the castle of La Roca,
where the king of. Majorca took
refuge from Don Pedro of Aragon.
Here is the hermitage of Notre
Dame de Tanya, with a well before
it shaded by fine old plane-trees.
On the Nativity of the Blessed Vir-
gin Mary the people of La Roca
come here in procession. There
are daily services during the octave,
among which is the rosary at sun-
set. On the eighth day there is a
Mass of thanksgiving, after which
the people return processionally to
La Roca.

Near the Coll de Prunet, through
which passed Hannibal and the
hosts of the Caesars, is Notre Dame
del Coll, shut in by the mountains
and their forests of evergreen oaks
and cork-trees a popular chapel,
where people come to pray to be
delivered from the goitre and all
throat diseases common in the
mountains. The Goigs contain
the only accounts of its history,
from which it appears that the
chapel was built in the ninth cen-
tury to receive a Virgin discovered
by means of an ox. There is a
painting over the altar of a herds-
man and dog kneeling before the
Virgin. The statue has been gild-
ed, and the dress only allows the
head to be seen. Here are mana-
cles worn by captives in Moorish

times, brought in gratitude for their
deliverance and suspended before
the image of Him " whose pierced
hands have broken so many chains "
other than those of material bon-
dage. There is an altar, too, to
St. Quitterie of Aire, to whom there
are also special Goigs. She is in-
voked for hydrophobia.

About two miles from Argeles is
the hermitage of St. Ferreol in a
wild, solitary place among the cliffs
of the Alberes, the savage aspect
of which is softened by the almond,
fig, cherry, and oak trees. Before
the chapel ran the ancient " Car-
rera de Espagna," by which Philip
le Hardi went with his army when
he undertook the disastrous war
against Pedro III. of Aragon, in
1285, continuing along beneath the
castle of Ultrera to the Coll de la
Massane. The chapel used to have
two holes in the wall to receive the
alms of the passer-by when the
doors were closed. It has been
restored from the ruin into which
it had fallen, but is seldom visited.

On a bare rock not far from Ar-
geles is the hermitage of Notre
Dame de Vic, apparently very an-
cient, from the thick walls and low
heavy arches of the chapel. Just
below is a dark ravine lined with
trees, and a cistern that catches the
water trickling down the rocks. A
family now lives in the hermitage.
From it you can see over a vast
plain, and beyond is the Mediter-
ranean Sea, a perpetual beauty in
itself.

The hermitage of Notre Dame
des Abeilles is near the sea-coast,
not far from the Spanish frontier,
in a region once noted for its honey.
In some seasons it is approached
by the dry bed of a mountain tor-
rent that comes down in the spring
through the undulating hills cover-
ed with vines and olives. As far

Hermitages in the Pyrenees Or rent ales.

469

back as 1657 the chapel was known
as the Capilla Antigua, and was
famous for the perpetual miracle
of its ever-open door which no hu-
man hand could keep closed. It
contained one of those images which
was "not willing to be shut up."
This was an old Madonna, black as
that which Giotto loved to pray be-
fore, with a honeycomb in her hand,
sweet to the taste as the knowledge
of wisdom to the soul, reminding
one of the spouse of the Canticles,
whose lips drop as the honeycomb.
People used to come from Spain to
revere this Virgin, but it was re-
moved for safety in 1793, and is
now in the parish church of Ban-
yuls-sur-Mer, where, as in ancient
times, a lamb is offered at her altar
on Whit Tuesday, the feast of No-
tre Dame des Abeilles, which is
afterwards sold to the highest bid-
der to defray the expenses of the
festival. On the top of a neighbor-
ing mountain, about two thousand
feet above the level of the sea, may
be seen the old historic tower of
Madeloc.

Three miles from the town of
Collioure is the hermitage of Notre
Damede Consolation, to which you
ascend out of vines and plantations
of olives, almonds, and figs by a
path cut in the rocks. By the way-
side is an oratory here and there
with some saint in the niche, as St.
James, St. Ann, and Our Lady of
Many Griefs. You seldom find a
more charming spot in summer.
The terrace before the chapel is
shaded by alleys of lindens, chest-
nuts, and elms, some of which are
of enormous size, and beneath them
are fountains that diffuse their cool-
ing waters. Below is a vineyard
noted for its products, and through
an opening between two hills can
be seen the fortress of Miradon,

the belfry of Collioure, and the sea
in the distance. The ancient image
of Our Lady has disappeared, but
there is a modern one in the sculp-
tured retablo. Here on certain
days, as St. Ferreol's, is a great gath-
ering. The popular Goigs are sung
to airs of simple melody, and every
one goes down the eighteen steps
to drink at the miraculous fountain.
He who has prayed in this moun-
tain chapel among the pious pea-
santry, and wandered in the shady
alleys of the delightful terrace, and
drunk of the waters, finds it diffi-
cult to tear himself away.

Such are a few of the ancient her-
mitages of the Pyrenees Orientales.
Not one is without some beauty of
its own that would commend it to
the heart of the poet ; not one with-
out the balmy fragrance of some
holy legend so attractive to the
imagination ; not one without its
altar where God has for ages re-
vealed himself, and the solitude
where he loves to speak to the
heart. Well may we exclaim with
one * who was himself a hermit for
a time on the shores of this very
sea : " How delightful this bound-
less solitude where nature silently
keeps watch ! This silence has a
thousand tongues that prompt the
soul to soar away to God and wrap
it in ineffable delights. Here no
noise is heard but the human voice
rising heavenward. These sounds
full of sweetness alone trouble the
secret solitude. Its repose is only
interrupted by murmurs sweeter
than the repose itself the holy
murmur of the lowly psalm. From
the depths of the fervent soul rise
melodious harmonies, and the voice
of man accompanies his prayer to
heaven."

*St. Eucher.

470 Rosary Stanzas.

ROSARY STANZAS.
\

GLORIOUS MYSTERIES.

I.
PSALM cxxv. 5.

ONCE lost and found, again the Lost is found \
Drinking his voice, and feeding on his face,
Again her care and grief of heart are crowned ;
Her lifelong grief outmeasured by the grace
That rained upon her in each moment's space
As she beheld Him living who was dead.
Away the clouds of Time such meetings chase.
Wells of delight like those by tears are fed ;
The soul to joy like hers by sorrow must be led.

PSALM Ixxxiii. 6-8.

The mountain-roots lie in the lowly vale.
Mother bereaved ! from height to vaster height
Ever ascending, his last triumph hail !
On wings of fire her love has taken flight,
To follow where he is gone beyond her sight ;
Heaven is not far off, Love's wing is strong.
She sees the royal portals clothed in light ;
To Son and Mother there high thrones belong :
Whom dying will unite, life cannot sever long.

in.

ACTS i. 14.

In the pale light of subterranean glooms,

Rude art of early centuries portrays

Upon the wall of Roman Catacombs

Jesus' great Mother, Mary, as she prays,

With arms uplifted, while apostles gaze.*

Even so she prayed before the Spirit came

To consecrate the Pentecostal days,

With rushing power and tongues of lambent flame.

Can aught be then denied, if prayed in her great name ? f

* Le Oranti of the archaeologists. t John xvi. 26.

Pantheism versus Atheism.

471

IV.

CANTIC. ii. 17.

Shades yield to light. The Twelve from every land

Are gathered round the dying Mother's bed ;

Tranquil she lies, awaiting the command

To arise and come. She hears, and bows her head :

One Fiat more, and Mary is with the dead ;

But, sought the third day in her empty tomb,

On wings of angels borne, had upward fled,

Where flowers of Paradise undying bloom,

And glories passing thought her future home illume.

JOHN xvii. 22.

From tiny rills the mightiest rivers grow ;

Insensibly from small to great they glide,

City and plain rejoicing as they go.

But never less than great the treasures wide

Of Mary's peerless grace. Full they abide

For evermore ; and deep and strong and free

The current of that overflowing tide ;

Beyond all ear can sound, all eye can see,

Mingling her glorious wealth with the Everlasting Sea.

PANTHEISM VERSUS ATHEISM.

PROTESTANTISM is very unfortu-
nate in its warfare against modern
unbelief. It is daily losing battles,
losing men, and losing ground ;
and it feels so little reluctance to
give up one dogma after another
as to create the impression that
the time is not far off when it will
deliver up its last citadel and ac-
cept the yoke of the enemy. The
fact is so well known that it needs

will make it the subject of a short
discussion, that our readers may
form a clearer conception of the
suicidal strategy of some Protestant,
controversialists.

A work has recently appeared!
which purports to be a natural his-
tory of atheism.* Its author is an
accomplished Protestant scholar, a.
learned professor, an elegant wri-
ter, and an earnest advocate of re-

no proof; nevertheless, as we have ligious ideas in accordance with

a striking illustration of it in a

phase of the struggle which is now

going on between Protestant and

infidel thought on the all-important

dogma of the existence of God, we

the Bible as interpreted by his pri-
vate judgment. His object is to

* The Natural History of Atheism. By John
Stuart Blackie, Professor of Greek at the Universi-
ty of Edinburgh. New York : Scribner, Armstrong
& Co. 1878.

472

Pantheism versus Atheism.

refute atheism. Of course history,
reason, and revelation are all on
his side, so he is well armed;
whilst his antagonist, though bois-
terous and aggressive, is by no
means formidable, having had his
strength thoroughly broken by for-
mer defeats. In such a condition
of things the victory should evi-
dently belong to the champion of
Divinity. And yet no. Our
champion strikes, indeed, some
heavy blows, but while thus strug-
gling with the enemy he falls into
a quagmire. In other words, he
grapples with a senseless atheism
only to plunge into an equally
senseless pantheism.

With regard to the first chapters
of the work we Jiave little to say.
The author proves pretty conclu-
sively that atheism is against rea-
son. He shows that the belief in
the existence of God has been uni-
versal not only among civilized na-
tions but also among barbarous
tribes. " Atheism," says he, " is a
disease of the speculative faculty."
"It indicates a chaotic state of
mind." " It is a doctrine so averse
from the general current of human
sentiment that the unsophisticat-
ed mass of mankind instinctively
turn away from it, as the other
foxes did from that vulpine brother
who, having lost his tail in a trap,
tried lo convince the whole world
of foxes that the bushy appendage
in the posterior region was a de-
formity of which all high-minded
members of the vulpine aristocracy
should get rid as soon as possible."
This argument against atheism was
well known to the ancients, who
laid great stress upon it, as they
saw that a universal agreement of
mankind on the existence of God
could not but proceed from our ra-
tional nature ; but our author con-
siders it as a simple " presumption,"

rather than a proof in favor of the
theistic doctrine.

He then argues from the principle
of causality and from the wonderful
wisdom displayed in the architec-
ture of the universe. This, too, is
very good. Next, he meets the ob-
jection drawn from the existence
of evil in the world.

" If there were no poverty," says he,
" where were charity ? If every person
were equally independent and self-
reliant, where would be the gracious
pleasure on both sides which arises
from the support given by the strong to
the weak ? Where again would be the
topping virtue of moral courage, unless
the majority, at some particular critical
moment, were cowards? . . . In fact, al-
ways and everywhere the development
of energy implies the existence of that
which energy must subdue namely, evil
in some shape or other. Therefore the
existence of evil is not a proof that there
is no God ; but it is by the overcoming
of evil constantly that God proves him-
self to be God, and man proves himself
to be God-like, when in his subordinate
sphere he does the same."

This answer is tolerably good ;
but we doubt if the atheist will be
silenced by it. The author should
have distinguished physical from
moral evil. The existence of phy-
sical evil he could have shown
to be perfectly reconcilable with
God's infinite goodness and pro-
vidence; whereas the existence of
moral evil should have been shown
to be in no manner derogatory to
his infinite sanctity. This has
been done very fully by a multitude
of philosophers and theologians ;
but it could not be done consistent-
ly by our pantheistic writer, be-
cause, as we shall see, all moral
evil, according to his pantheistic
theory, would either emanate from
God or be immanent in him, with
a total ruin of his infinite sanctity.
Hence the atheist, after all the rea-
sonings of the learned professor,

Pantheism versus Atheism.

473

may still urge that the existence of
a God is incompatible with the ex-
istence of sin ; and we think that
the professor will be at a loss how
to answer the difficulty so long as
he holds to his pantheistic views.

As to the genesis of atheism the
author makes many good and
thoughtful remarks. There is a
sort of atheism which arises from
an absolute feebleness or babyhood
of intellect. This he calls "athe-
ism of imbecility " ; but, says he,
"we need not detain ourselves with
this type of intellectual incapa-
bility. It is not atheists of this
class that we are likely to meet
with in the present age ; and if we
did meet them we should be much
more likely to remit them summa-
rily to some hospital of incurables
than to a thinking school."

The next type of the atheistic
disease has its origin in moral de-
pravity. There are men whose
career is "like a piece of music
made up of a constant succession
of jars, which shakes the strings so
much by unkindly vibrations that
the instrument, from the force of an
unnatural strain, cracks itself into
silence prematurely. Now, unhar-
monized characters of this descrip-
tion are naturally indisposed, and
practically incapacitated from re-
cognizing order, design, and sys-
tem in the constitution of the uni-
verse, and of course cannot see
God." This root of atheism is
very well illustrated by Mr. Blackie.
Here is a beautiful passage :

'* It occurs to me to set down here the
features of one of the most notable of
those disorderly characters who lived in
ancient Rome at the same epoch when
the hollow atheism of Epicurus was
dressed up for a day in the garb of poet-
ical beauty by a poet of no mean genius
called Lucretius. The man I mean is
Catiline. Hear how Sallust in a well-
known passage describes him : 'Lucius

Catiline, born of a noble family, a man
of great strength, both of mind and body,
but of a wicked and perverse disposition.
To this man, from his youth upwards,
intestine broils, slaughters, rapines, and
civil wars were a delight ; and in these
he put forth all the energy of his youth.
He could boast of a bodily frame capa-
ble of enduring heat and cold, hunger
and watching, beyond all belief; he had
a spirit daring, cunning, and full of
shifts, ready alike to simulate what he
was not and to dissimulate what he was,
as occasion might call. Greedy of oth-
ers' property, he was lavish of his own ;
in passion fiery, in words copious, in
wisdom scant. His unchastened ambi-
tion was constantly desiring things im-
moderate, incredible, and beyond human
reach.' This is exactly the sort of char-
acter, to whose completeness if anything
like a philosophy is to be attributed,
atheism will be that thing."

In our age, however, according
to the author, all the varieties of
speculative and practical atheism
which we meet with in common
life are " weeds sprung from the
rank soil of irreverence." Man
being naturally a religious animal,
atheism can then only spring up
when, in the individual or in so-
ciety, any influence arises which
nips the natural bud of reverence
in the soul. Thus power may
foster a strong feeling of inde-
pendence, which may end in a
monstrous self-worship. But lib-
erty also, as the author well re-
marks, when unlimited, leads to
godlessness. There is an atheism
of democracy no less than of des-
potism. From extreme democracy,
as from a hot-bed, atheism in its
rankest stage naturally shoots up.
There is nothing in the idea of
mere liberty to create the feeling of
reverence. The desire of unlimit-
ed liberty is an essentially selfish
feeling, and has no regard for any
Power from above. The funda-
mental maxim of all pure democ-
racy is simply this : " I am as good

474

Pantheism versus Atheism.

as you, and perhaps a little better;
I acknowledge nobody as my mas-
ter, whether in heaven above or on
earth beneath ; I will not be fet-
tered."

But, continues the author, unlim-
ited power and unlimited liberty are
not the only social forces that are apt
to run riot in the exaggerated asser-
tion of the individual and the nega-
tion of all superhuman authority.
There is the irreverence begotten of
pride of intellect. Knowledge, of
course, does not directly produce
irreligion or extinguish piety; on
the contrary, the more a wise man
knows of the universe, the more he
is lost in admiration of its excel-
lence. But the knowing faculty is
not the whole of a living man, and
to bring forth its healthy fruits it
must go hand-in-hand with a rich
moral nature; divorced from this,
knowledge begets intellectual pride
and opens the way to godlessness.

Here the author points- out the
fact that there is something in the
researches of modern science, at
least in certain conditions of the
intellectual atmosphere, not appar-
ently favorable to the growth of
piety and the cultivation of reli-
gious reverence. In not a few mo-
dern books of physical science we
find nothing but " a curious finger-
ing of wretched dumb details ut-
terly destitute of soul. Whatever
is in the book, depend upon it, God
is not there. You will hear no end
of talk about laws and forces, de-
velopments and evolutions, meta-
morphic forms, transmuted ener-
gies, and what not ; but it is all
dead at least all blind. For see-
ing intellect and shaping reason
there is no place in such systems."
The author strongly condemns this
godless science, and shows at
length its fickleness and unwis-
dom ; and we might \ almost^ mis-

take him for a Catholic apologist.
were it not that he ventures to
speak of " non-sense " in connec-
tion with the Council of Trent, at
which he irreverently sneers.

In the next chapter he treats of
polytheism, whose origin he traces
to misdirected reverence towards
the powers of nature. He shows
that polytheism was not atheism,
and that polytheistic society could
reach a certain degree of morality
not to be found among atheists.
To our mind, this chapter, though
learned, is nearly superfluous ; for
it has scarcely any bearing on the
history of atheism. In like man-
ner we think that the chapter on
Buddhism, which comes immediate-
ly after, and which fills seventy
pages, was uncalled for. The au-
thor says that the British atheism
of Bradlaugh, John Stuart Mill, Miss
Martineau, Tyndall, and others
called his attention to the asser-
tion that in the far East atheism
had been publicly professed for
more than two thousand years, and
was at present the corner-stone of
the faith of more than four hundred
millions of the human race. Could
such an assertion be true ? He
could not believe it. To talk of a
religion without God was, to his
mind, " as to talk of the proposi-
tions in Euclid without the postu-
lates on which they depend." He
therefore determined to get at the
root of the matter, and thus he dis-
covered that Buddhism was not
atheism. It is to show this that he
gives an elaborate explanation of
the Buddhistic system. We need
not discuss it, though we believe
that some Buddhistic errors which
he points out are somewhat exag-
gerated. We only repeat that the
natural history of atheism would
have lost nothing, and perhaps
gained something, if this long di-

Pantheism versus Atheism.

475

gression on Buddhism had been
omitted.

And now we have reached the
last chapter of the work, where the
author endeavors to make theolo-
gians responsible for a kind of mo-
dern atheism which he calls " athe-
ism of reaction," and where he
makes his strange and foolish pro-
fession of pantheism. It is with
this chapter alone that we shall be
concerned in the following pages;
for it is the evil doctrine contained
in this objectionable chapter that
spoils the whole work and gives it
a totally anti-Christian character.
Is the author a Freemason ? Is he
the mouth-piece of the Scotch and
English lodges, whose members are
anxious not to be ranked among
atheists, though they have no defi-
nite creed? We do not care to
know. But we may well affirm
that his book is full of the Masonic
spirit, and answers so well the pre-
sent needs of British FreenTasonry
that we cannot be much mistaken
if we call it a Masonic work. It is
well known that the English Free-
masonry, either because less ad-
vanced or because more prudent
than the Masonry of France,
thought it necessary to protest
against a suicidal resolution lately
passed by the latter, which permits
the admission of candidates to mem-
bership irrespective of their belief
or disbelief in the Great Architect
of the universe. This resolution
was strongly condemned by the
English lodges, which lost no time
in sending out a public official de-
claration that, so far as the Eng-
lish fraternity was concerned, no
member would be recognized who
did not profess to believe in the
Great Architect, according to the
old Masonic constitution. The wis-
dom of this measure cannot be
doubted ; for the English Masonry

enjoys still a certain degree of re-
spectability, which must not be
compromised by a low sympathy
with the desperate atheism of the
French communists. Nevertheless,
so long as they talk of a " Great
Architect of the universe " without
explaining more particularly what
they mean by these words, there is
reason to fear that their protest
against the French infidels is a de-
ceit. The pantheist, the Buddhist,
and the agnostic, and even the ma-
terialist and the fatalist, can admit
an Architect of the universe, pro-
vided they are allowed to put upon
these words a free construction.
One will identify him with Law, an-
other with Nature, a third with
Force, a fourth with Matter, and
perhaps a fifth with Satan himself;
for, as the old Manichaeans held
that this material world was the
work of a bad principle, so there
are now men (not unknown to
Freemasonry) who consider Satan
as their friend, their master, and
their god. There are lodges
where the " Great Leonard," a
satanic apparition, is an object of
worship. No doubt these lodges
recognize him as the " Great Archi-
tect of the universe." And Proud-
lion was so bold as to publish that
he was in love with Satan : " Viens,
Satan ; viens, que je fembrasse /"

At any rate, if the book we are
criticising has been written in the
interest of the British Freemasons,
it fails to show that they are more
orthodox than their French broth-
ers whom they have excommuni-
cated. The pantheism professed
in the book is just as worthless as
the French atheism ; for pantheism,
just as much as atheism, makes all
religion impossible. Hence a book
which refutes atheism in order to
establish pantheism, however filled
with Scriptural quotations to make

4/6

Pantheism versus At/ieism.

it look religious, is an anti-Chris-
tian book.

The atheism of reaction, of which

fers. He seems never to have re-
flected that such " delicate con-
sciences " as that of Martin Luther

the author speaks in the first part had as little scruple about falsify-

of this chapter, is, according to
him, " a recoil " from the exag-

ing history as they had about mar-
rying nuns, rebelling against autho-

gerations and dictatorial imperi- rity, or shedding blood. Even Pro-

ousness of theological orthodoxy.
" Even theism," he remarks, " the
only reasonable theory of the uni-
verse, in the blundering fashion in

testants would now smile at the
" thunder-storm of holy indigna-
tion " roused in the good soul of
Luther at the thought of a gospel

which you state it, may possibly of salvation by works of penance.

produce atheism, the most unrea-
sonable of all theories." The Re-
formation " was unquestionably a
reaction from the excess of sacer-

Well might even Lucifer's " deli-
cate conscience " have burst into a
storm of " holy indignation," as he
could not work out his salvation

dotal assertiveness, and the abuse without controlling his pride; and
of ecclesiastical power in the latter he might have protested against
centuries of the middle ages." This God's orders, just as Luther did,
excess " gave sharp offence to the
delicate conscience of Martin Luth-
er, and roused his sleeping wrath
into a thunder-storm of holy indig-

nation." How

By paradin-

by alleging that "the just liveth by
faith." How the reformers suc-
ceeded in " saving the world " by
this doctrine of salvation without
works, can be argued from the fact,

the public places, and marching attested by our author himself, that

through the highways of Christen- " anarchy and confusion, with the

dom with a sacerdotal gospel of braying of a theological ass here,

salvation by works by conven- the cackling of a clerical goose

tional and arbitrary works, penan- there, and the raving of a sectarian

ces, and payments of various kinds
imposed by authority of the all-

madman in a third quarter, began
to show face to such a decree that

powerful clergy, and having little sensible and quietly-disposed men,
or nothing in common with the mo- like Erasmus, became seriously
rality of a pure life and a noble alarmed before the spirits they had
character." "Against this abuse conjured up, and retreated, with a

devout timidity, into the sacred
ark of the old Catholic Church."
This confession speaks volumes.

Luther protested exactly in the
same way, and with similar effect,
as St. Paul protested against the
ritualism of the Jews." " The just

The author describes a sort of

liveth by faith. This great doctrine rampant orthodoxy which delights
has saved the world twice, once in doctrinal exaggeration of mys-
teries, and which is never so hap-
py as when it can plant itself be-
hind the broad shield of unintelli-
gible formulas and traditionary
shibboleths, to pluck Reason by the
beard, and bid open defiance to
the grand principle of the Scottish
philosophy called common sense.
And this, he says, excites an athe-

from the cumbrous and narrow-
minded ceremonialism of the Jews,
and again from the despotic and
soul-stupefying sacerdotalism of the
Romanists."

All this trash is beneath discus-
sion ; it only shows that the author
is little acquainted with the men
and the doctrines to which he re-

Pantheism versus Atheism.

477

istical reaction. We really do not
know of any orthodoxy which de-
lights in " plucking Reason by the
beard." The Scotch Presbyterians
may have done something of the
kind, but they have no claim to
orthodoxy. True orthodoxy is no-
where but in the church whose
centre is Rome. But the Roman
Church never used unintelligible
formulas, never had shibboleths,
and never plucked Reason by the
beard, but on the contrary made
use of the plainest language and
the best cultivated reason to teach
the revealed truth, and to defend
it against heretics and unbelievers.
Had the Protestant sects as much
regard for Reason, and for the great
principle of the Scottish philosophy
called common sense, they would
soon perceive that their claim to
orthodoxy is nonsensical and their
Christianity a delusion. And if
they were logical, they would not,
when their ministers pluck Reason
by the beard, feel inclined to an
" atheistical reaction," but would
only conclude that their ministers
do not belong to God's church,
and have neither grace nor mission
to teach Christianity.

The author admits the necessity
of faith ; but he scouts the doctrine
that whoso believes not every dog-
ma about the divine nature shall
be eternally damned.

"The spirit," he says, "from which
damnatory declarations of this kind pro-
ceed is a mingled spirit of ignorance,
conceit, presumption, insolence, and pe-
dantry, and has more to answer for in
the way of creating atheism than any
other fault of Christian preachers that has
come under my observation. Against
declarations of this kind, however sol-
emnly made, and however traditionally
hallowed, the moral and intellectual na-
ture of the most soundly-constituted
minds rises up in instinctive rebellion :
the intellectual nature, because the pro-
pounding of dogmas in a scholastic form

about the nature of the Supreme Being
shows an utter ignorance of the proper
functions and limits of the human intel-
lect ; and the moral nature even more
emphatically, because to make fellow-
ship in any religion conditional on the
merely intellectual acceptance of an ab-
stract proposition addressed to the un-
derstanding, is to remove religion alto-
gether out of its own region, where it
can bear fruit, and to transplant it into
a soil where it can show only prickles
that fret the skin, and thorns that go
deeply into the flesh."

This is wisdom ! Therefore, ac-
cording to this writer, to believe in
three divine Persons, Father, Son,
and Holy Ghost, is unnecessary for
salvation, and to say the contrary
is conceit, insolence, and pedantry.
It is difficult to conceive how a
Christian could fall into such ab-
surdity. The mystery of the Holy
Trinity is the very base of Chris-
tianity. It is in the name of the
Father, the Son, and the Holy
Ghost that we are baptized ; it is
by the Son of God that we are re-
deemed ; it is by the Holy Spirit
that we are sanctified. Without
this faith there is no Christianity,
and without Christianity there is
no salvation. We need not be
afraid that "the moral and intel-
lectual nature of the most soundly-
constituted minds should rise up
in instinctive rebellion " against
this doctrine ; for the history of
eighteen centuries proves very con-
clusively that soundly-constituted
minds have never rebelled against
dogma. Nor do we see why the
intellectual nature should denounce
the use of the scholastic form in
the propounding of dogmas. Such
a form is clear, precise, and full of
meaning ; it is therefore the best
intellectual form. And as to the
moral nature, we can only say that
nowhere is it more cultivated than
in the yCatholic Church a truth
which no one disputes whilst the

473

Pantheism versus Atheism.

assumption that " the merely intel-
lectual acceptance of an abstract
proposition" suffices to qualify a
man for religious fellowship, is a
clear proof that the author has
never read our Christian catechism.
" But," says he, " it is not only
in their way of presenting faith
generally, but in their rash and
unreasoned statement of special
points of Christian belief, that our
theologians have greatly erred."
And he mentions the doctrine of
predestination and reprobation,
the doctrine of original sin, the
doctrine of eternal punishment, the
doctrine of creation out of nothing,
and the doctrine of God's provi-
dential intervention in human af-
fairs. We do not deny that the
doctrine of predestination and rep-
robation has been discussed rashly
and in an irreverent manner so as
to create scandal and discord; but
it is on the Protestant, and espe-
cially on the Calvinistic, preachers
and writers that lies the responsi-
bility of such deplorable quarrels.
It was their private judgment push-
ed to excess and their pride that
roused the storm. Of course our
Catholic theologians could not
look silently on such a wanton per-
version of truth ; to defend human
liberty on the one side and God's
justice on the other they had to
take part in the difficult controver-
sy. They often differed in matters
of detail, but their conclusions as
to the main point that is, as to
the dogma were uniform and ir-
reproachable. Mysteries, however,
do not cease to be true because
men cannot unravel them. Theo-
logians do not claim the privilege
of tearing asunder the veil through
which mysteries are seen ; but they
claim the honor of defending the
objective truth of mysteries against
the attacks of heresy and unbelief.

This is why theologians investigate
and expound mysteries ; and to
contend that the result of their
labors is to encourage atheism is
to abandon " the great principle
of the Scottish philosophy called
common sense," or, to use another
phrase of the author's, " to pluck
Reason by the beard."

The author says that lie has
brought forward this matter (of
predestination and reprobation)
specially because the Calvinistic
view of it, as laid down in the
catechism used in the elementary
schools of Scotland, occasions " no
small amount of misery and self-
torture to young persons beginning
seriously to look into the great
truths of religion and morals."
We agree with him. The Calvin-
istic doctrine of reprobation makes
man the helpless victim of a tyran-
nical and cruel God, destroys all
the seeds of piety, and fosters de-
spair. But if its adoption may
lead to atheism, it is not the fault
of theology ; it is the fault of Cal-
vin's rebellion against the church.

The next good service done by
theologians to the anti-Christian
tendencies of some "respectable" (?)
classes of the community has
been, according to our author, their
inculcation of the doctrine of ori-
ginal sin. " Original sin," says he
with Coleridge, " is not a doctrine
but a fact"\ by which he means,
we suppose, that the first man sin-
ned, but that from this fact we
cannot conclude that his children
are born in sin.

" Moral merit and demerit are in the
very nature of things personal ; to im-
agine their transference is to destroy
their definition. If every baby when
born, in virtue of an act of transgression
committed some six or eight thousand
years ago by the father of the race, must
be confessed a 'hell-deserving sinner,'
and lying on the brink of eternal dam-

Pantheism versus Atheism.

479

nation as soon as it lies on its nurse's
lap, then every man of sound moral feel-
ing is entitled to protest against a doc-
trine of which such a cruel absurdity is
a necessary postulate."

Here again the author is at fault.
The dogma of the inheritance of
guilt from our first parent is not
an invention of theologians, but an
explicit doctrine of the New and
even of the Old Testament. To
omit other quotations, St. Paul
the apostle, whose authority is so
frequently appealed to by our au-
thor, declares that Adam sinned,
and that in him all men have sinned.
Now, if St. Paul cannot be charged
with doing a good service to anti-
Christianity by preaching this doc-
trine, why should theologians be
denounced for preaching it?

The author argues that " merit
and demerit are personal," and
that " to imagine their transfer-
ence is to destroy their definition."
Yes; but the dogma of original
sin does not imply any such trans-
ference. The original sin is per-
sonal and inherited, not transfer-
red. " Out of good seed," as the
author tells us, " a good plant will
grow, and out of bad seed a bad
plant." Is the badness of the
plant transferred? No; it is in-
herited. And so it is with the
stain of original sin. We are born
of a degraded father, and we are a
degraded race degraded not only
physically but morally ; that is,
deprived of the supernatural grace
which accompanied the original jus-
tice in which man had been created.
This is what St. Paul expresses by
saying that we are born " children
of wrath." It is not in virtue of
an act committed six thousand
years ago that every baby '^formal-
ly a sinner ; he is a sinner owing
to his own personal destitution of
supernatural grace, just as the

child of a redskin is formally a red-
skin, not by the skin of his father
but by his own. This doctrine
has been taught and held from the
origin of Christianity by the most
learned, the most acute, and the
most holy men, without their sound
moral sense being hurt by it ; it
was reserved to our vicious and ig-
norant generation to take scandal
at the pretended cruelty involved
in such divine dispensation. What
a pity that God, in shaping his de-
crees, forgot to consult our learned
professor of Greek ! *

The doctrine of eternal punish-
ment is, according to Mr. Blackie,
another "stone of stumbling" set
up by the Christian doctors. The
ancient Greeks, he remarks, had
also taught this doctrine ; but they
taught it in a very modified form.
Only a few flaming offenders were
condemned to a state of helpless
reprobation and inexhaustible tor-
ture. But the Christian churches
"committed themselves to a theo-
logy drawn up by scholastic per-
sons in a series of formal proposi-
tions which challenge contradiction
and refuse compromise. Therefore
the doctrine of infinite torture for
finite sins is still stoutly maintain-
ed as a point of Christian faith, and
as stoutly disowned by a large class
of benevolent and thoughtful per-
sons, who look upon such a doc-
trine as utterly inconsistent with
the conception of a wise and be-
nevolent Being." He then adds
that if there were not a great deal of
dogmatic obstinacy, a fair amount
of hermeneutical ignorance, and
a considerable vein of cowardice
also in the ecclesiastical minds,

* Children dying in original sin, though children
of wrath, are not necessarily " hell-deserving sin-
ners," as the author objects. Most Catholic theo-
logians maintain with good reasons that they will
be in a state of natural happiness, though debar-
red from the vision of God.

48o

Pantheism versus Atheism.

this stumbling-block might easily
be removed. For " it does not
require any very profound scho-
larship to know that the word
(xicovio?, which we translate ever-
lasting does not signify eternity
absolutely and metaphysically, but
only popularly, as when we say that
a man is an eternal fool, meaning
only that he is a very great fool."

This last argument is easily
answered. In fact, it does not re-
quire any very profound scholar-
ship to know that the word aiaorwZ
here means everlasting in the sense
of perpetual duration. This is
evident from collateral passages of
Scripture, from which we know
that the fire of hell " shall not be
extinguished," that, the smoke of
the torments of the wicked "shall
ascend for ever and ever," that their
worm " shall never die," etc., all
which expressions, according to our
" hermeneutical ignorance," more
than suffice to annihilate the profes-
sor's pretension. Besides, the an-
cient translators of the Bible were
as good professors of Greek, to say
the least, as Mr. Stuart Blackie ; but
they never suspected that there
would come a time when such
slang as " an eternal fool " would
mean " a very great fool." It is too
late now for any professor to pre-
tend that the ancient Greek had no
correct interpretation till English
slang made its appearance.

The other argument consists in
saying that a finite sin cannot de-
serve an infinite punishment. This,
too, is easily answered. The act
of sin is finite, but it violates the
infinite majesty and sanctity of
God, and on this account it par-
takes of infinity. However, let us
drop this consideration, which is too
scholastic to be understood by cer-
tain modern professors- of Protes-
tant institutions. We have another

answer. A man can dig out his eyes
in less than a minute ; the act is
finite, but its result is perpetual
blindness, In like manner a man
loses, by sinning, his fitness to see
God in his glory ; the act is finite,
but the consequent unfitness is, of
its nature, everlasting. God alone
can restore the sinner to his pre-
vious condition ; but this he is not
obliged to do. The rehabilitation
of a sinner is a real miracle, just as
the resuscitation of Lazarus, and
miracles are not the rule but the
exception. God warns us that " the
hope of the sinner shall perish,"
that " now is the acceptable time,"
and that after death "there is no
redemption." And yet we are ac-
cused of " dogmatic obstinacy"
Ijecause we do not renounce this
doctrine of faith !

We are told that there is a large
class of "benevolent and thought-
ful persons " who look upon such a
doctrine " as utterly inconsistent
with the conception of a wise and
benevolent Being." But our " dog-
matic obstinacy " compels us to re-
mark that this wise and benevolent
Being knows much better than
those "benevolent and thoughtful
persons" what his wisdom and be-
nevolence require ; and therefore
it is from his word, not from those
" thoughtful persons," that we must
accept the solution of the problem.
It may be that, in doing so, we
exhibit " a considerable vein of
cowardice " ; but it is wise to fear
God. We are weak and he is
almighty.

" Another stumbling-block which the-
ologians have laid in the way of the
devotee of physical sciences is the crea-
tion out of nothing. This dogma, which,
as every scholar knows, is not necessari-
ly contained in any place, whether of the
Old or New Testament, arose in the Jew-
ish Church, and has been stamped with
orthodox authority in Christendom, part-

versus Atheism.

481

Iy from a pious desire to magnify the di-
vine Omnipotence ; partly from the timid
stupidity of clinging to the letter instead
of brea'thing the spirit of Scripture ; and
partly also from the evil trick which we
have just mentioned of importing meta-
physics and scholastic definitions into
the Bible, from which all the Scriptures
are the furthest possible removed. Now,
the objection to this doctrine on the part
of modern thinkers I conceive to be this :
that, though not perhaps absolutely im-
possible, it is contrary to all known ex-
perience, and highly improbable if we
are to judge of the constitution of things
from what we see, not from what we
choose to imagine. It is the vulgar ima-
gination which delights to represent the
Supreme Being as a sort of omnipotent
harlequin, launching theySW/ of his voli-
tion, as the nimble gentleman in the
pantomime strikes the table with his
wand, and out comes a man, or a mon-
key, or something else, out of nothing.
This is man's crude conception ; but
God's ways are not as man's ways, and
his way is evolution. Nothing is created
out of nothing ; and mere volition, even
of an omnipotent Being, cannot be con-
ceived as bringing into existence a thing
of an absolutely opposite nature, called
matter."

To answer these reckless asser-
tions in detail would take a vol-
ume. Fortunately, however, we
may be dispensed from such a task,
as there are hundreds of excellent
books, both philosophical and theo-
logical, where the dogma of crea-
tion is fully established and victo-
riously vindicated. On the other
hand, our professor does not give
any proof of his infidel view; he
merely asserts what lias no possi-
bility of proof. "Nothing is creat-
ed out of nothing," says he; but
philosophy demonstrates that no-
thing is, or can be, created but out
of nothing. " God's way is evolu-
tion." No; God's way is creation.
Evolution is man's way, as Mr.
Darwin and all his admirers know;
and, since (as the author reminds
us) God's ways are not as man's
ways, it follows on his own show-
VOL. xxvii. 31

ing that God's way is not evolution.
Evolution is impossible without
antecedent creation. The subject
of evolution is matter, and matter
is a created being. To deny the
creation of matter is to assume
that matter is eternal and self-ex-
istent, or, in other terms, to make
it an independent being or an ap-
purtenance of Divinity ; and this
colossal absurdity even the author
must reject, as he confesses that
the nature of matter is " absolutely
opposite " to the nature of Divin-
ity.

The author imagines that the
absolute opposition between God
and matter makes it impossible for
God to create matter, because
' mere volition, even of an omni-
potent Being, cannot be conceived
as bringing into existence a thing
of an absolutely opposite nature."
These words show the author's
philosophical ignorance of the law
of causation. The law is that effi-
cient causes must always be of a na-
ture entirely different from that of
their effects. The efficient cause
of gravitation at the earth's surface
is the substance or matter of the
earth itself; but gravitation is
neither matter nor substance, but
something entirely different. The
soul is the efficient cause of the
voluntary movements produced in
our organism ; and yet those move-
ments have nothing common with
the substance of the soul. And the
same is to be said of all other ef-
fects as compared with their effi-
cient causes.* Hence it is idle to
argue that an omnipotent Being,
owing to his spirituality, cannot
create matter. The author will
say that every effect must be con-

* See THE CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1874,
where we have proved that all efficient cause is
infinitely more perfect and of an infinitely let-
ter nature than any of its effects (" The Princi-
ples of Real Being," p. 584).

482 '

Pantheism versus Atheism.

tained in its cause, and that matter
is not contained in God. To
which it must be answered that
effects are eminently and virtually,
not formally, contained in their ef-
ficient causes. If the effect existed
formally in its cause its production
by the cause would become a con-
tradiction ; for the effect would
exist before its effection. Effects
are said to be pre-contained in
their causes only in this sense : that
causes possess a power competent
to produce their effects. Causa-
tion is action, and action is the
production of an act. Every act
produced is the formal principle of
a new existence, or of a new mode
of existence. To say that God
cannot create matter is to say that
God cannot produce an act giving
formal existence to matter; which
amounts to the denial of omnipo-
tence. Still, the existence of mat-
ter must be accounted for. Mat-
ter undergoes modifications and is
subject to natural agents ; it is
therefore essentially 'potential and
contingent. How, then, did it
come into existence ? And how is
it potential, if it is not created out
of nothing, since nothingness is the
only source of potentiality ?

But we are told that creation out
of nothing " is contrary to all
known experience." This shows
what new kind of philosophers now-
adays we have to deal with. They
want to see God making a few acts
of creation before they consent to
believe, just as they want a lectur-
er to prove his theories by a series
of visible experiments. God, of
course, will not satisfy their curios-
ity; hie has given them the light of
reason and the light of revelation,
which are quite enough. But were
God to condescend to their yearn-
ing, would they believe even then?
Would not these men, who have

the impudence to speak of an
"omnipotent Harlequin," declare
with equal profanity any visible
fact of creation to be jugglery ?

The author tells us also that "if
we are to judge of the constitution
of things from what we see, not
from what we choose to imagine,"
we shall find out that creation is
improbable. At this we need not
wonder; for the author is a great
enemy of scholastic definitions and
of metaphysics that is, of intel-
lectual light. He sees with the
eyes of his body, but he shuts the
eyes of his reason. Had he less
horror of metaphysics, he might
learn that " the constitution of
things " proclaims in the loudest
and most unmistakable language
the fact of creation ; and that
every change or movement in the
universe furnishes a peremptory
demonstration of it. But what
can a man see who discards defini-
tions and disregards the principles
of real philosophy ?

And now let us see to what con-
clusions the author is led by his
style of reasoning. He says :

"To us dependent ephemeral crea-
tures all existence is a divine miracle ;
and the continuity of that divine miracle
in the shape of what we call growth is,
so far as we can see, the eternal form of
divine creativeness. The absolute dual-
ism of mind and matter which is implied
in the received orthodoxy of the church
is not warranted by any fact that exact
science can recognize ; nowhere do we
find mind acting without a material in-
strument, nowhere matter absolutely di-
vorced from the action of inherent forces,
inasmuch as even the most motionless
statical condition of things most solid is
always produced by a balance of forces
in some way or other forces which, if
they are not blind, but acting according
to a calculated law, as they manifestly
do, are only another name for Mind.
This view of the constitution of the uni-
verse . . . is generally disowned with a
certain pious horror as pantheism, a

Pantheism versus Atheism.

483

word to which a great chorus of thought-
less and ill-informed people are straight-
way ready to echo back atheism, with
the feeling that the two terms, though
etymologically as opposed as white and
black, are practically the same. . . .
Pantheism, scientifically understood,
has nothing to do either with material-
ism or with atheism. It ... simply
denies the existence of two opposite
entities in the world of divine reality,
while it asserts the existence of only one.
The world is essentially one ; and the
All, though externally many, is, when
traced to its deepest roots, not different
from the One ; as the human body, for
instance, is both one and many. . . .
The term pantheism, therefore, is not
opposed to unity, or to the principle of
unity in the world, which is God ; and a
pantheist, as Hegel well said of Spinoza,
may more properly be said to deny the
world than to deny God."

This is the quagmire into which
the professor, as we said at the be-
ginning of this article, has fallen.
The view he takes of " the consti-
tution of the universe," the asser-
tions he makes, and the arguments
he employs are a mass of confu-
sion to which no more appropriate
name can be given than nonsense.
We are " dependent ephemeral
creatures." Yes. But how could
he call us "creatures," he who de-
nies creation ? or " dependent," he
who makes us one with God ? or
" ephemeral," he who includes us
in the eternal All ? Is not this a
flagrant contradiction ?

To us " all existence is a divine
miracle." If so, the author cannot
consistently be a pantheist. Mira-
cles are facts transcending the pow-
er and exigencies of nature. Pan-
theism divinizes nature, and admits
of nothing transcending the power
and exigencies of nature ; and there-
fore pantheism can admit of no mi-
racle.

" Growth is, so far as we can see,
the eternal form of divine creative-
ness." Growth implies change,

whereas the eternal form of divine
creativeness is altogether unchange-
able. Hence, so far as we can see
(and we see it most evidently),
growth is not what the professor
imagines.

" The absolute dualism of mind
and matter is not warranted by any
fact that exact science can recog-
nize." If so, then exact science
should find a way of reconciling
the well-known inertia of matter
with the equally well-known imma-
nent and reflex self-activity of mind.
For, as the latter excludes the for-
mer, their existence is the most in-
controvertible evidence of the ab-
solute dualism of matter and mind ;
and this evidence is quite scien-
tific, too, for it is the result of
universal and unexceptionable ex-
perience. But our men of science,
who profess to deal with nothing
but matter, are not the best judges
about the attributes of mind. They
are gross and material ; they must
see, and touch, and smell, and sub-
ject everything to chemical analy-
sis ; and spiritual substances refuse'
to be thus manipulated. Hence
no wonder if these latter substan-
ces are not recognized in any fast
of exact science so long as " exact
science " is confined to the study
of matter.

" Nowhere do we find mind act-
ing without a material instrument."
Be it so ; it does not follow that
matter and mind are one and the
same tiling. The organ is not the
organist, and the instrument is not
the artist.

" Nowhere do we find matter
divorced from the action of inher-
ent forces." Quite true ; but these
forces of matter are absolutely
blind. The author pretends that
they are not blind,, because " they
act according to a calculated law " ;,
but this is a new blunder. It is.

484

Pantheism versus Atheism.

not the forces of matter that have
calculated the law, it is God that
subjected them to the law ; and
their acting according to the law is
a mechanical necessity. The very
fact of their inviolable subjection
to the law proves their utter blind-
ness ; for were they intelligent, they
would have given before now some
instances of proud rebellion at least
in the hands of the torturing che-
mist.

" This view ... is generally
disowned as pantheism." Certain-
ly. Let the author remember " the
principle of the Scottish philosophy
called common sense" and let him
ask himself if a view generally dis-
owned deserves the honor of being
adopted by a professor of a Scotch
university.

" Pantheism, scientifically under-
stood, has nothing to do with athe-
ism." May we ask how pantheism
can be "scientifically understood "?
Science is concerned only with ma-
terial phenomena. God, mind, and
spiritual things in general are be-
yond its reach. How, then, can
what is above science be under-
stood " scientifically " ? And, again,
how can pantheism be " under-
stood " at all, since it is as contra-
dictory as a changeable immutabi-
lity, a compounded simplicity, or a
sinful holiness ? That the terms
"pantheism" and "atheism" are
etymologically opposed is quite
clear; but our question is one of
things, not of mere terms. The
atheist says to God : " Thou hast no
existence"; the pantheist says:
" Thou art a compound of matter."
Which of them is better? Which
is less irrational the one who de-
grades his Creator, or the one who
merely shuts his eyes that he may
not see him ? After all, neither
the one nor the other has an object
of worship the atheist because he

denies its existence, the pantheist
because he denies its superiority ;
and thus the atheist and the pan-
theist are twin-brothers, with this
only difference : that the latter wears
a mask of hypocrisy, that he may
the easier seduce those who would
be disgusted with the impudence
of the former.

"The world is essentially one."
No greater blunder could be ut-
tered.

" The All, though externally many,
is not different from the One." The
truth is that things cannot be "ex-
ternally many " unless they be also
intrinsically and substantially many.
Thus in the human body, which
the author brings forward as a fit
illustration of his view, the limbs
are many because each one sub-
stantially differs from each other.
It is the negation of identity that
makes things be many ; and no such
negation can be conceived with-
out entities intrinsically distinct.
Hence, if the~ All is " many," it
must intrinsically differ from the
One.

" Pantheism is not opposed to
the principle of unity in the world,
which is God." To this we say,
first, that pantheism is opposed to
the fact of plurality in the world.
This fact is so manifest that no
professor can plead ignorance of it.
We say, secondly, that the world
has unity of design, of composition,
and of government, but no unity of
substance. This, too, is as evident
as noonday.

" Spinoza may more properly be
said to deny the world than to
deny God." Were this granted, it
would still be supremely foolish to
trust and follow a leader who de-
nies the world. But Spinoza de-
nies God as well, if not explicitly,
at least by implication. To set up
a mass of contradictions, and to

PantJieism versus Atheism.

485

call it " God," is to declare that
there can be no God ; and this is
just what Spinoza did, through ig-
norance, we suppose, rather than
malice, though not without a sov-
ereign arrogance and presumption.

Before we end we must take no-
tice of an attempt, on the part of
Prof. Blackie, at answering the
objection that pantheism destroys
religion, " because it destroys hu-
man personality, and denies indi-
vidual responsibility, on the foun-
dation of which all human society,
as well as all religious obligation,
is constituted." He answers thus :
" Freedom, personality, and re-
sponsibility are facts which no
theological or metaphysical theo-
ries can meddle with, any more
than they can with generation, or
appetite, or digestion. . . . The
answer to all such speculative ob-
jections from transcendental theo-
ries, when brought into the world
of practice, is a fact and a flog-
ging-"

Bravo ! Freedom, personality, and
responsibility are facts. The pan-
theistic theory contradicts them,
but cannot interfere with them any
more than with generation, appe-
tite, and digestion. Hence when
any one argues from the pantheis-
tic theory against freedom, person-
ality, and responsibility, he must be
answered with " a fact and a flog-
ging." And, vice versa, if any one
from freedom, personality, and re-
sponsibility argues against the pan-
theistic theory which makes these
things inexplicable and impossible,
he, too, must be answered with " a
fact and a flogging." Does the
reader understand the excellence
of this liberalistic logic? Yes,
with a fact and a flogging; for the
eloquence of the scourge some-
times replaces with advantage the
doubtful efforts of a hesitating

tongue : Si non prosunt verba, pri-
de runt verbera. What a candid
confession of pantheistic impo-
tence ! But then, if flogging is to
be resorted to, who shall be found
more worthy of it than the pan-
theist himself, who wantonly con-
tradicts by his theory what his
common sense recognizes to be a
fact ?

The book we have thus far ex-
amined contains many other errors
on important points of religion;
but our readers need not be de-
tained any longer in their refuta-
tion. The author admits a general
providence, but a providence which
imparts particular favors in reward
of prayer he does not admit. An-
swers to prayers he considers to
be " as ridiculous as interpretations
of judgments are presumptuous."
For him " the idea of a God, con-
stantly interfering in answer to
prayer, or otherwise, is one of the
most anthropomorphic of th^Dlogi
cal conceptions." " Asceticism and
monkery form a very sad and lamen-
table chapter in the history of the
church." Abstinence and mortific;
tion are " a pedantic and ridiculous
sort of virtue," and they are " abnor-
mal, monstrous, inhuman, and ab-
surd." Then " there is, and can be,
no such thing as a priesthood in
Christianity." It would take too
long to enumerate all his theological,
philosophical, and historical blun-
ders, for his book is full of them ; so
we must give up the task.

In the last pages of the work we find
a fairly good refutation of atheism,
as maintained by Miss Martinean,
Mr. Atkinson, and Prof. Tyndall.
But what is the use of such a refu-
tation, if it is intended merely as a
first step towards pantheism ? A
pantheist has no right to refute
atheism. Whatever he may say
against it can always, in one man-

486

The Created Wisdom.

ner or another, be retorted against
himself; and when the retorsion is
pushed on to its last consequences,
his defeat takes the aspect of an
atheistic victory. Thus nothing is
gained, and discussions become in-
terminable, to the great satisfac-
tion of the sceptics. It is for this
reason that most of the Protestant
controversies on religious topics
cannot be settled. Truth, if mixed
with error, has little, if any, chance

of victory ; and books in which
truth is compelled to minister to
error are all the more pernicious
because their poison is less recog-
nizable. If this Natural History
of Atheism is what we assume it
to be a Masonic work then we
must confess that the Scottish Ma-
sons could not be served better
than by such a baneful mixture of
Calvinistic dogmatism and pan-
theistic dreams.

THE CREATED WISDOM.*

BY AUBREY DE VERE.

CREATED Wisdom at the gate

Of Heaven, ere Time began, I played ;
The Eternal Wisdom Uncreate

Beheld me ere the worlds were made.

I danced the void abyss above :

Of lore unwrit the characters
I traced with winged feet, and wove

The orbits of the unshaped stars.

When first the sun and moon had birth,

When seas rushed back, and hills up sprang,

Before God's eyes in sacred mirth
Once more I circled, and I sang.

I flashed a Thought in light arrayed
Beneath the Eternal Wisdom's ken :

When came mine hour I lived, and played
Among the peopled fields of men.

Blessed is he that keeps my ways,

That stands in reverence on my floor,

That seeks my praise, my word obeys,
That waits and watches by my door.

* Proverbs, cap. viii.

Conrad and Walburga.

487

CONRAD AND WALBURGA.

CHAPTER III.

" MOIDA ! Moida ! you were
right; you knew him better than I
did : Conrad Seinsheim lias al-
ready proposed," were Walburga's
first words as she entered her home
in Fingergasse, where her friend
was awaiting her to go out for a
walk.

" Oh ! good, good. How delight-
ed I am ! You'll soon be back in
your old castle," cried the joyous
Moida, springing up from her seat
by the window and dancing round
the room.

" Alas ! I scarcely dare yet to
give full rein to hope," added Wal-
burga, shaking her head.

" What is that ? I didn't under-
stand you !" said the other, ab-
ruptly pausing in' her merry skips.
"Of course you said yes to him?
Of course you did?"

" I said neither yes nor no ; he is
to return in three days for an an-
swer."

" O you naughty, puzzling crea-
ture ! Why didn't you tell the
poor fellow yes on the spot, as I
did to my darling Ulrich ?"

"Why?" said Walburga, looking
pensively at her; then, after hesi-
tating a moment : " Well, Moida, it
was because I have thus far adroit-
ly, but perhaps foolishly, concealed
something from him ; you know
what I mean. And, like a coward,
when the crisis arrived, when he
asked for my hand, I still put off
the revelation for a brief space."

" Well, Mr. Seinsheim will be a
fool, a big fool, if he doesn't marry
you; that's all I can say," replied
Moida, tenderly twining her arms

about her friend's neck, " And,
what's more, if I didn't think we
were all of us going to live near
one another at Loewenstein, I'd
hate him for trying to take you
away from me."

" Well, you and I have certainly
been very happy together, have we
not, Moida ?"

"Oh ! very, very, very; and you
should have kept your pretty night-
ingale, so as to have brought him
with us to Tyrol."

" Perhaps I ought," answered
Walburga, her countenance now
clearing up; for hope, sweet hope,
was just at this moment flashing its
rays into her bosom and inspiring
her to believe that Conrad would
surely accept her, accept her ex-
actly as she was, and, like a brave,
good husband, bear upon his own
shoulders as much of her cross as
he was able.

A few minutes later the two
friends were passing through the
park on their way to Foering.
This place is simply a beer-gar-
den one of the many within an
hour's walk of Munich. Here on
the warmest summer day the air is
cool, for the spot is high and com-
manding, and, moreover, well shad-
ed by elm-trees. But better than
breeze or shade is the beer beer
such as one can taste only in
Southern Bavaria. In the middle
of the garden is a platform elevat-
ed a few inches above the ground,
where those who are fond of danc-
ing may trip it merrily to the music
of a fiddle, harp, and flute, dropping
now and again a copper into the

483

Conrad and Walbnrga.

tin plate which one of the minstrels
passes through the crowd.

When Moida and Walburga ar-
rived Foering was well-nigh desert-
ed, and they had no difficulty in
being helped at once to whatever
they wanted, for the good-natured
waiter-girl had only them to wait
on. But ere long other people be-
gan to come. First appeared a
husband and wife, the former car-
rying the baby the best of all
babies, of course and so bound
up in swaddling-clothes that the lit-
tle thing could do naught except
wink. Then followed a soldier
hand-in-hand with a buxom lass,
with nature's own rouge glowing
on her cheeks ; and hand-in-hand
these two sat down, and hand-in-
hand they quenched their thirst
out of the same mug, the beverage
tasting all the more like nectar for
this sweet communion of lips.

Presently a pursy gentleman
waddled into the garden, his respi-
ration so laborious that you could
hear him from afar, and dropped
heavily down upon the same bench
where Moida and Walburga were
seated. To judge by his appear-
ance you would have declared
there was not a spark of sentiment
in his whole composition ; he look-
ed to be a sheer mass of beer-
drenched humanity. Yet this was
wide, wide of the truth. Herr
Wurst was organist of the cathe-
dral, waspassionately fond of poetry,
and knew by heart every song of
the Minnesingers. In short, he was
a Bavarian every inch of him, and
never was so much soul hidden in
a sausage.

And thus on, on the people
came, all jovial, all orderly, and to
look at them you might have
fancied they had not a care or
trouble in the world. Then by
and by the music commenced.

'Twas a waltz from Stranss, and
the corpulent organist, who knew
our young friends for they both
sang in his choir danced thrice
round the platform with each ; and
the baby in swaddling-clothes lay
upon the bench like a little Stoic
while its daddy and mammy whirl-
ed round too ; and the buxom lass
and the soldier likewise danced
danced so hard, threw such life in-
to their motions, that when at
length they paused to give their
hearts a rest you might have
thought they had been out in a
shower of rain.

" How often dear Ulrich and I
have enjoyed ourselves here !"
spoke Moida, when she and Wal-
burga were once more seated over
their beer-mugs. " I do believe
we once danced a whole hour with-
out stopping. And oh ! how sweet
it was to coo and whisper our love
to each other while we flew round.
Why, I don't think I knew what
life was till I became his betroth-
ed."

"Well, I hope you each had a
glass of your own to sip the beer
from," remarked Walburga, smil-
ing.

"No indeed; we went halves in
everything. And now just think
we are soon going to be mar-
ried! And you too. O Walbur-
ga! Walburga!"

The latter, who was still under
the radiant influence of hope, and
who seemed to feel anew the warm
touch of Conrad's lips, cried : "Yes,
yes, my future is bright, and I will
prove by my devotion to him how
grateful I am ; and there'll be no
happier husband than Conrad
Seinsheim !"

Presently, however, her counte-
nance fell, and in a low, grave tone
she added: "But suppose all this
were not to happen ? Everything

Conrad and Walburga.

489

must remain in doubt and uncer-
tainty till I meet him again, you
know."

" Oh ! but he is so full of good
sense, so unlike the rest of the
world, that you may dispel all
doubt. Conrad is sure to take you
sure," answered Moida.

Cheered by these words, Wal-
burga, who was not blest with the
same even temperament as her
friend, and who too easily flew
from one extreme to the other,
became once more blithe and
cheerful, and she proceeded to
speak of Conrad in a strain which
their brief acquaintance hardly jus-
tified. But love engenders love;
and excited by the thought that
she was loved by him (Walburga
had never had a lover before), a
tender, responsive passion now in-
spired her tongue, and during the
rest of the afternoon even Moida's
high spirits did not soar higher
than her own.

" And now," said Walburga, when
the sun was verging near the hori-
zon " now let us seek the grove
into which my dear nightingale
flew; I long to hear him singing
his song in liberty.'*

" And making love to some other
pretty bird," returned Moida, as
she rose from the table.

Accordingly, they wended their
way buck to the park ; and in about
half an hour Walburga came to a
halt and said : " Here is the spot ;
just among these bushes he disap-
peared." Then, after listening a
moment, she added: " And that is
his voice. Hark !"

" May it not be another nightin-
gale ?" observed Moida.

" Well, let us approach softly and
try to get a peep at the one that is
now singing ; if 'tis mine I'll know
him by a bit of blue ribbon I tied
about his neck."

Presently they caught a glimpse
of the little songster amid the green
leaves, and, by the ribbon he wore,
'twas undoubtedly Walburga's pet.

"Oh ! how glad I am I set him
free," spoke the latter in an under-
tone, as if she feared to disturb his
roundelay. Then, pointing to-
wards a neighboring bush : " And
look ! look ! Yonder is his mate."

Walburga had scarcely breathed
these words when the other bird
took wing and perched itself close
beside hers. And now the song
waxed softer and more melodious,
and a tear glistened in her eye as
she gazed upon this happy scene of
love-making.

Presently a rushing, swooping
sound was heard ; 'twas like a blast
of wild wind, and the girl gave a
start. Moida was startled, too, and
wondered what it was. But before
either of them could utter a cry or
hasten one step to the rescue, a
hawk had pounced upon Wal-
burga's sweet warbler and carried
him away.

The next three days were anx-
ious ones for Conrad and Wal-
burga. The former endeavored to
beguile his thoughts by watching
the work which was going on at the
castle, and spent as much time as
possible beside Ulrich, under whose
skilful hand the pristine beauty of
the interior of the tower was fast
returning.

Whenever the youth spoke of
Moida, Conrad's face would light
up, and he would exclaim : " Yes,
yes, a happy day is coming for her
and you and all of us." Yet down
deep in his heart he felt a strange
misgiving. He remembered the
pensive look which more than once
had shadowed Walburga's coun-
tenance whilst they were convers-
ing together ; nor did Conrad forget

490

Conrad and Walburga.

the tear the tear he had been so
tempted to kiss away. " And there
ivas a shyness, too, about her which
I cannot understand," he said to
himself. "She seemed afraid to
look at me. And when finally I
proposed, instead of answering yes
or no she put me off for three long
days."

Conrad's own temperament, as
Moida Hofer had discerned, was
not unlike Walburga's; and now
the thought of waiting this space of
time was very trying to him. At
one moment he was full of hope ;
at another he was certain that he
would be rejected, and then he was
plunged in despair.

Yet, singular to relate, when at
length the dawn of the third day
did arrive, Conrad was seized with
a mysterious impulse not to le^ave
Loewenstein ; and Ulrich, to whom
he had opened his heart and
confided all his thoughts, was un-
able to comfort him and give him
courage to shake off the gloom
which had come over his spirits.

" I had a dream last night,'*
spoke Conrad " a dream that has
wrought on me a most vivid, pain-
ful impression. I believe I shall
never get over it never !"

" Pray, what was the dream?"
inquired Ulrich.

"I thought I was standing on
the brink of a river, whose dark
waters as they rolled by me gave
forth a moaning, melancholy sound ;
and ever and anon along the sur-
face of the flood there passed a
human head ; and every face of
the many, of the thousands, I saw
float by wore traces of pain and
woe, while some were stamped with
a sorrow perfectly indescribable.
And, oh! one of these faces"
here Conrad shuddered " was the
face of Walburga. And she watch-
ed me and watched me until she

disappeared in the distance with a
mournfulness no human tongue can
express. Then when she was gone
I heard a voice cry out : ' This
stream hath its fountain in the
heart of poor humanity ; and these
waters are all the tears which have
been shed since Paradise was
lost,"

"What a curious dream!" said
Ulrich. " But I beg you to forget
it. 'Tis only a dream."

Walburga, too, was impatient and
anxious for the time to fly by. And
now while she sat at her easel wait-
ing for Conrad to appear 'twas the
morning of the day she had named
her heart fluttered at every foot-
step that approached. Her coun-
tenance was paler than usual, and
on it were marks of grief. Nor
ought we to smile at the girl for
feeling so acutely the death of her
nightingale ; it was such a cruel
death, and she had loved the bird
so much. Indeed, it was her very
love for it that had prompted her
to set it free. Only for this her
pet would still have been warbling
in its cage; now nothing remained
of it save a few scattered feathers.

" Alas ! will my heart, perhaps,
be torn like his?" she sighed, as
she waited and listened.

But hour after hour went by, and
still Conrad did not come ; nor did
he show himself at all this day, nor
the following day either.

And then Walburga murmured
to herself: "Ah! I might have
known it would be so. He has
been told by somebody else what I
should have let his own eyes dis-
cover. Now I shall see him no
more."

The evening of the sixth day,
after having waited for him at the
Pinakothek, but, as before, in vain,
the poor girl went her way home,
where she might bow her head on

Conrad and Walburga.

491

Moida's breast and silently lament.
But lo ! on reaching her humble
abode her friend was not to be
found Moida was gone ! On the
pin-cushion was found a slip of
paper, whereon was written : " Stay
calm, dear Walburga, and trust in
me ; I'll be back to-morrow."
Moida did not reveal that she was
gone to Loewenstein to learn what
had become of Conrad Seinsheim.

As changeable in spirits as the
one whom he so passionately lov-
ed, Conrad arrived in Munich, his
heart ravished with joy at the pros-
pect before him ; for Moida "had
assured him beyond the shadow of
a doubt that ere the clock struck
noon Walburga would be his af-
fianced bride.

" She has been expecting you day
after day," said Moida ; " and I
can hardly forgive you for putting
her patience to such a trial."

The day was anything but plea-
sant; the rain poured down like a
deluge, and the streets were gloomy
and deserted. But when there
is blue sky in our heart all the
clouds in the heavens cannot shut
it out ; and so Conrad did not heed
the tempest in the least. At length
he reached the Pinakothek ; and
when Walburga found him once
more by her side, she had to call
forth all her resolution, in order to
preserve a mien of calm and dig-
nity.

Only by a great effort she suc-
ceeded ; at least her eyes did not
stray from the canvas, and, except
fora flush of color which came over
the paleness of her cheek, one
might have fancied she was not
even aware of his presence.

" Gracious lady," began Conrad
in faltering accents, " I am come
late very late, I know. But I
hope not too late ?"

" Oh ! no, sir. I forgive you,"
answered Walburga, with a smile
which at once doubly assured him
that the happy moment was indeed
close at hand. " But pray be pa-
tient yet a little while," she added,
" and watch well what I am about
to do; 'tis the finishing touch to
my picture."

" Your beautiful picture !" ejacu-
lated Conrad. " How I long to
see it hanging in Loewenstein Cas-
tle."

And now, while Walburga went
on with her brush, he fell into at-
tentive silence. But he said within
himself: "Only for what Miss
Hofer has told me of you, of your
kind heart, I should set you down
as the cruelest of mortals for keep-
ing me in a fever of suspense during
such an age as a single minute."

Presently Conrad's expression
became one of amazement, and,
quite unable to contain himself, he
exclaimed, "Why, what are you
doing ?"

But without making any response
the girl continued her work; and
her hand was wonderfully steady,
considering that Conrad's trial,
great as it was, was not greater than
her own. Nay, the agony of wait-
ing was tenfold more poignant for
her than for him.

In a few minutes she had finish-
ed, and then again he cried out,
this time loud enough to be heard
in the main gallery : " Why, why do
you disfigure your chef d'otuvre by
a hideous birthmark ?"

With a tremor and cheek white
as death Walburga here let her
brush fall, then abruptly cut short
Conrad's exclamations of regret at
what she had done by saying:

" Pray listen, sir ; I am about to
answer the solemn question you
put to me a week ago." But be-
fore going further she paused a

492

Conrad and Walburga.

moment, perhaps to smother a
wail of anguish that was ready to
burst from her lips; and while she
paused Conrad leaned towards her
to catch the coming words, and
you might have heard the beating
of his heart. Then Walburga spoke :
" My response, sir, is No!"

There are times in life when we
scarce can put faith in what our
ears plainly tell us ; to Conrad
Seinsheim this was such a time.
His expression when these words
reached him, it were impossible to
describe; he stood like one petri-
fied.

In another moment, with aston-
ishment, and wrath, and grief strug-
gling madly in his breast, he turned
and hastened out of the Pinako-
thek; and as he went, oh ! bitterly
did he curse the hour, the fatal
hour, when he first laid eyes on
this beautiful but utterly heartless
and deceiving woman.

O Conrad, Conrad, Conrad !
why didst thou not stay thy rash
flight an instant only an instant
and give Walburga one other
glance ? Hadst thou done this, we
verily believe, nay, we are certain,
thy flashing eyes would have soften-
ed to tenderness and pity.

For at the sound of thy depart-
ing steps she turned round towards
thee, and her face was as the face
thou sawest in thy dream. But
destiny shaped it otherwise : thou
didst not pause, and Walburga
floated down the dark stream, away
from thee for ever and for ever.

Ulrich retired to rest, the night
which closed the stormy day when
Conrad went to Munich, in a very
happy mood. Not only did he be-
lieve himself on the high-road to
success, for Conrad had promised
to find him steady employment, but
the absence of his benefactor made

the youth confident that Walburga
had put an end to his suspense by
giving him a favorable answer.
" Yes, Conrad told me that if she
accepted him I need not expect
him back till to-morrow, or the
day after at the very soonest."

Nor even when five days elapsed,
and the owner of the castle still re-
mained absent, did Ulrich think it
strange. " I am sure," he said to
himself, " I didn't leave my Moida's
side for five days after we were be-
trothed no indeed."

But why none of them dropped
him a line to impart the glad tid-
ings did surprise him a little ; Moi-
da, at least, might have written two
words. Finally, a letter did come
from Moida, out it brought any-
thing save good news; and when
the poor fellow had read it through
he sank down on the grass near the
ancient tombstone and wept bit-
terly.

When this day closed Loewen-
stein was quite deserted, except by
Caro, the aged poodle, who wander-
ed all about the dusky ruin, whin-
ing and wondering what had be-
come of his master. Yet, cheerless
as Loewenstein was this evening
and many an evening afterwards,
'twas less cheerless than the ere-
while happy home in Fingergasse.

But Conrad Seinsheim knew
naught of this; he believed all the
grief, all the lamentations, to be his
own. And, indeed, he suffered
much. From hateful Munich he
sped away he did not care whi-
ther: to Nuremberg, to Dresden, to
Prague on, on he travelled, half
distracted; until by and by, after
three weeks of aimless, feverish
wandering his heart spoke to him
and said : " Thou hast been
hasty ; return to the Pinakothek
and ask Walburga once more to be
thy spouse." And Conrad listened

Conrad and Walburga.

493

to the voice of his heart and went
back.

Three weeks have passed away
since Walburga pronounced that
doomful No only three weeks.
Yet what changes may be wrought
in this brief space of time! Is yon-
der haggard visage moving through
the Pinakothek the visage of Con-
rad Seinsheirn ?

Yes, it is he ; and how his deep-
sunken eyes glow as he draws nigh
to the spot where hangs Carlo
Dolce's picture of Innocence! Like
sparks out of a tomb they seem.

But she whom Conrad is locking
for is gone. " Pray tell me," he
said, addressing one of the cus-
todes " tell me where is the young
lady who was copying this paint-
ing a few weeks since. Is she
anywhere in the gallery ?"

" She is dead, sir," answered the
other, quietly tapping a little black
box with his knuckles and taking
out a pinch of snuff; " and she is
to be buried to-day."

" Dead !" repeated Conrad, start-
ing back. "Dead!"

Pin another moment he was has-
tening with winged feet to the
God's-acre. And as he sped along
the streets, every merry laugh that
reached his ears sounded like a
dismal croak; and the sky over-
head, albeit never so cloudless and
bright, seemed to shadow every ob-
ject like a vast funeral pall.

How bitterly did Conrad now
reproach himself for the rash words
he had uttered when he saw Wal-
burga tracing the birthmark on her
picture !

" Fool, fool, fool that I was ! I
should have divined in an instant
what she thus meant to convey to
me, and I should have answered:
4 Even so, dear girl, I will take
thee and cherish thee !' "

When Conrad reached the Leich-
en-Haus*the funeral bell was al-
ready tolling the Leichen-Haus,
whose ghastliness cannot be dissi-
pated by all the bright-burning ta-
pers and garlands of sweet-scented
flowers which surround the dead.
Breathless he turned to the sheet
of paper posted by the doorway,
whereon are written the names and
station in life of those who are to
be buried; and breathless he read
the names.

Walburga's stood third on the
list, and, as coffin number two was
just passing out of the building,
Conrad saw that he was not more
than in time. He pushed his way
through the crowd, and in another
moment found himself beside Wal-
burga. She was the only one of
the departed who retained any
look of life about her; you might
almost have fancied she was blush-
ing at the curious eyes which were
staring upon her, as she lay still
and motionless in the narrow box,
and that she heard them whisper-
ing, " How handsome she would
have been, except for that ugly
birthmark !"

We need not tell what Conrad
felt at this moment ; those who
noticed him nudged one another,
and said in undertones :

" Her lover, perhaps. Poor fel-
low !"

Not many followed Walburga to
her last resting-place; for she had
been of a retiring nature, and had
kept much to herself and her one
devoted friend. There might have
been five or six persons in all who
saw her lowered into the grave; and
among the few who sprinkled holy
water upon her there was Conrad
Seinsheim. As he did so an inner

*A building in the Munich cemetery to which
all are taken immediately after death no excep
tion, save for the royal family.

494

Conrad and Walburga.

voice whispered to him and said :
" Walburga is near thee ; she sees
thee ; she is immortal and happy
for ever."

Then, when the last clod of earth
had been well packed down by the
grave-digger's spade, Conrad turned
away to seek Moida Hofer. Ulrich
accompanied him, and when they
gained the high-up chamber where
Walburga had lived so many peace-
ful years, they found Moida stand-
ing beside a table on which lay
Master Eckart and Blessed Henry
Suso's Little Book of Eternal Wis-
dom, an empty bird-cage, and a
tress of golden hair.

" She loved you truly," spoke the
girl, looking at Conrad through her
tears. " She told me so ; theywere
almost her last words to me."

"Oh ! I know it now, but, alas!
too late. She is gone !" replied
Conrad ; and the word gone sound-
ed through the room with long-
drawn pathos. 'Twas as if his
voice had passed the word on to
other voices, who kept repeating :
" Gone ! gone ! gone !"

Here Moida and Ulrich fell to
weeping; and when by and by they
uncovered their faces, they were
surprised to find that Conrad had
disappeared. He must indeed have
glided away like a spirit, for neith-
er of them had heard his footstep ;
and, to their further wonder, the
sunshiny curl had vanished too.

" How strangely things turn
out !" spoke Moida to her betroth-
ed one evening, as theywere seated
side by side at the foot of Loewen-
stein tower, watching the sun go
down.

"Strangely, strangely!" answer-
ed Ulrich.

" Poor Conrad !'' went on Moida.
" Had he come back only a few
days sooner and he came with

the full intention of proposing
again if he had arrived even one
day before the saddest of all the
days I have known, Walburga might
have lived."

To this the youth made no re-
sponse; he could not speak, and
his tears set Moida weeping again ;
while old Caro, who perceived that
his mistress was in sorrow, let droop
his head, and his tail ceased to wag.
Presently the sun disappeared. But
still in the twilight the lovers re-
mained thinking of the past.

By and by a voice was heard
singing within the tower, and after
listening a moment and sighing,
"Poor, poor Conrad !" Moida rose
up and peeped through the lowest
of the grated windows. Ulrich did
the same, and what did they be-
hold ? Wrapped in a long, flowing
gown, and pacing round and round
the room, was Conrad Seinsheim.
Yet not everybody would have re-
cognized him ; for his hair, which
now reached down to his shoulders,
was turned quite gray, and so was
his beard, and you might have
taken him for an aged man.

The song he was singing was one
full of tenderness and love; and
ever and anon Conrad would pause
and listen, and press to his lips a
lock of sunny hair.

Then suddenly, like a person
who hears an answering voice, hi<
ghostlike visage would glow with
rapture, and you might have
fancied he had caught a vision of
heaven.

" Really, I sometimes think Con-
rad is not mad at all," observed
Moida solemnly. " At this mo-
ment I do believe he sees deal
Walburga. Look! look! He is
beckoning !"

"It may be so," returned Ulrich.
"At any rate, he is infinitely hap-
pier, judging by his expression and

Conrad and Walburga.

495

his songs, than many a man who is
not mad."

"Well, I'll not say 'Poor Con-
rad !' any more," added Moida.
" For I verily believe he knows
Walburga is ever hovering near
him ; nay, that at times he actually
sees her. There, look again ! look!
How he smiles ! And his out-
stretched hands may indeed be
clasping hers now, albeit they are
invisible to you and me."

Here there was a brief silence,
after which Ulrich remarked, " I
am very pleased, my love, that you
keep the little lamp so nicely
trimmed before the image of our
Blessed Mother : for the image be-
longed to Walburga. See, now
Conrad is praying before it."

" Oh ! 'tis not I who trims the
light," replied Moida. " Conrad
takes entire charge of the shrine ;
I merely bring him oil and tapers."
"But, darling," continued Ulrich
somewhat abruptly, and with a
look of seriousness, " if Conrad's
mysterious condition last much
longer 'twill plunge us into still
greater difficulties ; will it not ?
Why, already all your slender means
have been swallowed up, as well as
the few florins I had, in paying off
the swarm of laborers who were
employed upon this ruin. Now all
work is stopped, and 'twill be a
bitter cold place to spend the com-
ing winter in. Yet what can we
do ? We must surely stay by Con-
rad, for he was extremely generous
to you and me ; and if we abandon-
ed him in this dark hour 'twould
be very cruel,"

"Ay, let us prove his stanch
friends, now that he is unable to
help himself," answered the girl,
brushing away a tear.

" Well, if he could only sleep he

might grow better," pursued Ulrich.

" Our kind friend hasn't closed

his eyes in ever so many nights,"
said Moida. " Nor does he take
enough nourishment to keep an-
other person from starvation. In
fact, his condition is exceedingly
mysterious. An inward fire seems to
be consuming him ; you can see it
shooting out of his eyes ; but still
on he lives on and on; apparent-
ly happy, too, withered to a skele-
ton though he is."

"Ay, what can keep good Con-
rad alive ?" said Ulrich.

"Might it be that Walburga's
spirit feeds him ?" spake Moida, in
an awe-stricken whisper.

Here the subject of their remarks
rose up from his knees and began
again to sing :

" Und weil es nicht ist auszusagen,

Weil's Lieben ganz unendlich ist,
So magst du meine Augen fragen,
Wie lieb du mir in Herzen bist !" *

When the song, of which we have
given but a stanza, was ended,
Caro littered a melancholy howl
that awakened the echoes far up
the mountain and set the owls in
the ruin hooting ; then following his
mistress, who passed into the tower
to make sure that Conrad's door
was properly fastened for the night,
the old dog curled himself up on a
rug and was soon asleep.

Moida, however, went out again
to spend a half-hour more with her
betrothed, watching the stars and
wondering what fate was in store
for herself and him.

" If these stones could only
speak, what tales they'd tell!" ob-
served Ulrich, after she had nestled
down beside him and flung half her
shawl about his shoulders, for the
air was rather chilly.

"Yes, very interesting stories no

* Words by Jean Paul.
44 And as 'tis not for tongue to tell,

For love knows naught of time or space,
Scr diving down my eyes' deep well,
Find graven on my heart thy face."

496

Conrad and Walbnrga.

doubt, "returned Moida. "They'd
tell us of many a brave knight and
fair lady, of many a pageant and
tournament. But remember, dear
boy, what I have often said to you:
beware of dwelling on those dead
and buried days. And I, too, must
beware ; for, do you know, since I
am here I occasionally feel myself
drifting into a dreamy state, and I
might almost fancy this ruin is en-
chanted and tfoat it has thrown a
spell over me. But believe me,
Ulrich, believe me, the past is past
and can never, never come back.
Whatever your forefathers were,
however wealthy and noble and pow-
erfulsome of them even placed
kings on the throne you, at least,
must toil to win your daily bread ;
and I mean to help you. There-
fore be of stout heart and look
only to the future. And even if
we have to live like these' owls we
will marry some time or other; and
happy days are in store for us
yet."

Moida had scarcely spoken these
words when she and her betrothed
were startled by a loud, wailful cry
which seemed to proceed from
Conrad's chamber. Nor can we
wonder that it made them both
spring to their feet; for not once
since poor Seinsheim had been con-
fined had he wept a tear or uttered
a single lamentation. Yet 'twas
undoubtedly his voice they had
just heard. But what could have
wrought this sudden change in
him ?

In another moment they were
within the tower. Then Moida
with trembling hand turned the
key of Ins door and entered, fol-
lowed closely by Ulrich.

"O Moida! Moida!" cried
Conrad, as she advanced toward
him, " why did you wake me ?
Why did you not let me sleep on ?

'Twas a celestial vision I had
oh! celestial. But, alas! now I am
awake stark awake ; and now it
all comes back to me all, all.
She is dead ! dead ! dead !"

Here he burst into a paroxysm
of grief, and uttered anew the shriek
of woe which had been heard a
minute before.

" I do believe his reason is re-
stored," whispered the girl, turn-
ing to her betrothed.

" Oh ! let us thank God," an-
swered Ulrich.

" Conrad, dear, good Conrad,"
spoke Moida, now gently taking his
hand in hers, " you have been liv-
ing indeed in a vision for many
days past ; but now you appear to
be yourself again. So do not
mourn ; rather kneel and pray, and
I will pray with you, and so will Ul-
rich. Let us offer thanks to God
for your happy recovery."

" Well, yes, I will pray pray to
be taken where Walburga is," an-
swered Conrad, in a somewhat
calmer tone, yet still weeping bit-
terly. " O Moida ! if you only
knew how happy I have been.
Why, blessed Walburga was near
me all the while; and every time
I sang she responded in a straii
such as only angel lips can breath<
But now now her face has disaj
peared, her voice is silent she if
gone ! O Moida ! if my blissfi
vision was madness, then would
God I had stayed mad !"

"Well, dear friend, Walburga
no doubt in heaven, and I believe
she does often hover round you
for she loves you, and knows that
you love her ; and I am confident
nothing would so rejoice her soi
as to have you pray to see yoi
back once more in the faith of your
youth. On her dying bed this was
her ardent hope. Oh ! do, do."

" I am what I used to be in my

Conrad and Walbursra.

497

earty years," replied Conrad, a glad
smile lighting up his wan face. " I
am, indeed. Blessed Walburga led
me back and But hark ! She
is calling me ! Hark ! Hark !"

Here Conrad sank slowly to his
knees, while an expression came
over him which filled the other two
with alarm. Then Ulrich, without
losing a moment, hastened with all
speed to the monastery for a priest.
The path down the mountain was
a difficult one, especially at this
hour. On the way back the
good father and Ulrich might have
gone astray and arrived too late,
but for their meeting a man with a
lantern, who offered to light them
up the rugged ascent.

Nigh unto death as he was, Con-
rad's soul lingered yet an hour in
its mortal tenement a long enough
time for him to be shriven and to
receive the last sacrament of the
church ; after which the man with
the lantern and who, by a happy
providence, turned out to be the
village notary drew up in brief
words Conrad's will and testament,
whereby Loewenstein Castle, and
all his other property besides, was
bequeathed to Ulrich.

"And now, ere I depart hence,"
spoke Conrad in a voice barely
loud enough to be heard, and plac-
ing Moida's hand in the hand of
her betrothed, "let me see you

joined in matrimony. Ay, let the
holy bond be made right here by
ry couch, and do thou, reverend
father, pronounce them man and
wife."

Such a ceremony at such a time
and place the latter had never yet
performed. But so urgent was
Conrad's appeal to have it done on
the spot, without an instant's delay,
that he overcame a little scruple.

Then, just as Conrad's immortal
part was winging its flight, Moida,
the patient, faithful Moida, who
had waited so long for this gold-
en moment to arrive, found herself
the bride of her own dear Ulrich;
and like a bright rainbow illumin-
ing a rain-beaten landscape, a gleam
of joy. great joy, shone through
her tears, and never before was
happiness so strangely blended
with sorrow as here in this cham-
ber of death.

Then, kneeling down side by side,
Moida and Ulrich breathed a pray-
er for the repose of the soul of him
who had been so very good to
them. And may we not hope that
near them at that solemn moment
was the soul of Walburga, greeting
the spirit of the one whom she
loved, and ready to be his guide in
the dark, dismal region which
Conrad had still to pass through
ere he came to the home of the
blest ?

VOL. XXVII. 32

Dante s Purgatorio.

DANTE'S PURGATORIO.

TRANSLATED BY T. W. PARSONS.

CANTO SEVENTEENTH.

Now, that thy mind with more expanded powers
May conceive this, give me thy mind, nor shun
To reap some harvest from this halt of ours.

BETHINK thee, reader, if thou e'er hast been
Among the Alps o'ertaken by a cloud,

Through which all objects were as blindly seen
As moles behold things through their visual shroud;

How, as the vapors dank and thick begin
To thin themselves, the solar sphere's faint ray

Scarce pierces them, and readily may'st thou
Conceive (when first I saw it) in what way

To me the sun looked that was setting now.
From such a cloud, and following as I went

My master's faithful steps with even pace,
I came to where the day's last rays were spent

On the low border of the mountain's base.

O gift imaginative ! that dost so

Of ourselves rob us, that oft-times a man
Heeds not though round him thousand trumpets blow !

If thee sense move not, whence the power that can ?
A light moves thee, Heaven-kindled, that doth flow

By will divine directed, or its own.
My fancy with her fury was engrossed

Who took the shape of that sweet bird* well known
To be of his own song enamored most ;

And here my mind was in itself so chained
That it received no object from outside.

Then into my high fantasy there rained
The image of a person crucified, f

Fierce in his aspect, with a face of hate,
And in this look despitefully he died.

* u Who took the shape of that sweet bird." Reference is here made to the story of Procne, wife of
Tereus, King of Thrace, and sister of Philomela. To revenge herself on her husband, Procne "murdered
their child, Itys, cut him into pieces, and served up the flesh to the father. Tereus, discovering the
truth, pursued and was on the point of overtaking her when, at her prayer, she was changed by the gods
into a nightingale, and her sister Philomela into a swallow, according to Probus, Libanius, and Strabo.
Purg. ix. 15.

t This is Haman, who was hanged upon the gallows that he had prepared for Mordecai, as we read in
the Book of Esther ; but Dante's word is croeijtsso*

Dante s Purgatorio. 499

Hound him there stood Ahasuerus great,
Esther, his spouse, and Mordecai the true,

Of whose just word just action still was mate.
And, as this image from my mind withdrew,

Of itself breaking, as a bubble does,
Failing the water under which it grew,

A damsel* weeping on my vision rose,
Moaning aloud and crying: " Why, O queen !

Hast thou through anger wished thyself undone?
Not to lose thy Lavinia, thou hast ta'en

Thy life and lost me ! Mother, I am one
Doomed to mourn thee before a husband slain !"

Even as our slumber, when a flash of light
A sleeper's eyes doth suddenly confront,

Is broken, quivering ere it dieth quite ;
So fell my vision, as a beam past wont

In its excess of splendor smote my sight.
I turned to see where 'twas I had been brought,

When a voice called to me : " Climb here the hill !"
This put all other purpose from my thought,

And gave such eagerness unto my will
Of him who counselled thus to mark the mien,

As rests not wholly satisfied until
Face unto face the speaker may be seen.

And, as one sees not the sun's figure clear,
Through light's great superflux that blinds our gaze,

So was my visual virtue wanting here.
" This is a heavenly spirit" (Virgil says),

"That with his splendor veils him from thine eye,
And guides us our way up, nor waits for prayer.

He does by us as men would be done by ;
For who sees need, and doth, till asked, forbear,

Already seems ill-purposed to deny.
Such invitation let our feet obey !

Haste we to mount before the darkness grow,
For then we could not till return of day."

So spake my leader : I beside him slow
Pacing, we bended toward a stair our way;

And, as my foot the first ascension pressed,
I felt a movement near me as of wings

Fanning my face, and then a voice said : " Blest
Are the peacemakers ! them no bad wrath stings."

*" A damsel," etc. This was Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus and Amata. Lavinia had been
secretly promised in marriage by her mothet to Turnus, King of the Rutuli. The marriage was displeasing
to the gods, and the oracles declared that Lavinia should marry a foreign prince. The foreign prince was
^Eneas, who, on his arrival in Italy, became the friend and ally of Latinus, and won his favor as suitor to
Lavinia. Turnus thereupon declared war against both, and was killed in battle by .(Eneas. Amata, having
been informed prematurely of the death of Turnus, and enraged at being unable to prevent the marriage
of Lavinia with ^Eneas, hanged herself in depair.

500 Dante 's Piirgatorio.

Already overhead the sun's last rays ' -
Were so uplifted, followed by the night,

That round us many a star began to blaze.
And, as I felt my body's waning might,

" Why dost thou fail me, O my strength ?" I said :
But having come now where we climbed no more,

On the stair's brink we ceased our toilsome tread,
Fixed as a vessel that arrives at shore.

I stopped awhile, and waited as to hear
In this new circle aught perchance of sound ;

Then thus addressed my lord : " My Father dear !
Say, what offence is punished in this round ?

Stay not thy speech although thy feet are stayed."
" The love of good," thus Virgil me bespoke,

'* Wherein deficient here is perfect made ;
Here the slow oar receives amending stroke.

But that thy mind with more expanded powers
May conceive this, give me thy mind, nor shun

To reap some harvest from this halt of ours.

" Never creator " * (he began), "my son,

Was without love ; nor anything create ;
Either love natural, or that nobler one

Born of the mind; thou know'st the truth I state.
Natural love ne'er takes erroneous course ;

Through ill-directed aim the other may,
Or from excess, or from a want of force.

While o'er its bent the Primal Good hath sway,
While with due check it seeks the inferior good,

It cannot be the source of wrong delight.
But when it swerves to ill, or if it should

Seek good with more or less zeal than is right,
Against the maker doth his work rebel.

Whence may'st thou f comprehend how love in you
Must of all virtue be the seed, as well

As of each action to which pain is due.
Now since love must look ever towards its own

Subjects' well-being, things are from self-hate
Saved ; and since naught can be supposed alone

To exist, from the First Being separate,
Hatred of Him is also spared to men.J

*" Never Creator . . ." In this passage Virgil explains to Dante "the nature of love according
the mediaeval philosophy, viz., God is love, " Deus caritas est" and so are all created things, as derived
from him. Love in man is natural or rational that is, of the mind. Natural love, or the love towards all
things necessary to one's preservation, cannot err. Rational love can err in three ways : first, when di-
rected to a bad aim that is, to evil ; secondly, when directed excessively to earthly pleasures ; thirdly,
when directed feebly to those things truly worthy of love, the celestial. As long as love turns to the
Primal Good, the celestial, or seeks with due check the inferior, or terrestrial, it cannot be the source of
wrong, or sin. "But when it swerves to ill," . . . etc.

t "Whence may'st thou . . .'' Love is the source of good works, as of bad ones; thus, according
to St. Augustine, " Boni aut mail mores sunt boni aut mali amores."

$ " Hatred of Him . . ." Love cannot turn against its subjects (viz., men cannot hate themselves);
and as these subjects cannot exist separate from their First Being, they cannot therefore hate God. (Men

Dante s Pur gat or io. 501

Remains (if rightly I divide, I say)
The ill that's loved must be a neighbor's then,

And in three modes this love springs in your clay.
One, through the crushing of his fellow, fain

Would come to eminence, with sole desire
His greatness o'er that other's to maintain.

One at another's rising feareth loss
Of power, fame, favor, and his own good name;

So sickens, joying in his neighbor's cross.
And there is one whom wrong so weighs with shame,

That greed of vengeance doth his heart engross ;
And such must needs work evil for his brother.

This threefold bad\ov& those mourn here below:
Now I would have thee learn about another,

Which runs to good but doth no measure know.
All vaguely apprehend a good wherein

The soul may rest itself; and all men woo
This imaged good, and seek its peace to win.

To look thereon if languid love * draw you,
Or ye be slow to seek it, such a sin,

After meet penitence, on this round ye rue.
There is another good,f but far from bliss !

Nor makes man happy : it is not the true
Essence, of all good fruit the root : To this

The love which too much doth itself resign
Is mourned for in three cornices above;

But how tripartite J I will not define ;
Thoushalt, by seeing, learn about that love.

nay deny or blaspheme, but not hate, God.) It follows, therefore, that, as no bad love can be directed
igainst one's self or against God, that it can only be against one's neighbor, and this can be in three forms :
az., by Pride, or the love of good to ourselves and of evil to others ; by Envy, or the love of evil toothers,
vithout cause of good or evil to us ; by Anger, or the love of evil to others on account of real or imaginary

to us

* "... Languid love . . ." Sloth ; indolence to seek the true good, which is God.
t " There is another good . . ." the love of this world and earthly pleasures.
% "Tripartite . . ." three other bad loves ; Avarice, Gluttony, Lust.

502 The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church.

THE TRACTARIAN MOVEMENT IN ITS RELATION TO

THE CHURCH.

A GENERATION has passed away
since the beginning of that which
is commonly known as the Trac-
tarian movement in the Church of
England ; the early leaders of the
little band whose influence has been
and still is felt throughout the
length and breadth of the land
have, with two exceptions, gone
from among us ; the names of Fa-
ther Newman and Doctor Pusey
are known to all our readers, the
one as that of a devoted son of
Holy Church, the other as that
of an Anglican still firmly attached
to the cause which he espoused
in early life.

Which of these eminent men is
to be taken as a fair example of the
results of the movement ? What is
the tendency of the High-Church
party ? Do its doctrines and prac-
tices lead people to the Catholic
Church or keep them out of it ?
Questions like these can hardly fail
to occur to the mind of any intelli-
gent observer of the state of re-
ligion in England in the present
day, and on them must chiefly cen-
tre the interest of Catholics in the
subject.

The different parties contained
in the Church of England give con-
trary answers to the questions we
have proposed. Low-Church or
Evangelical Anglicans are unani-
mous in their denunciations -of
" Puseyisrn " and " Ritualism " as
the high-road to Rome; some of
them even go so far as to say that
the Jesuits are the hidden but real
promoters of what they look upon
as a return to the errors and evils
swept away by the Reformation.

The High-Church portion of the
Church of England is equally ear-
nest and positive in the assertion
that what it calls the revival of
Catholic teaching and Catholic
practice does not lead men to
Rome, but keeps them, to use its
own language, true to the faith of
their baptism.

In face of these conflicting state-
ments we turn to the testimony of
Catholic priests engaged in the
work of conversion, and to the per-
sonal experience of converts. We
believe that every priest who has
experience in conversions will un-
hesitatingly endorse the statement
that most of the converts received
into the Catholic Church come from
the ranks of the High-Church or
Tractarian section of the Anglican
communion. Many of these con-
verts, especially of those who were
formerly Anglican clergymen, have
felt it right to lay before the public
the motives which determined them
to take a step so serious in its na-
ture and consequences. We have
therefore a considerable number of
published documents to refer to,
and the testimony that they bear is
in perfect accordance with that of
our priests. The question, how-
ever, is not so easily settled. If you
lay tjiese facts before a Ritualist he
will at once assure you that those
who have left the Church of Eng-
land were weak, or unstable, or
impatient, or that they were driven
from their position by the impru-
dence or fault of others, most pro-
bably by the errors of their bishops.
They will, in fact, deny that con-
versions are the natural and legiti-

The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church. 503

mate result of High-Church teach-
ing, and will treat them as excep-
tional cases, to be blamed, indeed,
and deplored, but not to be viewed
as indicating a general tendency.

It will therefore be interesting to
examine a little into the work of
the High-Church movement, and to
judge for ourselves how it bears on
the interests of the church.

We begin at once by admitting
that the High-Church party is op-
posed to the Catholic Church
deliberately and actively opposed.
The language in which it condemns
converts is at least as strong as
that in use among Evangelicals.
The principle of private judgment,
which furnishes the convert with an
argument unanswerable in the case
of his Low-Church opponent, is not
recognized by the High-Church-
man, although we do him no in-
justice in saying that it underlies
his whole course of action. The
High-Churchman's belief in Angli-
can orders, coupled with his igno-
rance as to the meaning of jurisdic-
tion, enables him to suppose that
the Catholic Church in England is
schismatical, and to denounce those
who submit to her authority as guilty
of grave, if not of unpardonable, sin.

If, then, the High-Church or
Tractarian party does in any sense
or to any degree promote the cause
of conversion, or prepare the way
for souls to return to God's church,
we must say that such work is done
unconsciously and involuntarily.

The original principle of the
High-Church movement was reve-
rence for antiquity ; it was, in the
intention of its leaders, a return to
the old paths. The past has ever
had a charm for minds of a certain
order ; to those who have not real-
ized the supernatural character of
the church, who have not grasped
the great fact that, in virtue of the

promise of her divine Lord and Of
the power of his Spirit, she is ever
the same, ever preserved from
error, ever guided unto all truth,
antiquity is a matter of primary
importance. Ignorant of the exist-
ing Divine authority, the Protes-
tant who believes that our Lord
founded a church upon earth goes
back to the earliest days of its his-
tory ; he traces the stream to its
source ; he thinks that there it must
needs be purest. It may be that
the labor is great, that the study
required is beyond the reach of
many, and that, after all, the ma-
terials at his command are too often
insufficient, and that he is ultimate-
ly compelled to fall back on the
exercise of his private judgment;
but in the absence of a living au-
thority there is nothing that he
deems more likely to guide him
aright. The view, we must admit,
is from his position perfectly rea-
sonable, and we may bless God
that the reverent and conscientious
study of the past has brought many
of the best and most gifted of the
Anglican body to bow their heads
in allegiance to the Vicar of Christ ;
tliey have found that the truth they
sought is, to use the words of Moses,
not above them nor far off from
them, but very nigh unto them.

But the influence of this awak-
ening of reverence for the past has
told upon many who have not joir-
ed the Catholic dluirch ; it hus even
left its mark on material things.
The old churches which our Ca-
tholic forefathers built, wherein
they worshipped and beneath
whose shadow they rest, have been
restored; through the length and
breadth of the country they stand
in their venerable beauty, and seem
at once to bear testimony to the
piety of former ages and to await
England's return to the faith.

504 The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the CJinrch.

We believe the High-Church
section of the Anglican commu-
nion to be promoting the cause of
conversion in several ways.

First, by the valid administration
of baptism. High-Church clergy-
men know what is essential to the
validity of baptism ; they believe
baptism to be a sacrament and
necessary to salvation, and conse-
quently they are very careful in in-
structing their people as to its im-
portance and in giving it properly.
In former days, and in the case of
ministers who did not believe that
baptism really affected the eternal
salvation of an infant, there is rea-
son to fear that there was an im-
mense amount of neglect. By bap-
tism, as we know, the habit of faith
is implanted in the soul, and ac-
cordingly in converts from Angli-
canism we often find a wonderful
power of grasping the truths of the
Catholic religion ; as soon as a doc-
trine is presented to them the
mind seems at once to respond to
it ; faith is there, as it is in the soul
of the baptized child.

Most of the doctrines of the Ca-
tholic Church are preached and
taught by the High-Church clergy
with more or less distinctness ; and
here we must observe that in speak-
ing of the High-Church or ritualis-
tic body we are compelled to use
terms whose signification is some-
what vague. The Church of Eng-
land may be said to contain three
different schools of opinion, High
Church, Low Church, and Broad
Church ; but no one of these has
any definite standard. Among those
who are called, and who would call
themselves, High-Churchmen there
are many varieties and shades of
opinion ; the writings or sermons of
one High-Church clergyman may,
of course, be disavowed by another.
Up to the present time Dr. Pusey,

who more than any other man
might seem to have been a leader,
does not feel it necessary to adopt
the ritual for which some of his
disciples are so earnestly contend-
ing. All that we can, therefore,
hope to do is to give a general
idea of High-Church and ritualistic
teaching, premising that on most
points there is more or less diver-
gence amongst the teachers.

It is not surprising that many of
those who look back to the past for
guidance and instruction should
have come to view the so-called
Reformation with regret. The ordi-
nary Protestant boldly declares it
to have been a necessity, but many
High-Churchmen openly deplore it;
they repudiate the name of Protes-
tant, and, in defiance at once of
history and of etymology, call th em-
selves Catholics. There is some-
thing, however, in a name, and we
may fairly believe that the disavow-
al of the epithet Protestant tends
to educate people out of the idea of
protesting; it is certainly true that
if the Church of England ceases to
be Protestant, she cuts the very
ground from under her feet, and
abolishes her only plausible raison
d'etre ; but the English mind, with
all its good qualities, is not, gene-
rally speaking, logical, and words
are too often used without a very
accurate idea of their derivation or
import.

Those Catholic doctrines which
have been most fiercely opposed
and most grossly misrepresented
in England are now openly and
earnestly inculcated. We may al-
most say that the conflict is gra-
dually being narrowed to the one
subject of the authority of the Holy
See and the questions immediately
depending on it. For the High-
Church Anglican believes that our
Lord founded a church ; he pro-

TJie Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church. 505

fesses to take that church as his
guide, though lie strangely per-
suades himself that its authority is
at present in abeyance. He would
obey the voice of a general coun-
cil, but in order to have a general
council it is absolutely necessary
that his bishops should take part in
the deliberations; in the expecta-
tion of an impossible conjuncture
of circumstances he practically dis-
obeys every one who in the mean-
time claims his allegiance.

But a vast amount of Catholic
teaching is, as we have said, find-
ing its way into the minds and
hearts of Englishmen ; Catholic
practices and devotions are being
revived, the way is being prepared
for the church. There is a wonder-
ful connection between the differ-
ent doctrines of our holy faith ; the
soul that earnestly and devoutly
believes one truth is, if we may so
speak, predisposed to believe the
next that may be presented to it,
and this not only from a reasonable
perception of the beauty, the fit-
ness, and the mutual relations of the
different truths, but from the habit
of mind which is produced and cul-
tivated by acts of faith. Each act
of faith contains or implies an act
of homage to the truth of God ; the
soul that worships is on the way to
receive fuller light.

We have in a former paper *
dwelt at some length on the sub-
ject of confession in the Church of
England; we have shown that it is
habitually practised by a consid-
erable number of earnest Angli-
cans, and that it is publicly urged
upon people by some of the clergy
as the ordinary remedy for post-
baptismal sin. It is quite certain
that confession is believed in very

* See THE CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1878,
"Confession in the Church of England," by the
Right Rev. Mgr. Capel, D.D.

much more widely than it is prac-
tised. The most extreme of An-
glicans cannot possibly maintain
that the Church of England re-
quires it of every one ; to the ma-
jority of people, especially if early
habit has not facilitated the prac-
tice, there can be no doubt that it
is painful and difficult. We there-
fore often find persons who tho-
roughly believe that the English
clergy possess the power of the
keys, and yet never themselves
seek for the benefit of absolution.
The matter is left quite optional,
or rather the penitent is to be judge
in his own case, and to decide
whether he does or does not re-
quire this special means of grace.
The scanty utterances tft\iQJBookof
Common Prayer seem to imply that
peace of mind is the principal ob-
ject to be attained by confession.
If, therefore, an Anglican can
"quiet his own conscience," he is
quite justified in doing so without
any extraneous aid ; and, indeed, in
so doing he would seem to be car-
rying out the intention of the fra-
mers of the Prayer-Book.

The doctrine of the Real Pre-
sence is perhaps the one which has
taken the deepest root in the mind
of advanced Anglicans. We might
multiply extracts from their books
of devotion and instruction con-
veying the Catholic faith on this
point in its completeness. Our
prayer-books, especially the Golden
Manual and the Garden of the Soul y
are largely used. Many Catholic
books of devotion have been trans-
lated for Anglicans, and, although
most of the translations are more
or less spoiled by a process of
adaptation, in many of them the
doctrine of the Holy Eucharist is
unimpaired. The Lauda Sion, the
Pange Lingua^ and the Rythma of
St. Thomas are preserved and

506 The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church.

faithfully translated. Nor is the
teaching confined to words ; the
meaning of the ritual, of which we
hear so much in the present day, is
to be found in the belief in the
Presence of our Lord which it ex-
presses and inculcates. The so-
called altars of many Anglican
churches are decked with flowers ;
the crucifix stands upon them ;
lights are burned ; the clergy wear
vestments like those used in the
church; celebrations of the com-
munion are multiplied it is made
the central act of worship; fasting
communion is insisted on ; confes-
sion is recommended as the fitting
preparation for communion. A
confraternity has been founded
with the name of the Confraternity
of the Blessed Sacrament, and with
the object of promoting the devo-
tion which naturally flows from a
belief in the Real Presence of our
Lord. Attendance of non-commu-
nicants at the communion service
is in many churches recommended
and encouraged, and devotions for
such worshippers have been pub-
lished. Incense and music are
employed in the service; chancels
are richly adorned. In some cha-
pels communion is reserved, and a
rite, evidently imitated from the
Catholic Benediction of the Blessed
Sacrament, is practised.

Ritualists have also learned to
invoke Our Lady and the saints.
Fifty years ago Keble wrote :

" Ave Maria ! Thou whose name
Ail but adoring love may claim !"

and now the An gel us and the
Memorare, the Little Office of the
Blessed Virgin and the Rosary, are
in use in the English Church.
The saints are honored and their
intercession is sought. Extreme
Unction is considered to be a les-
ser sacrament, and sick persons are

anointed. The dead are prayed
for in the touching and beautiful
words which holy church puts
into the mouths of her children.

It is needless to say that the
doctrine of apostolic succession is
most firmly maintained by High-
Churchmen. Not only are the Ca-
tholic doctrines which have fur-
nished the chief mark for Protes-
tant hostility and the principal
subjects of misrepresentation now
maintained and inculcated, but
others which, without being for-
mally contradicted, have been ob-
scured and neglected are now
brought forward with a clearness
which leaves little to be desired.
The Catholic devotions to the Sa-
cred Heart, to the Holy Child, to
the Incarnation, Passion, and Re-
surrection of our Lord, cannot fail
to make those who use them enter
more and more into the great mys-
tery which lies at the very founda-
tion of the Christian faith.

Moreover, the idea of duty, of
conscience, of a work to be done
in the sanctification of one's own
soul, is constantly kept before the
mind. Daily self-examination is
part of the rule of life. The fasts
of the church are observed often,
indeed, with a severity greater than
that required by the church, but
natural among those who have no
guide save their own conscience
for the details of their practice.
Her sacred feasts are also kept, and
thus our separated brethren have
some share in the holy teaching
which each season of the ecclesias-
tical year impresses on the heart.
During the Holy Week which has
just passed the Tenebra were sung
in many ritualistic churches. On
Good Friday the Three Hours'
Agony was preached in several
places, the Reproaches were sung,
and a devotion somewhat resem-

The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church. 507

bling that of the Stations of the
Cross was practised. On Easter
day the communion was celebrated
as early as five o'clock and repeat-
ed several times. The histories of
the saints are being made familiar
to people's minds. The literature
of Ritualism might of itself furnish
the subject of an interesting study.
The Imitation of Christ is one of
the most familiar books of piety,
and among the books adapted from
Catholic sources are the Spiritual
Combat, many of the works of Fene-
lon and Bossuet, Rodriguez, Cour-
bon, Pinart, Avrillon, and other
spiritual and ascetic writers. Fa-
ber's hymns are constantly sung in
churches. The Catechism of Chris-
tian Doctrine, with some variations,
is in the hands of the children of
Ritualists. The Catholic Breviary
has furnished the material for the
day and night Hours used in many
of the religious houses, and the
very prayers of the Mass have
been interwoven in the Anglican
Office for Communion. An ample
supply of juvenile literature places
the doctrines of which we have
spoken in an attractive form before
the minds of children. Catholic
pictures are to be seen everywhere.
Several newspapers and magazines
are devoted to the publication and
discussion of matters relating to
the interests of the High-Church
party.

A very important feature in the
revival of the last thirty years is
the foundation of religious houses
in the Church of England. There
are now upwards of thirty Angli-
can convents, in which women
lead a life of seclusion and devote
themselves to the practice of works
of charity and piety ; they are in
many cases bound by vows and
live in obedience to authority. A
few communities of men also exist.

These Anglican religious call
themselves monks and nuns, and
wear a dress unlike that of secular
persons. They keep the canonical
hours of prayer, they give up all
earthly ties, and their rule is in
some cases taken from one of those
originally framed by a saint and
sanctioned by the church.

Retreats and missions more or
less resembling our own are given
by some of the Anglican clergy.
We have recently heard that in a
place where the conversion of some
of the clergy seemed likely to be
followed by that of a considerable
body of their congregation, a re-
treat has been given with the spe-
cial object of settling the minds of
the wavere.rs in their allegiance to
the Church of England.

After all that we have said it
will not surprise our readers to
hear that people are often received
into the church who thoroughly
believe every Catholic doctrine,
and, on making their submission,
have no difficulty to surmount and
nothing new to learn.

Prejudices are being dispelled;
an interest in that body which has
ever held the doctrines now re-
covered by Anglicans has been
awakened. On their own princi-
ples High-Church people who go
abroad feel bound to attend Catho-
lic churches; the Catholic religion
is better understood than it used
to be, our ceremonies are imitated,
our works of charity and devotion
appreciated.

A work, then, is being done by
that party in the Church of Eng-
land commonly known as the Trac-
tarian or High-Church party. Its
influence has reached many whom
we could not have hoped to reach.
It has put many in a position where
they are accessible to conversion.
It has taught many souls the need

508 The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Cliurch.

and the value of sacraments. It has
awakened a hunger and thirst
whose ultimate satisfaction is only
to be found in the church. It has
trained souls to habits of self-ex-
amination, of self-denial, of ear-
nestness, of meditation, and of gen-
erosity. It has, we may trust, kept
many from ever falling into griev-
ous sin ; and while we are of course
unable to admit the validity of An-
glican orders, and consequently of
sacraments dependent on such or-
ders, we rejoice to think that what
the devout soul believes to be a
sacramental communion may prove
a spiritual communion and be a
means of grace and blessing.

Can we, then, as Catholics hold
out the right hand of fellowship to
those Anglicans who believe so
much of Catholic doctrine, and who
would fain persuade us that they
have a right to the name we bear?
Can we bid them God-speed and
wish them success ? Alas ! we
cannot. Whilst we appreciate
their self-denying labors, whilst we
admire their devotion and believe
that the grace of God is leading
them on to better things, we are
constantly and sadly reminded
that as yet they are in schism, that
they are defying or ignoring the
authority which in the name of
Christ claims their obedience.

The opposition to the church is
a feature of the very advanced par-
ty which we cannot overlook ; it is
impossible to say how many souls
its influence has kept out of God's
church. The means used to hin-
der the work of conversion are
various and too often successful.
We began by the statement that
most of our converts come from
the ranks of Ritualism, but we
must in some degree qualify it by
saying that to many it has only
been the final stage ; that they have

passed through it on their way
from dissent or Low-Church Pro-
testantism into the church. Wheth-
er they would have come to their
true home more speedily if they
had not on the way been attracted
by that which has so great a sem-
blance of truth we cannot say.
Conversion is of course a work of
God's grace ; but we cannot help
feeling that while High-Church-
men have got rid of many of the
prejudices and misconceptions
which keep other Protestants out
of the church, they are them-
selves surrounded by influences
hard to overcome. There is more
to satisfy both taste and devotional
feeling in Ritualism than in ordi-
nary Protestantism; there is more
to keep the mind back from honest
inquiry. The ordinary Protestant
is bound to " prove all things and
hold fast that which is good." If
he nas a doubt, on his own princi-
ples he ought to follow it up, to
question, to examine, and reason
till he arrives at conviction. The
Ritualist is too often taught to put
away a doubt or question as a sin.
He is hedged in on every side. He
is forbidden to inquire. If he be
in perplexity he is recommended
to devote himself to good works ;
he is told to avoid controversy.

The branch theoty and the dream
of corporate reunion are constant-
ly brought forward to combat the
convictions of those who are draw-
ing near to the church, and to de-
fend a position which is felt to be
exceptional. The branch theory
maintains that the church of Christ
is divided into three distinct
branches, the Roman, the Greek,
and the Anglican ; each one of
these, according to its adherents,
has preserved all the essentials of a
church, and each one claims with
equal authority the obedience of

The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church.

509

the faithful over whom it reigns.
The Catholic Church, accordingly,
is the teacher appointed by God
for Christians who live in Italy or
Spain ; the Greek Church is in the
same manner the guide of the in-
habitants of Russia, and the Angli-
can Church of those in England
and her dependencies. The diver-
gence or contradiction that may be
observed in the teaching of these
three bodies is ignored, or it is as-
serted that they are one on all
essential points. The church, ac-
cording to this view, is more or less
a national institution. St. Paul, in-
deed, declared that there was nei-
ther barbarian nor Scythian ; but
this theory boldly asserts the dis-
tinction between Englishmen and
Romans, and again between Eng-
lishmen and Russians. Perhaps
national vanity may find some sat-
isfaction in the idea of a branch
church specially for British sub-
jects. Some curious consequences
follow from the view we have ex-
plained. In the first place, a man
is bound to change his religion as
often as he crosses the Channel.
The Anglican would, he is told, be
guilty of an act. of schism by wor-
shipping in a Catholic church in
England ; as soon as he arrives at
Calais, however, it becomes his
bounden duty to attend Mass on
all Sundays and days of obligation,
and if he were to be present at
any Protestant worship, even though
conducted by one of his own min-
isters, he would commit an act of
schism. Church and schism, in
fact, change places.

No Protestant is stronger in his
condemnation of those who be-
come Catholics than are many of
the clergy who hold the branch
theory. It might, indeed, appear
that if each of the three branches
has an equal claim to be called a

church there could be little objec-
tion to the change; and yet these
teachers declare it to be in Eng-
land a sin even to enter a church
belonging to the "Roman branch,"
and to become a Catholic is said
to be risking one's salvation.

Closely connected with this theo-
ry is what we must call the dream
of corporate reunion. It is of t
course evident to all who have
read our Lord's words in his Gos-
pel that all Christians ought to be
one^ and though people may per-
suade themselves of an invisible
unity in essentials, few can feel
that the present state of things is
altogether as it should be.

The wish for union, coupled with
an absolute confidence in the real-
ity of Anglicanism, has led to
the hope that terms may at some
time be made with the Catholic
Church. The duty of submission
is thus evaded; people are told that
they are bound to wait till com-
mon action can be taken. It is
hoped that in some mysterious
manner " Rome " will yet be in-
duced to see her errors in regard
to England. People who have a
strong leading idea look at every-
thing through a medium of their
own. They grasp at straws ; the
kindly courtesy of some good priest,
or the ignorant credulity of some
poor peasant, is taken as a token
of the coming amalgamation. The
fact that the Catholic Church has
in the strongest manner condemn-
ed the scheme of reunion is ignor-
ed, the insuperable obstacles which
at once present themselves are un-
heeded, and for the sake of an un-
real and unfounded dream those
who would fain submit to God's
church are held back.

Besides the expression of these
general principles there is a vast
amount of special and personal ac-

5IO The Tractarian Movement in its Relation to the Church.

tion hostile to the church. It is
not enough to assure the poor
famishing soul that the Church of
England supplies its every want,
that it has never turned the graces
already bestowed to sufficient ac-
count ; it is also warned that it is
a sin even to think of leaving its
present position. The obedience
claimed by and rendered to Angli-
can directors is such as would as-
tonish Catholics. The Anglican
director, generally speaking, has
not learned to obey, and this may
be the reason why his manner of
ruling is so absolute. It is no un-
common thing to find people for-
bidden to enter a Catholic church,
although the director himself be-
lieves our Lord to be present on
its altar ; conversation or corre-
spondence with Catholic friends
about the church is in some cases
prohibited, as well as the reading
of Catholic books. The director
will sometimes promise to answer
for the soul that blindly obeys him.
Means such as these are used to
bind the conscience, and it is pro-
bable that they keep back many who
would bravely face persecution.

It is to be feared that the tem-
per of mind prevalent among the
ritualistic clergy is one little like-
ly to lead to submission to the
church; for we must receive the
kingdom of God as little children,
and nothing can seem less indica-
tive of the childlike spirit than the
tone of insubordination constantly
to be met with. The authority of
the crown is set at naught ; that of
their own bishops is defied ; obedi-
ence is little known amongst them;
nevertheless by God's grace many
a soul from among the clergy as
well as from among the laity bursts

the trammels that have bound it,
and finds its true home and rest.
It is said that the present year is
bringing into the church a harvest
greater than that of any year since
the time of Father Newman's con-
version ; and if it be so, we may
well appeal to all Catholic hearts
for the aid of their prayers.

We look towards these separated
brethren with a longing sympathy.
We feel that the grace of God is
appealing to their hearts in a very
special manner. We acknowledge
that the difficulties which keep
them back are of no common order.
We admire their earnestness, their
devotion and charity ; we appreciate
the courage and constancy with
which they suffer for what they be-
lieve to be the truth ; and if we are
compelled at times to use language
which has a tone of harshness or
sternness, it is because we are
solemnly bound to be faithful to
God's church, and because we
know that we can do them no great-
er kindness than to convince them
that they are spending their labor
for that which cannot satisfy them,
and to lead them on to the enjoy-
ment of all the blessings which the
Precious Blood has purchased for
them.

We believe that the influence of
the Tractarian movement has been
felt even in America, and we hope
that the sketch here given of its
bearing on the great work of con-
version may not be devoid of inter-
est to those who would deem it a
joy and a privilege to help a soul
into God's church a work for
which the power of sympathy and
the intelligent comprehension of its
position and difficulties are most
important qualifications.

The Newspaper Press of New York.

THE NEWSPAPER PRESS OF NEW YORK.

ONE of the most remarkable fea-
tures of this most remarkable cen-
tury is the unparalleled growth of
that branch of ephemeral literature
known par excellence as the press.
This increase has not been confin-
ed to any particular nation or lo-
cality, but is as observable in con-
servative Europe as in expansive
America. Still, in this country, and
particularly in New York, news-
papers have multiplied during the
last fifty years with a rapidity that
has astonished not only the public
but even their projectors and pro-
prietors. It is within the memory
of many now living when our city
knew not the luxury of a daily
journal, and its most inquisitive and
anxious inhabitants were obliged
to wait a whole week for current
news and editorial comments there-
on. Now we are so imbued with a
craving for early information that
few persons in active life are satis-
fied with a morning paper, but must
have likewise two or three evening
editions. The last generation were
content to wait for an indefinite
period for intelligence of what was
going on in the Old World; to-day
we are sadly disappointed if we can-
not read over our toast and coffee
of what has happened a few hours
previously at the principal points
of interest throughout Christendom.
Business enterprise, competition,-
steam power, and the telegraph
have been mainly instrumental in
changing the character of journal-
ism and creating wants hitherto
unfelt ; increase of population and a
love of superficial reading, which,
like jealousy, makes the food it feeds
on, have done the rest.

Before proceeding to point out
some of what seem to us to be
the grave defects of the secular
press, we freely and thankfully ad-
mit that its tone as regards the
Catholic Church has greatly im-
proved within the last few years.
Those who remember the scoffs and
sneers, the outrageous calumnies
and downright falsehoods, which
were usually associated with every-
thing Catholic in so many New
York journals a quarter of a cen-
tury ago, now look with more than
complacency on the comparative
fairness which at present charac-
terizes their reports, correspon-
dence, and editorials. The manner
in which the life and death of the
late Pope, the venerable Pius IX.,
was treated and commented upon
is a notable example of this grow-
ing spirit of liberality and good
sense alike gratifying to their Ca-
tholic readers and honorable to
themselves. Now and then, of
course, we found expressions and
sentiments opposed to our sense of
historical truth and moral recti-
tude ; but as a whole the non-Ca-
tholic press have expressed very just
and impartial views of the multi-
farious labors and shining virtues
which distinguished the career of
the wonderful man who was late-
ly called to his reward. The same
may be said of their allusions to
his successor, Leo XIII. Abandon-
ing the senseless and mischievous
course of their European contem-
poraries previous to the meeting of
the conclave, they gave us a truth-
ful and succinct account of the
meeting of that august body, the
result of its solemn deliberations,

512

The Newspaper Press of New York.

and excellent sketches of the life
and services of the illustrious pre-
late selected to bear the burden
laid down by Pius IX. For all
this, considering how Catholic ques-
tions were formerly treated, we
ought to be, and are, thankful.
Again, looking nearer home, the
services and ceremonies of the
church are described with much
more regard to their sanctity and
less to the gratification of idle cu-
riosity and insensate popular pre-
judice than formerly. Some of the
press accounts of the nature and
reason of fasts and feasts, absti-
nence, prayer, and good works,
which are especially enjoined at
particular periods, have been so
precise and discriminating that the
conviction is forced upon us of
their having been written, or at
least dictated, by persons fully in
accord with Catholic teachings.

Yet while we cannot but admit
this salutary change and admire the
variety, system, and attention to de-
tails exhibited in the mechanical
arrangement of news, and the ex-
traordinary industry displayed in
the general manufacture of our
modern newspapers, it must be
confessed with regret that in eleva-
tion of tone and honesty of pur-
pose there has been little or no im-
provement on the slower and less
attractive productions of our an-
cestors. We may take as an ex-
ample the metropolitan press of
New York, which in point of ability,
influence, and circulation far sur-
passes that of any other city on the
continent. Let any impartial per-
son, after the careful perusal of any
one of our five or six prominent
daily newspapers which are sup-
posed to control and lead public
opinion, ask himself what there is
in its pages to command the atten-
tion of the moralist, or to move the

sceptical or thoughtless to a sense
of his duty to God and his neigh-
bor: what stern rebuke has been
administered to the growing spirit
of peculation and heathenism which
is constantly gnawing at the vitals
of society. How seldom do we
find in the labored essays, the dis-
jointed platitudes, the pretentious
diatribes, the ornate editorials,
or the epigrams which distinguish
our prominent journals a senti-
ment or an argument based on sound
views of morality and religion !
With a constituency at least pro-
fessedly Christian, they bandy with
words and phrases, opinions and
speculations, essentially anti-Chris-
tian. One sneers at the Catholic
Church and everything we hold
sacred ; another patronizes us in a
manner more insulting than com-
plimentary; while the others, when
not openly misrepresenting and
maligning us, allude to our faith in
a manner even more objectionable.
All without exception, possibly
without knowing it, are the advo-
cates of the secret societies abroad,
which are endeavoring to under-
mine the fabric of social order and
Christian civilization, and the apolo-
gists for those home fanatics who
seek to excite public prejudice
against us, and oppose class to class
and creed to creed for their own
selfish and diabolical ends.

Of course we do not expect secu-
lar newspapers to become active
exponents of the great truths of re-
ligion, nor should it even be requir-
'ed of them to give undue promi-
nence to the publication of matters
of a religious character. That is
not their province. But appearing
as they do in a Christian communi-
ty, and being supposed to reflect in
a great measure the feelings, views,
and moral status of the people who
support them, we have a right to

The Neivspaper Press of New York.

513

demand that they adhere to the
teachings of that moral law which
ought to govern us all, and that
when they treat of sacred things,
and deal with questions affecting
faith and religion, it shall be done
with that serious reverence which
persons are bound to observe in
social life. Neither do we ask that
they advocate the superior claims
of Catholics, nor even enter upon
our defence against the many un-
scrupulous enemies who are con-
stantly rising up against us; but we
do insist that we shall not be insult-
ed, that our opinions be respected,
and that the code of morals which
all who profess to be Christians ac-
knowledge be not constantly and
persistently outraged.

The secret of this apparently
unanimous anti-Catholic feeling
which we lament in the New York
daily press is to be found in the
mental, not to say moral, inferior-
ity of the editorial fraternity as a
class. Since the death of Greeley
and Raymond and the practical re-
tirement of Bryant we have had no
really able journalist among us ;
while, unlike Paris, Berlin, London,
and other European cities, where
the foremost statesmen and most
profound thinkers scorn not to take
up the editorial pen occasionally,
we have no voluntary contributors
above the level of mediocrity. A
New York editor is usually a man
paid to write something or anything
on certain subjects, whether he be
familiar with them or not. He
writes not to express his own well-
considered convictions, or to give
the public the benefit of his study
and experience of a particular
topic, but simply to meet a special
emergency, and to embody, more or
less lamely, the half-formed notions
of his employer, who is as likely
as not an uncultured man himself.
VOL. xxvn. 33

Hence the greater number of what
are called leading articles which
appear in our daily papers, instead
of presenting clear views, sound
reasoning, and reliable information
artistically epitomized, are seldom
other than a mass of hasty, crude,
and shallow speculations on
topics of the greatest importance.
With the mass of casual readers,
who are too busy to look beneath
the surface, such productions pass
for gospel truths, and therefore are
likely to do more harm than more
elaborate articles; but to the intelli-
gent reader it soon becomes ob-
vious either that the heads of the
writers are astray or that their
hearts are not in their work. The
latter surmise, we are inclined to
believe, is more generally correct.
How can a Hebrew, for instance,
write a eulogium on the glories of
the Catholic Church ; a Catholic, no
matter how lukewarm, praise the
Communists and applaud the Car-
bonari; or a follower of the stern
precepts of Calvin glorify free love
and exalt the doctrines of universal-
ism ? Yet such anomalies are fre-
quently found in New York jour-
nalism, where every man seems to
be in the wrong place. The well-
known fact that the editorial staff
of all our large dailies is principal-
ly made up of persons of diverse
nationalities, creeds, and opinions
accounts for the discordance no-
ticeable in every one of their pages.
They have no fixed principles. No
matter what political party journals
may support, and how emphatic
they may be in their advocacy of
this or that public measure, when
they come to treat a great social
question, or one of vital importance
to the honor and reputation of the
republic, one column of the same
paper is usually found to contra-
dict the other, and the principles

The Newspaper Press of New York.

advanced to-day are in imminent
danger of being condemned to-
morrow.

To this rule, however, there is
an exception. It seems to be a
canon of the press of this city, and
we might add of the entire country,
that Catholics can be abused, scoff-
ed at, and misrepresented with im-
punity. Their religion is unfash-
ionable ; their social, commercial,
and political influence small in
comparison with their numbers;
the world is not their friend, nor
the world's law, and therefore the
generous and large-minded editors
of our newspapers, when at a loss
for something else to say, have al-
ways an arrow in their quiver for
the "tyranny of Rpme," and the
dangers to which their beloved
country is exposed from the " ma-
chinations and encroachments of
Romanism." Vulgar nicknames and
insulting epithets applied to the
church and the religious orders,
which have long since been banish-
ed from the vocabularies of other
countries, are freely used with a
coolness and a facility which show
that the writers are either too igno-
rant to know when they are vulgar,
or so barren of ideas and expres-
sions that they are compelled to
borrow those which have done ser-
vice in the days of a bigoted and
fanatical generation.

But turning from the editorial
page to what constitutes the bulk
of our journals, we find their dan-
gerous character revealed. What
mainly fills their capacious pages
and constitutes their principal at-
traction for the generality of pur-
chasers? Extended reports of di-
vorce cases, criminal trials, matri-
monial escapades, and the minu-
tiae of executions; "spicy" para-
graphs and indecent anecdotes to
which the ordinary and instructive

news of the day is only an adjunct.
The sensational style of reporting,
the dressing-up of disgusting topics
in romantic phraseology, though
unknown a few years ago, or con-
fined to a few disreputable weekly
papers, is fast becoming a distinc-
tive feature in New York journal-
ism. It is a growing evil, as well
as a most insidious one, and the keen
competition which exists between
proprietors of daily journals for
popular patronage has a direct ten-
dency to develop it still further.
So much, indeed, do our papers,
big and little, vie with each other
in catering to the depraved taste of
a certain portion of the people that
it has become a matter of serious
consideration with many persons
whether they can safely introduce
into their families the papers they
are obliged to take for business
purposes.

It is very safe to assert that too
many of those who collect the city
and suburban news for the daily
press are as devoid of conscience
in their method of communicating
as they are often shameless in their
manner of procuring their informa-
tion. They seem to think that a
reporter, in his official capacity,
has no moral responsibility, and act
consistently with the supposition.
They fairly revel in scandal ; con-
sider vice only something to be
elaborately depicted in their re-
spective newspapers, and crime,
no matter how heinous, a fitting
theme for their nimble and facile
pens. Their excuse for all this
prostitution of ability which might
be turned to some good account is
that the public demand this highly-
seasoned style of reporting, for-
getting that they themselves have
excited this prurient taste, and that
if, repenting of their past misdeeds,
they were to return to the old-fash-

The Newspaper Press of New York.

515

ioned method their present admi-
rers would soon follow them.

It is certain that the degeneracy
of the newspaper press in this re-
spect is fast "sapping the morals
of the community, particularly the
younger portion of it. Once famil-
iarized with crime of every sort and
degree through the florid descrip-
tions of the reporters, our young
men and women must necessarily
become mentally debased. Their
thoughts, unbidden, will stray to
matters of which they have lately
read, a dangerous curiosity will be
excited, and from constant reflec-
tion they will begin to lose that
horror of sin which is one of the
safeguards of virtue, which every
pure-minded youth should keep
constantly before his eyes. The
mind once disturbed, the imagina-
tion led astray, every defaulter and
swindler, if he be a criminal on a
large scale, is apt to appear to
, them as " a smart fellow "; the be-
trayer of female innocence, the
faithless husband or disloyal wife,
as one more sinned against than
sinning; and even the murderer,
whose sayings and doings are faith-
fully chronicled, and whose solemn
exit from the world is made the oc-
casion of a grand dramatic scene,
becomes in some degree a hero and
a victim of revengeful law.

Of course it is easier to point
out the evils which disgrace the
editorial profession, and so materi-
ally impair the usefulness of the
press, than to suggest an adequate
remedy for them. It is useless to
appeal to the conductors of news-
papers ; for as long as Catholics can
be abused with impunity, and the
moral sense of the community be
shocked by vile and obscene de-
scriptions of crime and criminals
with profit to themselves, they will
heed neither advice nor remon-

strance. The cure rests with the
public who purchase and support
such journals. As far as Cath-
olics are concerned, the true
course would be to establish a daily
paper of their own, which would re-
flect their sentiments and opinions,
and furnish them with reliable for-
eign and domestic news collated
in unobjectionable style ; but this,
it seems, is impossible at present.
The embarrassed financial condi-
tion of the country is opposed to
the initiation of such an enterprise.
Our only present resource, as long
as so many of us must read daily
papers, is to concentrate our pat-
ronage on that journal which pre-
sents the least objectionable fea-
tures, and, by encouraging it to do
better things, prove to its contem-
poraries by the strongest of all ar-
guments to them their .decreased
circulation that the Catholics of
this city and' vicinity will no longer
pay to be abused and calumniated.
But there are many among us who
from habit take daily papers with
which we can well dispense. We
advise them to discontinue their
misdirected patronage and bestow
it on our struggling weekly Catho-
lic journals. They will thus ad-
minister a wholesome lesson to
bigotry and immorality, and at the
same time give encouragement and
life to Catholic serial literature.

There are, however, other and
mo"re cogent reasons why the read-
ing of daily papers, now so preva-
lent, should be discouraged, or at
least confined within reasonable
limits. There can be little doubt
that their constant and persistent
perusal is apt to create a distaste for
more profound and healthful read-
ing. Drawing our opinions mainly
from the hastily composed contri-
butions of overworked correspon-
dents and editors, jwe are pretty

516

The Newspaper Press of New York.

sure to fall into the habit of reach-
ing conclusions and entertaining
views of life neither logical nor well
considered. Like those who feast
overmuch on sweets, we conceive a
dislike for solids and as the body
suffers in the one case, the mind
naturally is impaired by indulgence
in the light and meretricious litera-
ture of which newspapers are, if not
the worst, certainly the most wide-
spread and exemplary, types.

Americans, to paraphrase a well-
known expression, are a newspaper-
ridden people. We must have
some sort of paper at breakfast,
dinner, and supper. We are not
even satisfied with one each day,
but require two or three more every
twenty-four hours. The time that
should be devoted to the study of
good bool$;s, wherein can be found
solid instruction and food for re-
flection, is thus too often wasted on
the lucubrations and speculations of
half-informed men who are as inca-
pable of emitting sound ideas as
they are of appreciating the immo-
ral drift of much that daily falls
from their own pens. Hence inor-
dinate readers of newspapers nec-
essarily become shallow-minded, su-
perficial thinkers ; their intellectual
tastes are vitiated, and their judg-
ment is weakened and perverted.
Like a shattered mirror, their minds

are incapable of reflecting one en-
tire well-defined image, but present
only fragments of thought in forms
indefinite and distorted. The
higher aspirations of our nature,
those sublime conceptions which
lift us above the grosser things of
earth, and, even in this life, bring
us nearer and nearer to our Crea-
tor, can never be generated by
ephemeral newspaper literature.
While we may feel compelled by
business considerations or a natu-
ral political curiosity to glance over
the columns of our daily journals,
we should not forget that the intel-
lect receives neither health nor
strength from prolonged indul-
gence in such enervating pursuits.
Newspapers undoubtedly have their
use and mission ; they have be-
come an important factor in our
present system of civilization, and
are capable of accomplishing much
good in their own sphere; but their
effect and scope are limited, and
should be circumscribed so that
they be not permitted to interfere
with the reading of solid history, the
works of our best writers, and the
essential duties of life, among which
must be considered the pursuit of
Christian knowledge and the eleva-
tion and purification of the immor-
tal part of our being.

My Friend Mr. Price.

517

MY FRIEND MR. PRICE.

A STORY OF NEWPORT.

THE summer was upon me, and
with it the yearning for the dulcet
plash of the salt sea wave.

"Whither?" became the vexed
question of the hour, and Newport
made reply to it.

To Newport I accordingly trans-
ported myself. I shall not say
whether it was last season, or the
season before, or even the season
before that again. The readers of
this narrative must determine the
exact date. I refuse point-blank
to do so.

Newport was in the height of
the season when I entered my hum-
ble name, John V. Crosse, Lexing-
ton Avenue, New York, on the leaf
of the register at the Ocean House.

It was a lovely evening in Au-
gust, and the piazza of the hotel
was crowded with high, mighty,
and fashionable humanity. Dinner
was a thing of the past, and the
drive was looming in the near fu-
ture. Ladies were chatting in
parti-colored groups, men smoking
in acrobatic postures. A delicious
stillness prevailed a warm, life-ca-
ressing glow. A wooing message
from the sea, laden, as it sped upon
its errand inland, with the perfume
of a myriad glowing flowers, fanned
the cheek. The sun shot bars of
molten gold between the trellised
branches of the slumbering trees,
and the indolence of waking re-
pose descended upon everything
like a rosy cloud.

I went on the piazza, and, select-
ing an able-bodied wooden chair,
flung myself into it, placing my
feet on the iron railing: in front of

me, ere proceeding to light a cigar.
When I had succeeded in emitting
half a dozen puffs of my most ex-
cellent weed I looked right and
left of me.

On my right sat a man of about
thirty, Or perhaps more, apparently
tall, and slender to leanness. He
was dark as a gipsy, with coal-
black hair waving naturally but
sparse upon the temples he had
removed his hat which had a
craggy look. His large eyes were
deep-set, while his mouth wore an
expression of superb self-compla-
cency. He was clean-shaved, ex-
cept for a fringe of long, silky
black whisker far back upon the
cheek, but both moustache and
beard were clearly marked by the
blue-black shade on his lip and
jaw. The man was not ugly
just escaping ugliness by a very
narrow margin. He was well
dressed in a suit of light Scotch
tweed that fitted him like " the pa-
per on the wall," whilst a certain je
nesaisqiwi bespoke the Englishman.

On my left lounged a handsome
young fellow with clear blue eyes,
a fair moustache, and one of the
brightest smiles I have ever seen
upon a human countenance. He
twirled an unlighted cigar between
his red lips, and as vehicle after
vehicle dashed up to the "ladies'
entrance" fair dames and damosels
gave him cheery and gracious salu-
tation, cheerily and graciously re-
sponded to, accompanied by the
flourish of a rakish little straw hat
perched on the side of his superbly-
set head.

My Friend Mr. Price.

With these two personages the
narrative has much to do.

I sat smoking the one post-pran-
dial cigar allowed me by my doc-
tor, contemplating with indolent
satisfaction the fragrant greenery
in front of me, when my medita-
tions apropos of nothing were
brought up with a sudden jerk by
the young fellow on my left asking
to be permitted to light his cigar
from mine.

Now, as a matter of fact, I have
a very decided and deep-rooted
objection to surrendering my cigar
to anybody, rich or poor, gentle or
simple ; I like no one to handle it
but myself; and therefore, instead
of transferring the glowing weed to
his expectant fingers, I dived into
the breast-pocket of my coat, and
producing a tin box containing wax
matches, placed it, together with its
contents, at his disposal.

" You are an Englishman," he
gaily exclaimed, extracting a vesta
as he spoke.

" No, but very English on the
subject of the handling of my
baccy," I laughed.

"You are not far astray. You
should have seen the tramp that
deprived me of a genuine Lopez
this morning. I couldn't refuse
him, so I left him the weed."

" I consider that the "

" Per Bacco ! there she goes," he
suddenly interposed, and, flinging
my match-box into my lap, he
vaulted over the railing into the
carriage-drive beneath.

Two ladies seated in a pony-
phaeton flashed past.

44 I'm English," exclaimed my
right-hand man, tapping the ash
from his cigar with a finger white
and delicate as wax, " and I'm glad
to find that one American sees the
abomination of handing every cad
his cigar who chooses to ask^for it."

Being very Starry and Stripey, I
was about to defend the practice in
vogue amongst my countrymen, al-
though thoroughly against my con-
victions, when he asked :

44 Do you know who that fellow
is ?"

"What fellow?"

11 That long-eared, long-legged
jackass who took that railing as if
he was at school."

44 1 never saw him before."

" You'll see him again. I lay
seven to two. And I'll take the
odds that he tells you that he's
Grey Seymour, whatever that may
be; that he's over his long ears in
love with a Miss Hattie Finche,
whom he followed here from Mar-
tha's Vineyard ; and that she has
five hundred thousand dollars."

44 1 suppose that one of the la-
dies in the pony-carriage was Miss
Hattie Finche?"

44 The whip yaas."

44 1 wonder can she be a daugh-
ter of Wilson Finche, of New
York ?"

44 The tallow-man, Beaver Street
and Fifth Avenue ?"

44 Ay, and Chicago and 'Frisco,"
I added.

44 That's the identical gerani-
um."

44 And is Wilson Finche in New-
port ?"

44 He has taken a cottage on the
Ocean Drive for the season."

44 1 must look him up."

44 Are you acquainted with him ?"
the languor of manner disappear-
ing, and a vivid interest rushing to
the front.

44 Very well indeed."

44 And with his daughter?"

44 Why, certainly."

44 Stop a minute !" fumbling in
his breast coat-pocket. "You'll
introduce me."

The coolness of this proposition

My Friend Mr. Price.

519

actually staggered me. Introduce
a man of whose name even 1 was
in total ignorance !

"I could not venture to do such
a thing," I responded somewhat
gruffly. I did not relish the idea of
being treated in this off-hand way
of being openly and deliberately
made a cat's-paw.

" Oh ! yes, you will. Here's my
card. Let's have one of yours,"
thrusting his pasteboard almost in-
to my reluctant hand.

With very considerable delibera-
tion I searched for my double eye-
glass hidden away somewhere in
the depths of my capacious waist-
coat I was fat, and fair, and fifty-
five at that date and, carefully
wiping it with a scarlet silk hand-
kerchief, adjusted it to my eyes
and read :

Mr. Herbert Price,

Temple, London, E. C.

"Let's have your card," said Mr.
Price, as though I were a trades-
man with whom it pleased his high
mightiness to have dealings.

" I am not in the habit of"

%< There, 'now, you're going to put
me aside. Where's the use ? Why
wouldn't you help a poor hungry,
briefless English barrister to this
piece of gilded gingerbread ?
You're not going for her yourself?"

Oho ! I inwardly chuckled.
** Not much. I have seen too
many of my peers wrecked upon
the rock-bound coast of matrimony
to permit my argosy within those
shallow and treacherous waters."

"I guessed you were a bache-
lor," observed Price facetiously.

" And might I ask, sir, how you
were led to imagine this?" I felt
curious to hear what the fellow
would say.

"I'll tell you, Mr. Smith."

" I am not Mr. Smith."

" Well, Mr. Jones."

" I am not Jones."

" Robinson."

"Your pertinacity, sir, ought to
make your fortune at the Old Bai-
ley."

" Well said, Thompson. Now,
you wish me to tell you how I
guessed you were a bachelor. First-
ly," putting up his finger and tap-
ping it with his cigar, " your gene-
ral complacency; secondly, your
linen no married man ever com-
mands the linen of a bachelor;
thirdly, your gaiters such fit,
such polish ! fourthly, your iso-
lation; and, fifthly, the methodical
way in which you do everything,
from lighting a cigar to playing a
fantasia on your handkerchief with
your nasal organ."

" I am not aware that I am more
methodical than other men of my
age and habits."

" Are'n't you ? Then just watch
yourself."

" You are a very peculiar speci-
men of your country, Mr. Price."

" I can return you the compli-
ment; and as one good turn de-
serves another, you'll introduce me
to Miss Finche.'

" You must excuse me, Mr.
Price."

" But I won't."

" I beg to differ from you."

" We shall see."

" We shall."

Mr. Price rose and quitted the
piazza, returning after a brief ab-
sence.

"Now, Mr. John V. Crosse, of
Lexington Avenue, New York, as
you say in this queer country, I
have posted myself. You are con-
foundedly rich, living on your dol-
lars, and are not a half-bad sort of
elderly gentleman."

" May I ask to whom I am in-
debted for this portrait, sir ?"

Somehow or other I couldn't

520

My Friend Mr. Price.

get-up a feeling of anger. I tried,
but it wouldn't come.

" The clerk inside. I know you
now, and you know me. I am the
son of Sir Harvey Price, of Holten
Moat, Sevenoaks, in Kent. The
Moat is about one of the last of
the Tudor residences in England.
We have been in that one corner
since the battle of Hastings, and
the Moat has never run dry since
Queen Bess visited us, when the
waters were turned off and red
wine turned on. I am the sixth
son, and poor as a sixth son ought
to be. I was sent to the bar be-
cause I had an uncle on the bench.
My uncle died while I was keeping
my terms. I am an honor-man of
Oxford, and last year my brief-
book showed one hundred and
fifty pounds. About ten weeks
ago my godmother died ; she left
me five hundred pounds. I paid
my tailor just enough to main-
tain a doubtful confidence in me,
my boot-maker ditto. Like an
able general, who always prepares
beforehand for a retreat although
Wellington, our best man, failed to
do this at Waterloo, having the
forest of Soignies at his back I
have paid for the rent of my cham-
bers in advance. , I have come
here just to ascertain for myself if
red Indians are to be met with on
Broadway, and buffalos to be pot-
ted on Fifth Avenue. Tin's is the
story, and here is the man. Will
you introduce me to Miss Finche
now?"

I must confess that the story,
brief though it was, and told in a
short, sharp, jerky way, somewhat
'interested me. I had no reason to
doubt it, and yet I was too old in
the devious paths of the world to
accept either the narrative or the
man at sight. Surely, if he were so
well connected, he should be able

to obtain letters of introduction to
some persons in society, and then
it would be plain sailing enough
for him.

" You won't take me on trust ?"
he exclaimed after I had said as
much to him.

" I have arrived at that time of
life, Mr. Price, when I take nothing
on trust. I must know my butcher,
my baker, my wine merchant, my
boot-maker, et hoc genus omne"

" Never mind," he gaily cried.
"You'll be sorry by and by, when
you see me engaged to Miss
Finche."

"You seem to have a tolera-
bly strong belief in your powers
of"

" Audacity. You are right. Tou-
jours dc Faudace. I am a man of a
single idea; the idea at present on
my groove of thought is the gold
Finche. The lion in my path is
Grey Seymour. If he were poor I
wouldn't have a chance ; but he has
millions, and money doesn't fall in
love with money. Your heiress
always spoons on a pauper, while
your aurati juvenes go in for penni-
less governesses. Ne cest pas, man
Give us a match. I'll go
and you go and
Finche. His di-
I'll write it down
exclaimed,

vieux ?

and take a swim ;
call on Wilson
rection is stay ;
for you

There!" he
handing me a card: "'Wilson
Finche, Esquire, Sea View Cottage,
The Cliff.' You'll find him at
home now, Crosse, and in that
beatific condition which is the
outcome of a Chateau Lafitte of
the '54 vintage. Adios /"

Obeying the mandate of this
very peculiar young man, I stroll-
ed down to The Cliff.

The wide sea heaved and plash-
ed beneath me with a dull, dulcet
murmur. Away out on its unruf-
fled bosom lay great patches of

My Friend Mr. Price.

521

purple, denoting the passage of
some fleecy cloud onwards, ever
onwards. White sails dotted the
deep green sea like daisies on a
dappled field. The shingle caress-
ed by the wooing wavelets was red
and brown, while the wave-kissed
pebbles flashed in the sunlight.
Boats like specks were drawn up
on the beach, and sailors were busy
with sails and cordage and the
impedimenta of their craft.

Finche's marine residence stood
boldly prominent, all corners and
gables like an old cocked hat. It
was new and pert-looking, and
wore the air of a coquette in a
brand-new toilette from Worth's.
A ribbon border of glowing scarlet
geraniums led from the lich-gate
to the Queen Anne porch, whereon
sat, or lay, or reclined it was all
three my old friend, his body in
one of those chairs which invalid
passengers on ocean steamers much
affect, to the envy of all who do
not possess the luxury, his feet on
a camp-stool, beside him a small
marble-topped table, whereon stood
a bottle of claret, a crystal glass of
wafer-like thinness, and a box of
cigars. Price had spoken wisely.

After the usual exclamations of
greeting had dried up I compli-
mented Finche on the beauty of
the location.

"Yes, sir; it costs money, but
what's money if you don't get value
for it? Thompson you know
Thompson, of Brand & Thompson
that man, sir, has four millions,
sir, and what value does he take
out of it, sir? A back-room in
Thirteenth Street; a breakfast at
a foul-smelling restaurant, sir; a
five-minute dinner at Cable's ; an
unhealthy supper at another res-
taurant, and half a dozen of news-
papers. That's what he has for his
four millions."

" You are wiser in your genera-
tion, Finche."

" I am wise in this way, sir "
Finche is very sententious, and his
shirt-collar is always troubling him
" I must have value for my mo-
ney. One hundred cents for my
dollar is good enough for me. If,
sir, I can get one hundred and fifty,
so much the better; but, sir, I
never take ninety, or ninety-five,
sir, or ninety-and-nine, sir. Help
yourself to that claret it's a Nat
Johnson, sir; I paid twenty-five
dollars a case for it in the year '70.
It's value for the money, sir, / tell
you"

" You are here with your Lares
and Penates" I observed, after
some further remarks upon the va-
lue of the surroundings.

" What do you mean, sir ?"
Finche is as ignorant as a chim-
panzee.

" Your household gods."

" Yes, sir. I am here with my
daughter and my wife. My daugh-.
ter gets value, sir, in the hops at
the Ocean House, and the nice
society she meets with real bang-
up swells, sir. My wife gets value
out of the salt water, sir health,
sir, which improves her body and
her temper, sir. She is a quick-
tempered woman is Mrs. Finche,
and when she's ill, sir, she's ugly."

At this moment the pony phae-
ton which I had observed from the
piazza of the hotel dashed up to
the lich-gate.

" My daughter and her friend,
Miss Neville, an English girl, sir,
of a very high family, poor as
cheap claret, sir, but proud as a
coupon, sir. She's on a visit to us,
but we get value out of her. She
sings lovely, sir; you shall hear her.
It entertains our swell friends, and
thus we strike a balance. The tall t
one is my daughter, sir."

522

My Friend Mr. Price.

I saw a slim but well-propor-
tioned figure, clad in a rich black
silk dress, the cut of which, even
to my masculine eyes, betrayed the
hand of an artist; a face, though
not beautiful by any means, earnest
and interesting, surmounted by a
.profusion of little fair curls, ar-
ranged, as was the fashion, so as to
conceal the forehead ; a picturesque
hat, a pair of diamond solitaire ear-
rings, and upon the whole a person
decidedly "fetching." Her com-
panion was petite, and constructed,
as they say of saucy steamers, upon
the most perfect lines. She was a
clear brunette, and as she swept
somewhat haughtily past the glow-
ing ribbon borders I bethought
me of Cleopatra, and the passage
down the Cydnus of that boat
which wrecked the fortunes of the
luckless Antony..

Of course I gazed at the pos-
sessor of five hundred thousand
dollars, as the " penniless lass wi' a
lang pedigree " counted for noth-
ing.

" Hattie, this is my old friend,
Mr. Crosse, of Noo York, who has
come to Newport to take some
value out of the summer-time."

Miss Finche was very gracious,
presenting me with a hand encased
in a glove of many buttons, and
flashing a row of magnificent teeth
between each smile.

" Are you a ' cottager,' Mr.
Crosse?"

" Unfortunately, no."

" Are you at the Ocean or the
Acquednuk ?"

"The Ocean."

" The other is quieter."

" There is better value at the
Ocean, Haitie," observed her fa-
ther.

" One sees everybody worth see-
^ing there. Isn't the piazza charm-
ing, Mr. Crosse ?"

"Of its kind, yes; but I would
prefer a little of this," sweeping the
horizon with my hand.

" It is very beautiful," said a
sweet, low voice by my side, a voice
that " chimed " into my ear I can
use no other word: It was Miss
Neville who spoke.

" There is great value to be got
out of that view at sunset, sir
yellows and reds, sir, that would
set up a painter, if he could only
fetch up to the right color and give
good value to the buyer."

Miss Neville imperceptibly
shrugged her shoulders, while I
winced at this commercial view of
marine painting. I wondered what
Mr. Hook, R.A., or my rising young
friend Mr. Quartly would have
said to the man of tallow.

" Hattie, another bottle of this
wine, although it's a pity to drink
it on a hot day; one doesn't get
the value out of it. Get into the
house, girls ; I want to have a talk
with my friend Crosse here. What
is Bullandust going to do in Lake
Shores?" addressing me.

I protested.

" Finche," I said, " I've come down
here for sea, and sky, and trees, and
dolce far mcnte"

" What's that, sir ?"

"Well, loafing," I laughed.

" There an't no value to be
got out of that."

" Isn't there, though ? And I
mean to drop Wall Street, and scrip,
and shares, and every sort of busi-
ness. I won't even look at a news-
paper till I choose to go back."

"You an't in earnest ?" said my
host, gazing at me in solemn aston-
ishment.

" A fact, upon my honor."

" Well, that say, there's some
one saluting. It's not me I don't
know the man. It must be a friend
of vours, sir."

My Friend Mr. Price.

523

I adjusted my double glass and
gazed towards the lich-gate.

A slight sense of shock vibrated
through my system. Leaning upon
the gate, and nodding at me like a
Chinese mandarin, was Mr. Her-
bert Price, Temple, London, E. C.

" You seem to be having a good
time there, my friend," he gaily
cried.

What could I say ? What could I
do ?

"It's awfully hot for walking."

"Won't you step in, sir?" said
Finche.

I could not say, Don't ask this
man. Of course a gossip and a glass
of wine, and a mere formal intro-
duction to Finche, meant nothing.

" His name's Price," I hurriedly
whispered " stopping at Ocean
House London barrister don't
know him." Whether these last
three words were lost upon Finche
or not it is impossible to determine,
inasmuch as he took no notice of
them whatever.

" Glad to see you, Mr. Price. Any
friend of my friend Mr. Crosse is
welcome here, sir. Get a chair.
Take that other one, sir, with the
back to it ; you'll get more value
out of it. That's my principle take
value out of everything. A glass
of wine, sir ? It's a Chateau Lafit-
te that cost me twenty-five dollars
a case in '70, sir. Touch that gong,
sir!"

A servant appeared in obedience
to the tocsin.

" Ask Miss Finche to send me
another bottle of this wine, then take
the empty bottle. Put it carefully
by, Mary, as all the bottles have to
go back after I have taken the value
out of them, which I guess I do,"
with a chuckle.

"Did you walk down, Mr.
Crosse ?" asked Price.

" Yes." I was on the borderland

of indignation. I felt foolish
checkmated.

"You had no difficulty in finding
the place."

"I can always find my friend's
house, Mr. Price."

" You were dull enough about it
on the piazza when we were speak-
ing about Mr. Finche. What a glo-
rious spot you have here ! It re-
minds me of Devonshire. Ah !
you American millionaires know-
how to live."

" We try to get value out of the
world."

" And you succeed. Your good
health, Mr. Finche. Ah!" smack-
ing his lips, " that is wine. What a
superb thing to sit beneath one's
vine or fig-tree, drink such nectar
as this, and to be able to pay for
it !" with a light laugh.

" You are from London, sir, my
friend Crosse tells me."

I could have flung the contents
of my glass into Finche's face.
Price would perhaps think I had
been singing his praises.

" Yes, 1 hail from that little vil-
lage on the Thames."

" A lawyer ?"

" One of the briefless. I did not
choose the profession, I assure you.
Like my first frock, it was chosen
for me, and I was thrust into it bon
gr<* malgrt. I'll tell you who I am
and what I am. I have told my
friend Crosse already." And he sum-
ed up the case, much in the same
words as he had addressed to me.

Finche was impressed by the men-
tion of the title, and deeply inter-
ested in a detailed description of
the Moat.

" I am happy to meet you, sir,
and should be glad to visit Sir Har-
vey Price at Holten Moat when I
go to England next year, sir. Do
you purpose taking much value out
of this country, sir ?"

524

My Friend Mr. Price.

Price actually winked at me, and
that wink spoke the following
words :

" I mean to take five hundred
thousand dollars if I can."

A bell sounded.

" Supper, gentlemen !" said
Finche. " Let us get in. No
ceremony here, Mr. Price. We
have no Moats for three hundred
years in our family, although we
see them every day in our neigh-
bor's eye ha! ha !"

It would never do to have this
pickpocket, for aught I knew to the
contrary, enter beneath my friend's
roof under the very peculiar cir-
cumstances of the case. Had he
been an ordinary travelling ac-
quaintance it would not have much
mattered, but a penniless adven-
turer bent upon matrimonial de-
signs never!

" Mr. Price and I are going back
to the Ocean House," I said 'in my
sternest tone, and in a manner so
marked as to bear but the one in-
terpretation.

" What do I hear, Mr. Crosse ?"
exclaimed Miss Finche, emerging
from the interior, arrayed in a be-
witching toilette of fleecy white and
delicate lilac.

"My dear, this is ""

" I beg your pardon, Finche, but
could I " I burst in.

" This is Mr. Price, of London,
a friend of "

" Finche, I may as well " But
the pompous old ass would have
his bray, and Price was conversing
with Hattie Finche ere I could ut-
ter the words of explanation that
were ready to spring from my lips.

" Gentlemen, you would like to
wash your hands. Just step up to
my sanctum. Tompkins " (to a
servant), "show these gentlemen to
niy sanctum."

When the door had closed upon

us, " Mr. Price," I said, " do you call
this fair?"

'* Everything is fair in love."
" Bosh, sir ! You find in me a
man unwilling to wound the feel-
ings of another. I have gained no-
thing by acting the part of a gen-
tleman."

"I deny that!" his coat off, his
head deep in the marble basin.
"You've made me your friend for
life."

"And who might you be ?"
"I've told you. See, now," his
hands dripping, " here," plunging
one of them into the breast-pocket
of his coat, which was lying on a
bed "here's a ten-pound note;
spend every shilling of it in cable-
grams. You have my own, you
have my father's address. Wire
him, wire anybody you like, you'll
have your reply to-morrow. My
story will be corroborated in every
particular. That ought to satisfy
you."

I shook my head.
' "Time with me is money. This
fellow, Grey Seymour, is to meet
her to-morrow at a garden-party at
Mrs. Dyke Howell's. His millions
will come into play, and such hea-
vy artillery will sweep my rusty
flint-locks into ash-barrels. A
duel with artillery is all very well,
but when the batteries are all on
one side one side wins. My chances
depend on what running I can
make to-night. I can talk to wo-
men as few men can. It is my
faculty. I know where 'to reach
them, and how. It is nascitur non
fit with me. I don't go on Doctor
Johnson's idea of making an idiot
of a girl's understanding by flattery.
That is false in theory, false in
practice. Now, you are not half
bad. Stand byme," placing his hand
on my shoulder, " and, by George !
I'll do something for you yet."

My Friend Mr. Price.

525

He was thoroughly in earnest,
and hang me if I could refuse him.
I suppose it was my bounden
duty to have done so. Common
sense and common prudence nudg-
ed me ere I took his proffered
hand, but, heedless of the whisper-
ings of still, small voices, I per-
mitted myself to go with the tide.
It was treating my friend Finche
badly; it was placing myself in a
false, if not a worse, position ; and
yet I could not utter that absurd-
ly small word " no."

The morrow would tell its own
tale, for I had resolved upon tele-
graphing without the assistance of
Mr. Price's ten-pound note, and a
few hours could do no possible
harm. If Miss Finche were to
lose her heart in the space of an
evening, she would prove a very
noteworthy exception to the great
sisterhood to which she belonged.

The addition to her dinner ta-
ble did not seem to please Mrs.
Finche, an emaciated, waspish, red-
nosed lady, whose thin lips had an
unpleasant twitch in them, and
whose bright, beady black eyes
darted angrily hither and thither
like a pair of beetles in search of
prey.

I sat next to her ; opposite to me
Miss Neville; Finche was at the
foot of the table; on his right my
friend Price, on his left the heir-
ess.

" What brings you to this fash-
ionable place, Mr. Crosse?" asked
mine hostess, the inference being
" plain to the naked eye."

"Well, I thought I'd like to take
a peep at the gay goings-on."

"Ah !" an icy chill in the mono-
syllable.

Mrs. Finche being very silent,
and, if not silent, snappish, I direct-
ed my conversation to Miss Ne-
ville, whom I found to be abso-

lutely charming. I had travelled
a good deal, and, from the loneliness
of my life, read about as much as
ordinary men, and I discovered, to
my most intense pleasure, that there
was at least one young girl in the
nineteenth century the possessor
of ideas above the level of sweet
things in sheathe-like costumes, or
the latest methods for beautifying
the human face divine.

Miss Neville was thoroughbred,
and all unconsciously showed her
lustrous lineage in every movement,
every gesture, every word. Blood
will tell, and it spoke its own em-
blazoned story in the winsome ele-
gance of this "rare bit o' woman-
kind."

Mr. Price laughed and talked,
and narrated piquant anecdotes,
and kept Miss Finche well in hand,
causing the host " all the time " to
indulge in a vast, expansive smile.
Finche was getting the value of his
mutton and his claret out of his
friend's friend. He was satisfied.
After dinner the young ladies re-
turned to the Queen Anne porch,
while the waspish hostess proceed-
ed to take forty wide-awake winks
We mankind talked generally, and,
although pressed to remain at our
wine, Price and I were glad to get
from beyond the range of our host's
perpetual " values."

As we were seated upon the
wooden steps at the feet of the fair
ones, gazing out across the wide,
wide ocean, gilded with the expiring
rays of the setting sun, and cano-
pied by a sky of pale blue merging
into delicate green, and again into
white, the lich-gate swung back
and Grey Seymour swung in.

" What a glorious evening ! Are
you for a walk on the cliff?" asked
the new-comer, eyeing Price and
myself as he spoke. " How do ?"
he added, addressing me.

526

My Friend Mr. Price.

" Mr. Seymour, Mr. Price," said
Miss Finche, while the two men
nodded stiffly.

"A walk on the cliff, by all
means; don't you think so,
Maude?" asked Miss Finche, ad-
dressing Miss Neville.

" Comme vous voulez."

" Let's go as we are."

We sallied forth.

" What a nuisance, this fellow's
turning up!" whispered Price an-
grily. "I shall have to fall
back."

Seymour and Miss Finche led
the way. I did the elderly and
protecting party.

"I place them in your charge,"
were the parting words of mine
host. " The youngsters will take
value out of one another; you take
value out of the whole lot."

I dropped behind, and proceed-
ed to enjoy the glories of the night
in my own way. Soon came that
entrancing blue light which steals
in between day and dark, and the
stars began to throb in the great
canopy, and that " hush " which
Night sends as her envoy to earth
was passing over hill and holjiow,
and land and sea.

I sat down in a little nook on
the cliff a corner that seemed al-
most clean out of the world, and as
if the earth had suddenly ended
there, I thought over many things,
and in the bizarre reflections con-
sequent upon the adventures of the
day came a dreamy sensation of
admiration for the fair young girl
whom destiny had thrown beneath
the roof-tree of my friend Wilson
Finche. I felt strangely interested
in her already. Why, I did not
ask myself. She was a blaze of
intelligence, a mine of intellectual
wealth. I do not mean for one
second to say that she was a ge-
nius, but there was a tone of high

culture about her that shed itself
like a fragrant perfume.

Miss Finche appeared to me to be
a very nice, ladylike, ordinary class
of girl one of those patent-man-
nered, wafranted-to-go-well sort
of young ladies who rove at their
sweet wild will in the garden of
society ; but beside Miss Neville
she was absolutely colorless.

I sat thinking over the strange
freaks of fortune, that give thou-
sands of dollars to some girls, leav-
ing others without a dime, when
the sound of approaching voices
scattered my reverie to the night
breeze that gently fanned my pep-
per and salt too much salt whisk-
ers. I was in a hollow beneath the
cliff. The speakers were Grey
Seymour and Hattie Finche.

Miss Finche's tone was cold and
resolute.

" I do not love you, Mr. Sey-
mour. I never could. I will not
hold out a particle of hope."

" Don't say that, Hattie any-
thing but that. Hope is all I have
to live for, 1 ' he cried in a quivering,
agonized way that made me sad to
hear.

" I tell you fairly I can give you
no hope."

" Try and love me. I can make
life a dream to you. Your every
wish shall be gratified. My whole
time shall be spent in anticipating
your lightest fancy. O Hattie !
do not drive me to despair, despe-
ration."

She was silent. They had stop-
ped right opposite to where I sat
concealed. I frankly confess I
was too "much interested to think
of making my proximity known.
It was a mean thing to remain
where I was. I reproach myself
while I write.

" I do not care for your money,"
he raved on. "I have millions, ay,

My Friend Mr. Price.

527

millions at my command, and those
millions shall be spent to make
your life an idyl."

" Did I not tell you that I could
not care for you last season ? Did
I not repeat it at Martha's Vine-
' yard two weeks ago ? Now I re-
peat it again and for the last time.
Let us be friends."

" Friends !" he bitterly cried.

"Yes, friends, and good friends.
Why not? In a short time you
will wonder you ever were in love
with me, and "

" Never !" he burst in.

"Oh! yes, you will. And, what
is more, you will fall in love with
somebody else."

" Do you wish to drive me
mad ?"

" On the contrary, I wish to bring
you to your senses. Listen to me
calmly."

"I cannot."

" But you must. This passion
of yours is a boyish love."

" It is my life."

" Nothing of the kind. I don't
want your love. I could not re-
turn it."

" But you won't try."

" I will not indeed. I am selfish
enough to care for my own happi-
ness, and my happiness that is, the
matrimonial part of it does not lie
with you. You are very fond of
me ?"

(> T

" Now, don't rhapsodize. You
would do a good deal to make me
happy ?"

"Anything."

" Would you be willing to make
a sacrifice for me, if 'I earnestly
asked you ?"

" Try me, Hattie !"

" Well, then, I'll put you to the
test."

" Do," firmly, resolutely.

"You know 'Maude Neville. She

is young, beautiful, penniless. She
hasn't a friend in the world. Be
her friend."

"What am I to do?"

" Marry her."

There was a sound as though he
had sprung backwards.

"This is insolence, Hattie," he
exclaimed hotly.

" Don't be silly," coolly observed
Miss Finche, and I heard no more,
for they had moved onwards.

This was a strange experience
a woman refusing a man, and then
asking him to make love to another.
I had read much of the doings of
the sex, but this situation beat any-
thing I had ever seen on the stage.
Miss Finche's evident self-posses-
sion, not a ripple in her voice, told
how truly she spoke when she told
the luckless love-sick youth she did
not care for him, while the cool-
ness, not to say the audacity, of the
proposition almost staggered me.
And Miss Neville was not she to
be consulted in the business? I
was very much mistaken in my es-
timate of that young lady if she
would haul down her colors at the
bidding of any captain afloat, if
she had not a mind so to do her-
self.

When I arrived, all alone, at the
cottage, it was to find Miss Finche
flirting heavily with Mr. Herbert
Price, Miss Neville playing a bril-
liant fantasia of Chopin's upon the
piano, and, mirabile dictu, Mr. Grey
Seymour, his face, his neck, his
ears in a rosy glow, leaning over
her and turning the leaves of the
music. Could he have pshaw !
impossible.

" You know Mrs. Dyke Howell ?"
was Mr. Price's observation, as we
turned out of Sea View Cottage on
our way to the Ocean House.
" Very slightly."
" But you do know her?"

528

My Friend Mr* Price.

_" Well yes."

""You'll get me a card for her
garden party to-morrow ?"

"Well, considering that I haven't
got one for myself, I "

" That's nothing to the point. A
man can ask a favor for a friend
he wouldn't ask for himself, you
know."

" But you are not my friend."

" I mean to be, though. Friend-
ship must begin somewhere, and ours
flourishes like Jack's bean-stalk."

" Ton my word, I "

" There, now, you'll write for the
card to-night: * Mr. John V. Crosse
presents his compliments to Mrs.
Dyke Howell, and would feel much
obliged for an invitation for an
English friend' it looks well to
have an English friend ' for _ her
garden party to-morrow,' or words
to that effect. We'll send it off to-
night, and you see, old man, it will
get you an invitation as well."

" You are the coolest hand I ever
even read of."

' Must be. My godmother's
legacy, like Bob Acre's courage, is
oozing out at my fingers' ends, and
I've nothing but my return ticket
and my audacity to look to. Come,
now, Crosse, don't do things by
halves. You've introduced me to
a very nice family. Can't say I
admire my mother-in-law. What
son-in-law does, though ? The old
boy is no end of a bore, but Hattie
is all there."

*' I did not introduce you, Mr.
Price; you introduced yourself."

" Never could have done it but for
you ; trgo, logically, you introduced
me."

To my shame be it said, I wrote
a note from the Ocean House to
Mrs. Dyke Howell, a haughty lady
of cadaverous aspect, and a nose re-
sembling that of the late Duke of
Wellington, who believed in that

small monarchy called Knicker-
bockerdom, and in everything high,
and mighty, and fashionable.

The cards came without note or
comment, and my friend Price and
I started for Hawthorndale. He
wore a frock-coat that, even irritat-
ed as I was, evoked admiring com-
ment, and a tall hat so shiny that I
felt I could have shaved by it.

Before starting I telegraphed to
Sir Harvey Price, Bart., Holten
Moat, Sevenoaks, Kent, England,
in the following words :

" Is your son Herbert in America? Is
he a "barrister? Describe him. Of the
utmost importance. Telegraph instant-
ly to

"J. V. CROSSE, Ocean House,
"Newport, R. I., U. S. A."

I chuckled as I handed over my
greenbacks.

" He doesn't think I've taken him
at his word. A few hours will un-
riddle him," were my thoughts as
we emerged from the hotel. I had
seen Grey Seymour that morning
en route to bathe. There were
black shadows beneath his eyes,
and the great brightness which I
had so much admired the day be-
fore had faded out of his face.
What was the issue of that most
remarkable conversation ?

He was the first person I en-
countered after passing through
the icy fingers of Mrs. Dyke
Howell, and much of the old look
had returned.

" Have you seen the Finches ?"
he asked.

" No."

" By the way, who is your friend
Mr. Price ?"

" He's no particular friend of
mine merely a travellingacquaint-
ance. He's a member of the Eng-
lish bar, and very clever." This
latter assertion I believed in my
heart.

My Friend Mr. Price.

529

"Is he rich?"

"Oh! dear, no."

" Unmarried ?"

"Yes. That is, I believe so."

" I see him here to-day. I sup-
pose Mrs. Howell knows him."

I was considerably relieved when
young Road well, of the Coaching
Club, cut in with a query as to a pair
of roans which Seymour was about
to put under the hammer, and left
the pair diving " full fathom five "
into the mysteries of horse-flesh.

The Finches arrived later on in
full force Mrs. Finche in yellow
and green and red like a mayon-
naise of lobster; Hattie in float-
ing white; Maude Neville in black
and orange. My friend Price
clung to Miss Finche's side like her
breloqtiet, while Grey Seymour
seemed to devote himself to the
brunette.

" Ma fat," thought I, "can the
convocation of last night have so
soon borne fruit ? It would not
be difficult to fall in love with Miss
Neville, but the falling out of it
first is the trouble."

I did not see Price until eleven
o'clock that night. He had gone
home with the Finches I was left
out in the cold and returned to
the hotel in splendid spirits.

" Anybody there ?" I asked with
assumed carelessness.

" Nobody but Seymour."

" Ah ! Spooning over Miss
Finche?"

"Not a bit of it; it's over the
other one. He was with her all day
to-day, and by Jove ! sir, to-night
they were on the balcony doing
moonlight like anything."

"Where is he? Did you leave
him behind you ?"

" No ; we left together, but he
didn't seem to want me, and "

"And did you see that?" I
sneered.

VOL. xxvii. 34

" Why, of course I did. / wasn't
going to do The Cliffs at this hour.
I prefer my cigar on the piazza
here."

I did not see either of my gentle-
men the following day. save in a
casual way. Seymour appeared to
be picking up his good looks, and
as the table to which I was rele-
gated was within range of his qiiar-
tier, I could perceive, from the flo-
tilla of plates and dishes around
him at breakfast, that his rejection
by Hattie Finche had in nowise
impaired his appetite.

I was in love once, twenty-five
years ago, and I lived on it. A
sweet cake and a glass of cham-
pagne twice a day kept me in the
flesh. I wouldn't undertake to try
that "little game" again. Judging
from my own symptoms at that
critical period of my existence, I
fairly argued that Grey Seymour
had either over-l^ed his passion
for the heiress, that he was off
with the old love and on to the
new, or that his mistress and he
had come to an understanding
after they had passed beyond my
coigne of vantage. I must own I
was " sairly and fairly" puzzled.
The reply to my cablegram was
anxiously awaited. Properly speak-
ing, it was due upon the evening of
the day on which I set the wires
in motion. Allowing for the differ-
ence in time between Newport and
London, say six hours and a half,
and having despatched it at 9 A.M.,
I might fairly have reckoned on a
reply that night. The Moat, how-
ever, was some little distance from
Sevenoaks, so I shouldn't be ut-
terly disappointed were forty-eight
hours to elapse ere tidings would
reach me. As it was, however, the
appearance of every despatch boy
sent a thrill of expectation through
me, and a pang of corresponding

530

My Friend Mr. Price.

disappointment when I sought the
message on the rack under the
letter C.

It was upon the second morning
that Price came down to breakfast
arrayed in nautical costume, deep,
dark, desperate blue flannel, with a
superb Marechal Niel rosebud in
his button-hole, and a genuine air
of festivity in his whole appearance.

" What mischief are you up to
to-day ?" I asked.

" A sail with my friends the
Finches."

" My friends, if you please, Mr.
Price."

" To be sure ; I quite forgot.
Doosid nice people. I say, I am
making the running, and I mean to
win, as we say in the race-course,
4 hands down.' "

" Ahem ! It doesn't follow that
if you win the daughter you'll get
over the father," I observed with a
knowing air. .5% ...

" Oh ! I'm not going to trouble
myself about him. You'll square
him for me."

" What do you mean, Mr. Price ?"
almost aghast at this cdol impu-
dence.

" 1 mean that old fogies under-
stand one another. You'll rub it
into him that I am a man of consi-
derable genius; of keen percep-
tion, calm deliberation ; in the ha-
bit of hand-balancing conflicting
propositions, a brilliant orator, and
that I have tact, which is better
than talent, and audacity, which is
better than either or both."

" If I were to speak about you at
all to my friend Mr. Finche, I should
certainly pay a glowing tribute to
this last quality," sneeringly.

" That's a good fellow. You're
a brick of the most adhesive qua-
lity. You go for Finche when I
give you the word. I mean to pop
for Hattie the first good chance."

" Well, really, I"

" I know what you're going to
say : ' Man is man and master of his
fate.' Shakspere says 'sometimes.'
I mean to play the waiting race.
The man who can afford it gets
three to one in his favor. I can
only be beaten by a dash-horse
now. Here comes the man whom
I imagined was the favorite, and he
is not entered for the race at all."

Grey Seymour joined us, also ar-
rayed in dark blue, a red rose in
his button-hole.

" These are our favors," laughed
Price : " Miss Finche yellow, Miss
Neville red.

" ' Oh ! my love is like a red, red rose that sweetly
blows in June !'"

And gaily humming that song which
Sims Reeves has made all his own,
he lounged out of the immense
salle a manger, casting criticising
glances en passant.

I am fond of the sea. I never
was sick in my life, and once upon
a time thought of running a saucy
schooner. Would I, like Paul Pry,
drop into this party with an " I
hope I don't intrude " ?

The hour was rapidly approach-
ing when I must take action with
reference to my friend Mr. Price.
He had entered Finche's house un-
der my agiS) and I was bound in
honor to protect Finche and Finche's
child. Yes, I would join the yacht
ing excursion bon gre" mal gre\ an
in a few straight words tell Wilso
Finche exactly how the land lay.

I donned a blue flannel suit n
man goes to Newport without one
and taking an old-fashioned tel
scope under my arm, went upon th
piazza to await the appearance
Grey Seymour, who was still occu
pied in going through the entir
menu for his matitudinal meal.

" A telegram for you, sir," sai
the clerk, as I passed the desk.

My Friend Mr. Price.

531

" At last," I muttered, as I tore
t open.

It was from Lady Price, and
dated Holten Moat :

" My son is in America. Barrister.
Tall, thin, dark. Black mole under left
ear. Scar on right wrist. Telegraph if
in trouble."

At that particular moment Mr,
Price appeared on the corridor, en-
gaged in chewing a tooth-pick.

I went to Ifim, and, without a
single word, seized his right hand,
baring his wrist. The scar was
there. I then wheeled him round,
and took a rapid and searching look
behind his left ear.

" Ah !" he laughed, " looking for
the macula maternal So you've
been telegraphing home, you in-
credulous old codger," scanning
the open telegram.

"Read it," I said. I should
mention that the black mole was in
its place.

"Why, you'll frighten the old
lady into fits. Write her at once,
Crosse, and tell her I'm as safe as
the milk in a cocoanut. Don't
spare your dollars, old man !"

When I left Newport the Finches
were still at Sea View Cottage, and
my friend Mr. Price on a visit in
the house. About six months later
I received cards to attend at the
nuptials of Miss Hattie Julia Maria
Anne Finche to Herbert Price. An
attack of the gout prevented my
putting in an appearance, but I
sent both bride and groom a little
present. To the daughter of my old
friend I gave a pearl necklace; to
his son-in-law a diamond ring, with
the words inscribed in raised let-
ters, " De raudact. Toujours de
Caudace.'"

I may mention that Grey Sey-
mour and his charming bride hon-
ored me with a visit some time
later on, en route to Europe.

532

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

THE PRINCIPLE OF BEATITUDE IN HUMAN NATURE.

ST. THOMAS defines beatitude, in
respect to man, to be "the perfect
good in which the natural tendency
of the human will to universal good
attains complete rest."* This is
beatitude objectively considered.
Subjectively, it is the actual frui-
tion consequent upon attainment,
and rest in the quiet possession, of
the perfect good which is the ob-
ject of volition. This fruition is an
immanent act within the nature of
the human subject, and must there-
fore proceed from a principle with-
in the human nature. Nature de-
notes the same thing with essence,
-expressing only as a distinctive
term its being a principle of activi-
ty. By reason of his essence, the
(human being has within him a
'principle by virtue of which he de-
sires, seeks, and is impelled by the
movement given him by his First
and Final Cause toward the attain-
tment of, beatitude. As intelligent,
universal truth is his object, to
which his intellect is connatural;
as volitive, universal good is his
object, to which his will naturally
corresponds.

The idea of universal good is
obviously the one which lies at the
foundation of this conception of bea-
titude. It is well known that the
notion of good as a universal is one
i of the transcendental predicates;
that is, of those which are outside
of everything which does or can
mark out any generic ratio, or di-
versity of kind between any exist-

* These are not ( the exact words, but they ex-
press the exact sense of St. Thomas in the following
passage : Beatitude est bonum perfectum quod to-
taliter quietat appetitum. . . . Objectum autem
voluntatis, quae est appetitus humanus, est umver-
sale bonum. Summa 77z., 4, ii. q. 2. a. 5.

ing or possible beings. Good is
not a genus or kind, in opposition
to some diverse genera or kinds
which are not good; and, a fortiori,
it is not a species, under which in-
dividuals are to be classed as spe-
cifically different, by the note of
goodness, from other individuals
who by their specific difference are
something else than good. It is
the species which completely de-
termines the essence of every exist-
ing thing, and the specific difference
which marks its essential unlike-
ness to other things whose essence
is other than its own. Therefore
no being can be essentially unlike
any other by reason of one being
good and the other somehow dis-
similar to good. The predicate of
good belongs to all genera, and, of
course, to all species and individ-
uals, as a universal notion tran-
scending all their respective deter-
mining notes, and identifying itself,
in the analogical sense proper t(
each of them, with all and singular
of these notes.

Good is whatever is consonant t(
nature, whatever is a perfection, 01
subserves to the conservation an<
increase of a perfection. It is c<
extensive with being, and identi-
cal with it, as are all the transcen-
dental notions, which merely pre-
sent the same object of thought un-
der various phases. Whatever ii
thinkable, as an object is an entity;
as having its own entity undivided
in itself and divided from every en-
tity other than itself, is a unity; as
an intelligible entity is a verity; as
containing in itself reason for the
volition that it should be what it is,
it is a good. All these notions are

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

533

contained in the notion of being,
and are as universal as being,
which has in opposition to it only
nothing, that is, no-being, no-one-
thing, no-true-thing, no-good, mere
negation and nullity.

We are at present concerned
only with actually existing rational
nature, in its relation to universal
being as the object of its volition,
or movement towards the universal
good in which it seeks for beati-
tude. Whatever is consonant to
rational nature, gives it perfection
or subserves to its perfection, is its
good. Good is being regarded in
its aspect as something desirable,
in which the will can rest with com-
placency. Every actual, concrete
essence is good, as such, because it
has being, and in so far as it has be-
ing; and it presents, therefore, an
object to the will which is desirable
and in which it can have compla-
cency. The rational nature is in
itself a good as an actual being, and
it is a good to itself, or, in other
words, it is a good for it that it
exists. The universe in which it
exists is all good in essence and
nature. Universal nature is in
consonance with itself, and its laws
tend to the perfection, conserva-
tion, and augmentation of being,
throughout its whole extent. The
movement of will in rational na-
ture toward the universal good is
only a higher kind and mode of an
operation which is common to all
nature. Things destitute of sense
are put into operation toward the
general end of the universe by
blind and fatal laws> which receive
their impulse and direction solely
from the will and motive power of
their creator. Those which have
sense but not reason are incited to
movement by a vital impulse and
the excitement of their sensitive
faculties by external objects. Ra-

tional nature moves itself by intelli-
gence and will toward the good
which is its object. Intellect has
for its connatural object universal
being as verity, and tends toward
an adequation between itself and
its object. So, likewise, the will in
respect to the good of being. This
adequation constitutes the beati-
tude of rational nature, and an ap-
proximation to it is an approach
toward beatitude which constitutes
a greater or lesser degree of im-
perfect felicity. The principle of
beatitude has therefore been point-
ed out and proved to exist in hu-
man nature. The intense longing
for it is matter of self-conscious-
ness to every human being. The
natural tendency and longing for
beatitude cannot have been im-
planted by the Creator in order to
be frustrated. There is no place
in the nature of things for any
other intention and end of creation,
except to produce the good of be-
ing in all its grades and orders, ac-
cording to the determinate measure
prescribed by the divine intellect
and the divine will. The good of
inanimate nature necessarily falls
short of any final and complete
term in itself, because it does not
contain any faculty of apprehension
and complacency. Mere sensitive
apprehension and complacency in
living, irrational beings do not ad-
equately supply this deficiency, be-
cause they attain only to the low-
est and most imperfect good, in a
partial and deficient mode. All
nature below the rational, there-
fore, furnishes only an element, an
inchoate and incomplete material
substratum for the formal and com-
plete good of created being, which
can only possess a final actuality
and become an end in itself in
rational nature. Material beings
have only their own essence and

534

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

existence, which are exclusive and
isolated, determined by necessary
laws to merely extrinsic states and
movements, in which they are to-
tally inert. They have no return
upon themselves and no capacity
of receiving any other being into
their own. Therefore they can
have no self-consciousness or self-
activity, no cognition or senti-
ment. Sensitive beings have a par-
tial return upon themselves by
sensation and sensitive cognition,
and a limited self-activity. A spirit
returns upon itself with a complete
retroaction, and can receive other
beings into itself according to the
mode of the recipient, that is, ideal-
ly. It has therefore complete self-
consciousness and self-activity, in-
telligence and volition, and in the
human essence, by virtue of the
union of the rational part with the
animal, it has also a more perfect
kind of sensitive life. It appre-
hends and possesses its own being,
and universal being outside of
itself, as a verity by intelligence, as
a good by volition. When it is per-
fect and permanent in its natural
good, the possession of this good
is in itself beatitude. There is no
other term or effect which can pos-
sibly have the ratio of an end to the
intention of the Creator in the cre-
ative act, for it is the only complete
and final good of being. Created
being is nothing but a participation
of the uncreated and necessary be-
ing, and an imitation of it in the
finite order. Finite beatitude is,
therefore, a participation of the in-
finite beatitude of the divine nature,
and an imitation of it. God alone is
THE BEING, who existsbyhis essence,
and possesses being absolutely and
in plenitude. In the same sense in
which He alone is, whose Name is
EGO SUM QUI SUM, He alone is good
and He alone is blessed. That is,

He alone is good by his essence
actually and in plenitude, and is
alone by his essence possessed of
the plenitude of blessedness.

Boethius defines the eternity of
God as "the perfect possession, all
at once, of boundless life." This
may answer as a definition of the
beatitude of God. His bei<pg is
living being, in all respects bound-
less, and so absolutely in act that it
is incapable of any increase or di-
minution. The being of God is
essentially good, and an object of
complacency. The life of God
consists in the act of intelligence
and volition in which he knows and
wills his own being, as infinitely in-
telligible and infinitely desirable.
For God, to be and to live is to be
blessed. The vision of his own es-
sence presents to him an object of
infinite complacency in which his
will rests with a perfect and eternal
quietude. What his essence is, and
what that good is which constitutes
the infinite beatitude of God, we
cannot know except in an analogi-
cal manner. The universe of creat-
ed being is an image and imitation
of the divine essence. Whatever
being and good we can perceive in
the works of God we know must
have its archetype in the essence
of God, existing in a supereminent
mode and an infinite plenitude.
Created beauty is something whicl
being seen pleases, in which th<
will reposes with complacency whei
it is apprehended by the intellect.
Infinite, absolute, uncreated beaut)
must please infinitely the infinit
intelligence wh.ich beholds it by a
comprehensive vision. This is the
nearest approach we can make to
a conception of the beatitude of
God.

The being of God is the archetype
and source of all created being,
and his infinite beatitude the arche-

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

535

type and source of all finite beati-
tude in created, intelligent beings.
Creation proceeds not from want but
from fulness of good in the infinite
Being; not from necessity but from
free volition. It is an overflow of
power, intelligence, and love, diffu-
sive of the good of being from the
boundless sea of the divine essence
into the streams which it fills. Its
ideal possibility is in the divine es-
sence as imitable, presenting to the
divine intelligence innumerable
terms of the divine omnipotence,
and to the divine will innumerable
objects of volition and complacency.
The act which brings it out of non-
existence into existence proceeds
from the three Persons of the Bless-
ed Trinity equally and indivisibly.
The origin of the creative act is in
the Father, the medium in the Son,
the consummation in the Holy Spi-
rit. The almighty word of intelli-
gence and volition calling the non-
existent universe into existence,
proceeding from the Father as the
origin of infinite and finite essence,
in the Word is the creative ideal
and measure of all the intelligible
and intelligent creation, in the
Spirit is the cause and principle of
all created good. The formal prin-
cipiation of the divine essence, pro-
ceeding from the Father and the
Son as its active principle, whose
term is the person of the Holy Spi-
rit, is pure Love. Love is the con-
summation of the infinite being of
God, and its eternal' efflorescence is
beatitude, the perfect possession of
boundless life which is a bound-
less good, totally, existing in a
present whose duration is without
any before or after, without begin-
ning or end or successive parts, and
unchangeable by any increase or
diminution. It is a maxim of phi-
losophy that operation is in accord-
ance with the nature of the opera-

tor. An artist produces a work
corresponding to the nature of his
art. The work of the Holy Spirit
is like himself. The divine essence
in his person being love, the con-
summation of the divine work in
creation effected by him must be
good ; and that good in its last
result is beatitude. He is " The
Lord and Giver of life." The life
of the intelligent creature is like
the life of God. He is finite, and
therefore his duration is not eterni-
ty. It has a beginning, and a be-
fore and after, and its totality is
not possessed all at once in
one present, but its parts succeed
each other without end. Although
he cannot possess his past and fu-
ture at one time, he possesses al-
ways his present, which glides with
him through all time, and is an imi-
tation of 'the eternal, ever-endur-
ing present of eternity. The per-
fect possession of all that consti-
tutes his life, without any fear of
losing it, constitutes his beatitude.
Divine love, diffusive of the good
of being out of its own plenitude,
can have no other end in creation,
in so far as this end is contained
within the creation itself, except
the beatitude of intellectual crea-
tures.

The idea from which creation
receives its form is in the Word,
and intellectual creatures are spe-
cially made in his image. In the In-
carnation, the Word united to his
divine nature a rational nature, con-
substantial with that which is com-
mon to the whole human race, and
allied generically to the highest as
well as to the lowest orders of cre-
ated beings, that is, both to the spi-
ritual and the corporeal extremes of
nature. The created nature thus
assumed into personal unity with
the divine nature in Immanuel,
who is the only-begotten Son of

536

TJie Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

God the Father from eternity, has
become the nature of God, and as
such entitled to receive from the
divine nature the communication
of its plenitude of being and of
good, in so far as this is communi-
cable in a finite mode and measure.
The Holy Spirit, who proceeds
from the Son, both in the eternal
order of the Trinity and in the tem-
poral order of creation, is commu-
nicated to the human nature of
Immanuel as the principle of life
and beatitude. The hypostatic
union of created and uncreated
nature in the person of Jesus
Christ is the masterpiece of the
Lord and Giver of life, the ulti-
mate term of his creative act. The
beatitude which he imparts to the
human nature of Jesus Christ is
the supreme participation of its
rational intelligence and will in the
divine act of comprehensive vision
of the divine essence and infinite
complacency in its absolute beauty,
which constitutes divine beatitude.
The angels were destined to the
same beatitude, and, those except-
ed who forfeited their right by sin-
ning, they have attained it. The
human race was created for the
same destination, and the elect will
receive their perfect consummation
in the same sempiternal glory and
blessedness which belongs of right
to the humanity of the Eternal Son,
on the day of the universal resur-
rection.

It is evident that this supernatu-
ral beatitude in God completely
fulfils the definition of beatitude
given by St. Thomas as bonum per-
fect urn quod totaliter quiet at appeti-
turn. The object of the rational
human appetite, that is, of the will,
is universal good, which is in God
in the most absolute and perfect
plenitude. But universal good is
also in creatures by participation,

and presents a proper object of
complacency to the will in perfect
harmony with its primary object of
beatific love. Our Lord Jesus
Christ in his human mind and hu-
man heart not only has the imme-
diate intuition of God and of all
things in God, together with the
love which accompanies this high-
est mode of knowledge, but also
the mode of knowledge and love
which is strictly natural. He de-
lights in the contemplation of the
beauty of his own human nature,
in the works which he performed
through it, in its dignity and exal-
tation, in the splendor of the Bless-
ed Virgin Mary, of the angels and
the saints, in his entire and univer-
sal kingdom both of mind and mat-
ter. He delights in loving his
companions in celestial glory, and
in receiving their love, in radiating
light and beauty and happiness all
around himself through countless
realms of space and numberless
multitudes of beings. His human
nature was not essentially changed
at the resurrection, but onlyglori-
fied. He has therefore that subli-
mated corporeal and sensitive life
which is proper to the nature
which he assumed, with the sensi-
tive cognition and enjoyment re-
sulting naturally from its attributes
and faculties.

The kingdom of heaven has
therefore its visible and natural as
well as its divine aspect. Natural
beatitude in the possession of uni-
versal created good, in the enjoy-
ment of the works of God, in sci-
ence, in the sentiment of the beau-
tiful in created objects, in activity,
in society and friendship, co-exists
with the uninterrupted contempla-
tion of flie divine essence, and the
perfect quietude of everlasting re-
pose on the bosom of God. The
quiet and repose of the spirit in

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

537

beatitude by no means signifies in-
action and the slumber of the fac-
ulties. God, who is immutable, is
most perfect act, and the first
mover of all things. The rest of
beatitude is in opposition to the
restless inquietude of a spirit which
has not found its equilibrium, and
is impelled by unsatisfied longings
to seek for its perfect good. Its
rest consists in its having found
its equilibrium in the stable pos-
session of the perfect good. But
the presence of the due object to
the intellect and the will calls forth
their most -perfect and intense ac-
tivity, and the very qualities of the
glorified bodies of the blessed
saints in heaven prove that they
also will be active, and not for ever
standing still in one posture or re-
clining indolently on grassy meads,
as some seem to imagine is the
Christian belief. It is indeed most
difficult to Torm any imaginary pic-
tures of the future life which are
in any way satisfactory to reason.
But whatever we can represent to
ourselves by such efforts which
can give some idea of a glory and
a beatitude worthy of rational be-
ings in a perfect state, assuredly
will be realized in a way far beyond
our conceptions.

The aim of the foregoing expo-
sition has been to prepare the way
for presenting, in the natural ele-
ment which exists in supernatural
beatitude, that which is the purely
natural good due to the intellectual
nature left to itself in its own na-
tive sphere, the underworld below
heaven. We call this sphere of
pure nature native to the intellec-
tual nature in general, because it
belongs there by virtue of its es-
sential being, prescinding from any
higher destination given to it gra-
tuitously, whether simultaneously
with its original creation or subse-

quently to it. It is an underworld
relatively to the supernatural order
whose last complement is in the
hypostatic union realized in the
Incarnation. The state of pure
nature in respect to the only spe-
cies of simply intellectual or ra-
tional creatures known to us, is
treated by Catholic theologians in
a merely hypothetical manner; as
a possible state, in which angels
and men might have been consti-
tuted by the Creator, or in which
he could, if he pleased, place other
beings generically similar to angels
or men, in other spheres of the
universe which are distinct from
our earth and the celestial abode
of the angels. Whether there are
now or ever will be such beings,
inhabiting the numerous worlds
with which the vast extent of real
space is filled, can only be matter
of conjecture. But the human spe-
cies, and the hierarchy of pure
spirits with which it is in present
relation, were destined for the su-
pernatural order immediately de-
pending from the royal seat of
Immanuel, the sovereign head of
the host of deified intelligences, as
its centre. In respect to the hu-
man race, therefore, the state of
pure nature is presented under an-
other aspect as a state of lapsed
nature, and the sphere of the un-
derworld is its native sphere actu-
ally and by virtue of natural gene-
ration, by reason of a fall and a
sentence of deprivation. On this
account, the permanent future state
of all human beings who are finally
excluded from heaven, in Christian
eschatology is primarily consider-
ed as a state of loss. Whatever
felicity is possible in this state ap-
pears as something remaining from
the original destination of man-
kind, and not as the complete good
of human beatitude. For this rea-

538

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

son, \ve have presented first the
total ratio of beatitude in respect
to human destiny, before consider-
ing what remains after the sum of
sup'ernatural good has been de-
ducted.

Substantially, the state of lapsed
nature as denuded is the same
with pure or nude nature. The
question of the object and nature
of pure natural beatitude is the one
to be decided, in order to deter-
mine what amount of good in the
endless life of human beings who
lack the beatific vision of God is
conceivable and possible. There
is only one serious difficulty in this
question. It arises from the con-
sideration of the very essence of
intelligence as related to the uni-
versal truth, and will as related to
the universal good. The intellect,
as such, by its very nature, seeks
for the deepest cause, and for an
adequation with the intelligible be-
ing of its universal object, and the
appetite of the will follows it.
How, then, can the intellect rest
in any object except the absolute,
necessary, infinite essence of God,
apprehended by a clear and imme-
diate intuition, or any other object
but this perfectly quiet the appe-
tite of the will ? It is evident
that if the intellectual nature, as
such, has in it an exigency and a
longing which cannot be satisfied
with any good to which its faculties
are commensurate, beatitude is
something essentially supernatural.
In this case, the natural order must
be merely inchoate, potential, need-
ing to be completed by the super-
natural. Intellectual beings could
not, then, be created for a purely
natural end and destiny; the only
end suitable and fit for them would
be that which reaches its consum-
mation in the beatific vision. De-
frauded of this in any way, even

Without any voluntary fault of
their own, they must be miserable
during eternity through the suffer-
ing of the pain of loss, or at least
continue for ever in a state of ar-
rested and imperfect development,
in which absence of suffering would
be due only to insensibility, with
an imperfect kind of felicity similar
to that which men possess in this
earthly condition, from the com-
mon enjoyments of human life.

We deny, however, that there is
any exigency in created nature for
the supernatural good. The diffi-
culty above stated, that God is
necessarily the supreme object of
the created intellect and the creat-
ed will, we answer as follows. In-
tellect, by nature, seeks God, ac-
cording to its own mode and mea-
sure. The operation of the will is
determined by the intellect. Nil
volitum nisi prius cognitjnn. The
divine intellect, which is the divine
essence considered as intelligent
subject, is in adequation with the
divine essence considered ns intel-
ligible object. God has immediate,
comprehensive cognition of him-
self by his essence. Every creat-
ed essence is infinitely different
from the divine, and therefore has
an operation intrinsically unequal
to the act in which the divine life
consists. Operatic sequitur esse.
The being of an intelligent crea-
ture is within the order of the
finite, of the imitated, participat-
ed existence, activity, enjoyment,
which is a diminished image of
the archetypal reality in the Crea-
tor. All this is within the circle
of nature, and when this circle is
perfect, including whatever belongs
to it, there is no exigency of any-
thing beyond. The knowledge of
God, not as he is in his essence,
within his circle of immanent be-
ing, but as he is in the terms of

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Natu

539

his creative act, in the universe, in
the intellectual light and intelligi-
ble essence of the created spirit
itself, is within the circle of nature.
As the Author of nature he is
knowable 'and lovable, by perfect
and well-ordered faculties of pure
nature without grace and without
defect. Natural beatitude does
not require the immediate and in-
tuitive, but only the mediate and
abstractive cognition and contem-
plation of God, and does not ex-
act any kind of union of the will
to God as the sovereign good, ex-
cept that which terminates by
natural sequence its own rightly
directed and completed sponta-
neous movement. Even now we
can find God by reason, and take
complacency in his perfections.
Much more can beings of a higher
perfection attain to the knowledge
of God in a manner proportionate to
their kind or degree of perfection,
and with a complacency correspond-
ing to their knowledge, if their intel-
ligence and will are rightly co-ordi-
nated, and directed toward their
proper object. As respects the
universal verity and good of being
in the created universe, there is no
difficulty whatever in supposing
that it can be attained within any
finite limits, in a state of pure
nature.

This inferior sphere of natural
beatitude being thus theoretically
possible, it is most reasonable to
suppose that all human beings who
at the general resurrection are dis-
possessed of any right to the king-
dom of heaven, and at the same
time free from all actual sin, re-
ceive their ultimate destination in
such a sphere. There is no reason
in the order of justice why they
should be deprived of any perfec-
tion or good of which they are na-
turally capable. In the " restitu-

tion of all things," the
GTaGiS, there will be no deordina-
tion left in the universe, and no
imperfection of order belonging to
an inchoate condition of nature.
Venit dies, dies tua, in qua reflorent
omnia. Inanimate creation will be-
come resplendent with the beau-
ty which the last touches of the
divine Artist have given to his con-
summate work. The influence of
the life-giving Spirit will be poured
in a full torrent through all parts
of the universal realm of living
being. In this general restitution
we may be' certain that the thou-
sands of millions of human infants
who have never attained to the use
of reason in this world, and have
never received the grace of regene-
ration, will be raised up, by the
bounty of their Creator, in the full
perfection of their human nature,
both corporeal and intellectual, to
live for ever in the enjoyment of all
the good which is due to pure na-
ture, participating in their own in-
ferior degree in that excellence
and felicity which in its highest
perfection belongs to the blessed
in heaven as an adjunct of their
supernatural glory and beatitude.
Moreover, it is altogether congru-
ous to the order of redemption in
Jesus Christ, and probable, that
they will receive, in common with
the whole creation, their own spe-
cial benefit and increase of natural
good, through the Incarnation.
There is no obstacle in their na-
ture to the reception of any good
except that of the beatific vision.
They may, therefore, enjoy the vi-
sion of the glorified humanity of
the Lord, worship him and love
him as their creator and benefac-
tor, see and converse with the an-
gels and saints, and in every re-
spect enjoy a better and more de-
sirable immortality than that which

540

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature .^

would be possible in another sys-
tem of divine providence which did
not contain a supernatural order.

Besides those who die in infancy,
there are many adults who may be
considered as on the same level
with infants in respect to moral re-
sponsibility. Balmes proposes the
opinion that a large proportion of
the most ignorant and spiritually
undeveloped part of mankind, es-
pecially those who are born and
brought up in a low state of bar-
barism, never attain the rational
level of a well-instructed Christian
child of five or six years old, who,
nevertheless, is regarded in Catho-
lic theology as incapable of mor-
tal sin.* Among the whole multi-
tude of those who are destitute
of the ordinary means of salvation,
each and every individual either
has the use of reason sufficient-
ly for full moral responsibility, or
he has not. If he has not, he is,
in the moral relation, an infant,
at most capable of venial sin; but
if he has, either he has divine faith
sufficient for obtaining salvation,
or the sufficient grace and means
for attaining the faith, or neither
of these requisites for working out
his salvation by his own volun-
tary efforts. In this last case his
lack of faith is no sin, and he is
only accountable for the observ-
ance of the natural law accord-
ing to his own conscience. If he
keeps this natural law, he is sub-
ject to no eternal penalty besides
the privation of supernatural bea-
titude. All men, therefore, who
really incur the responsibilities and
the risks of a moral probation,
have an opportunity of meriting
heaven, or at least of attaining that
natural felicity hereafter which is

* Melanges, French translation, vol. i. Essay
on the Maxim, No Salvation out of the Catholic
Church.

the lot of infants who die without
baptism.

From all these premises we de-
duce one general conclusion, that
the notion of a doom to everlasting
infelicity and misery, which is a
dire and inevitable calamity in-
volving the great mass of mankind,
by reason of the state in which
they are born into this life, is a
chimera of the imagination, and
not any part of the Catholic faith
or a just inference from any reveal-
ed doctrine. The sufferings of
those who have not deserved pun-
ishment by their own voluntary
transgressions of the divine law
are temporary, disciplinary, intend-
ed for a final good, and in the end
abundantly compensated. Many
of the sufferings which have the
nature of punishment are condon-
ed altogether, and many others are
temporary and in their last result
beneficial to those who are subject-
ed to their infliction. No rational
and immortal being is permanently
deprived of the proper perfection
and good of his nature by fate or
destiny, or by the arbitrary will of
the Creator and sovereign Lord of
the universe. The order of reason
and justice of itself produces only
universal good, and this universal
good embraces the private and
personal good of each individual
being, except in so far as he has
freely and wilfully made himself
unfit and unworthy to participate in
it. Eternal retribution is awarded
solely to personal merit or demerit
in proportion to its quantity. Out-
side of the order of just retribu-
tion, there is no action of God up-
on his creatures except that of pure
goodness and love, bestowing gra-
tuitously, unmitigated good without
any mixture of evil. The desire
for permanent beatitude in endless
life, and the natural principle of

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

541

beatitude implanted in every ra-
tional nature, are not frustrated
and thwarted through any deficien-
cy in nature, or failure of divine
Providence to carry out his origi-
nal design and intention to its com-
plete and ultimate term. The
only failure is in the free and con-
creative cause to which God has
given dominion over itself and its
acts and the effects of those acts,
with power to produce in prescrib-
ed limits as much or as little good
as it chooses. This free cause is
free-will, which is the only cause,
in every rational creature finally de-
prived of his original right to bea-
titude, of the state of irreparable
privation in which he is placed by
the " restitution of all things."
The restitution brings all nature
into order and to perfection, in so
far as each thing in nature is re-
ceptive of its proportionate good.
Rational nature is receptive ac-
cording to its rational appetite or
the attitude of the will. Those ra-
tional-beings who have determined
themselves to a state of volition
contrary to the order of reason and
justice are, in so far as they are af-
fected by this state, receptive only
of a violent reaction of order
against their will, repressing and
confining their inclination to a per-
verse activity. The privation of
beatitude is co-extensive with the
contrariety between the will and
the permanent, irreversible order
of reason; and this contrariety is
proportional to the misuse of free-
will by sinning during the term of
probation. Their evil is nothing
but spoiled good, and they are
themselves the spoilers. It is
through no defect of goodness in
God, or deficiency of good in the
order of nature, that they are what
they are. Every thing and every
person in this order is in the right

place and the due relation, accord-
ing to the highest reason and the
most perfect justice. God has
made all things well, they are what
they ought to be, and there is no
flaw or defect in the bonum hones-
turn of the universe. God must
take complacency in the fulfilment
of his own wise and just will, and
every rational being must concur
with intellect and will in that which
God wills. This is precisely what
St. Thomas affirms when he says
that the beatitude of the just will
be increased by their knowledge of
the eternal punishment of sinners,
and there is no sense or reason in
the diatribes of rationalists against
him or any other theologian who
does not overpass the limits of Ca-
tholic and rational doctrine on this
head.

Another conclusion which may
be reasonably deduced from sound
theological principles and probable
opinions is, that the majority of
mankind, and of rational beings in
general, are in a state of perpetual
felicity in the world to come.
There is no reason whatever for
supposing that more than a third
part of the angels fell with Lucifer.
It is probable that the greater num-
ber of adults who live and die in
the faith and communion of the
church are finally admitted into hea-
ven. We cannot deny that num-
bers of those who have lived under
the natural law, without any explicit
faith in Jesus Christ, have been
also saved by extraordinary grace.
Nor is it possible for us to deter-
mine what proportion of the great
mass remaining may eventually at-
tain some degree of inferior natural
felicity similar to that which is the
lot of infants dying in original sin.
The number of infants who have
received baptism and have died
before the use of reason at least

542

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

equals the number of the baptized
who have attained adult age, and
to these must be added all those
who died in infancy before the sac-
rament of baptism was instituted,
and had received remission of
original sin under the ancient cove-
nant of grace. The entire multi-
tude of infants who have died since
the beginning of the world at least
equals the number of adults, and it
is therefore certain that the majo-
rity of all human beings will possess
in the future life either supernatu-
ral or natural beatitude. There is
no reason, therefore, for the suppo-
sition that the Christian and Ca-
tholic doctrine represents the vast
majority of human beings as des-
tined to a state t)f everlasting mis-
ery. If any one is disposed to en-
tertain the hypothesis that the uni-
verse is filled with a multitude of
rational beings who are neither
angels nor men, whose number
bears a quantitative proportion to
the physical magnitude of the vast
cosmical system of the starry hea-
vens, there is as much reason for
supposing that they are all eternally
good and happy as for supposing
that they have existence. In re-
spect to mere extensive and nu-
merical quantity, the amount of
good resulting from the creative act
of God far surpasses the sum of
that possible additional good which
has been frustrated by the failure
of free, concreative causes to co-
operate with the first cause toward
the great, final end of creation.
In reality, the absolute, eternal de-
crees of God are not in any way
frustrated by the failure of a cer-
tain number of creatures to attain
the good for which they were des-
tined. They leave no gap in the
universal order which the foresight
of God has not filled up. Their
loss is exclusively their own, and

their sins have only furnished an
occasion for bringing out of the
evil which they have attempted a
far greater good than they could
have effected by a faithful co-opera-
tion with the .will of God, greater
glory to the Creator and to the
universe, more splendid merits in
the just, a more magnificent exhi-
bition of wisdom and love in the
cross, through which the divine
Redeemer of men triumphed over
sin and death. " He humbled
himself, becoming obedient unto
death, even the death of the cross.
Wherefore God hath also exalted
him, and hath given him a name
which is above every name : that
in the name of Jesus every knee
should bow, of those that are in
heaven, on earth, and in hell ; and
that every tongue should confess
that the Lord Jesus Christ is in the
glory of God the Father."* The
perfection of the whole creation, in
subordination to the sphere of su-
pernatural glory inhabited by the
sons of God, is also clearly declar-
ed by St. Paul to be a consequence
of the exaltation of Jesus Christ
through the cross. "For the ex-
pectation of the creature waiteth
for the revelation of the sons . of
God. For the creature was made
subject to vanity, not willingly, but
by reason of him that made it sub-
ject, in hope : because the creature
also itself shall be delivered from
the servitude of corruption into the
liberty of the glory of the children
of God. For we know that every
creature groaneth, and is in labor
even until now. And not only it,
but ourselves also, who have the
first fruits of the spirit, even we
ourselves groan within ourselves,
waiting for the adoption of the sons
of God, the redemption of our
body." f

* Philipp. ii. 8-1 x.

t Rom. viii. 19-33.

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

543

Satan himself, with all those
whom he lias seduced into sin in
the mad hope of thwarting the
divine work of the Incarnation, has
only contributed by his efforts to
destroy the universal order, under
the overmastering intelligence of
God, to increase its splendor. In
the end he will be found to have
wound himself up by going around
in his circuit. A few years ago
there was a bear in the Central
Park, who was permitted to live on
a grass-plat, fastened by a long
chain to a stake in the middle.
By going continually round and
round his post, he used to wind
himself up so tightly that he could
not stir. Satan is like this bear.
His great achievement, and master-
stroke of policy, was the crucifix-
ion of the Son of God, by which
he was exalted and obtained a
name above every name, before
which every knee /// hell shall bow
and every tongue confess that the
Lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of
God the Father. This is the one
great example of the universal ac-
tion of divine Providence in bring-
ing out of all evil a greater good
than that which the evil destroys
or prevents.

St. Paul anticipates an objection,
which is likely to occur to some
minds, in respect to the justice of
God in the unequal distribution
of grace, and the withholding of
mercy from those whom he permits
to work out their own final perdi-
tion. " Thou wilt therefore say to
me : Why doth he then find fault ?
For who resisteth his will ?" The
answer is a rebuke of the presump-
tion of those who pretend to dis-
pute the sovereign right and do-
minion of God over his creatures,
and thus in reality make the di-
vine Majesty subservient and re-
sponsible to his own subjects.

" O man, who art tho:i that repliest
against God? Shall the thing form-
ed say to him that formed it : Why
hast them made me thus ? Or hath
not the potter power over the clay,
of the same lump to make one ves-
sel unto honor and another to dis-
honor ?" * The whole mass of man-
kind being destitute of any right
to supernatural grace and beati-
tude, there can be no complaint
against the sovereign will of God
for conferring the grace of regene-
ration upon some and withholding
it from others. None of those who
have made themselves positively
unworthy of everlasting glory by
their sins are entitled to mercy.
That God withheld all hope of par-
don from the fallen angels and gave
that hope to men, that to some sin-
ful men he gives more grace than
to others, and that he compels
those who rebel against him to
glorify him against their will "in
their own defeat and the over-
throw of all their plans, is no
ground of complaint against the
divine justice. "Jacob I have lov-
ed, but Esau I have hated " ; that
is, loved less, and excluded from
certain special, gratuitous bless-
ings bestowed on Jacob. " What
shall we say then ? Is there in-
justice with God? God forbid 7"
No creature is made to suffer with-
out sufficient reason or deprived of
any natural or acquired right. But
in respect to gratuitous gifts, and
especially graces conferred upon
the unworthy, God is absolute
master. " For he saith to Moses :
I will have mercy on whom I will
have mercy." It enters into the
very notion of grace and mercy
that they should be purely gratui-
tous. The whole order of grace in
respect both to angels and men is
purely gratuitous. It is therefore

* Rom. ix. 19-21.

544

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

absurd to argue from the justice
and goodness of God, and from the
superabundant mercy which he
shows toward sinners in this world,
especially when they are within his
special circle of grace, the Catholic
Church, that he will give grace or
show mercy after the day of judg-
ment, in derogation of the order of
justice. It was a purely gratui-
tous act of goodness in God to
elevate human nature by the hypo-
static union, and to give angels and
men a share in the privileges of the
sacred humanity. The rewards
conferred on merit in this order
are indeed rewards of justice, but
the whole basis of the justice by
which glory is proportioned to
merit is laid in a gratuitous grant
of the very conditions of merit, the
grace which made it possible, and
the promise of reward on which the
title to the kingdom of heaven
rests. Absolute, indefeasible, per-
sonal right to the glory of heaven
does not exist except in Jesus
Christ the Lord, who is a divine
person, and whose merits are infi-
nite and equal to all the benefits
conferred by the Father upon crea-
tion.. The rights of all those who
share with him, the Blessed Virgin
Mary included, have been confer-
red by him upon them. The bea-
tific vision is a pure boon of good-
ness to every creature who attains
its possession. All might have
been left in their natural state
without any possibility of attaining
it, without any derogation of the
order of eternal law in respect to
intellectual nature. There is no
reason, therefore, why the number
of the elect, once completed, should
ever be increased, or the gates of
heaven reopened to admit new
citizens and princes of the celestial
Jerusalem. Those who have never
forfeited a right to admission

through their own fault have no
reason to bewail their exclusion.

Those who have lost their right
cannot possibly hope to recover it,
because they are left in their de-
spoiled nature, utterly impotent to
turn back toward the supernatural
good, deprived of all grace and be-
yond the reach of the economy of
mercy, which has passed away for
ever. In respect to supernatural
life they are dead, and as incapa-
ble of resuscitation by any effort of
their own as a corpse is incapable
of repossessing itself of the soul
which has departed from it. The
is not a resurrec-

tion to spiritual life in grace, for
this belongs to the preceding, ini-
tial order of regeneration which
has terminated with the end of the
present world. The bodily resur-
rection and restitution of nature
gives only to human beings the
complement of the life which they
already possess, whether superna-
tural or merely natural, and to the
physical universe its complement
of perfection in the eternal order.
The angels remain intrinsically un-
changed in their spiritual, incor-
ruptible nature, as God made them
in the beginning. The holy angels
continue in the possession of the
supernatural mode of being which
they acquired by their free and
active co-operation with grace, be-
fore the probation of man com-
menced, without any increase of
essential glory and beatitude. The
fallen angels remain in the state
into which they voluntarily preci-
pitated themselves at the same
time. The change which takes
place at the end of human proba-
tion is, for the angels, only extrin-
sic. The holy angels cease to com-
bat with the demons, and to minis-
ter in the economy of redemption.
The demons are compelled to de-

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

545

sist from their war against Iraina-
nael and his kingdom, and are re-
legated to their destined abode.
All human beings are placed in the
state and condition in which they
are to remain for ever, those who
have followed the demons in their
rebellion in a state similar to theirs,
as those who have obeyed God are
in a state similar to that of the
holy angels. It is this part of the
Christian doctrine which Origen
wholly misunderstood. He may
be excused, from wilful and contu-
macious heresy, on account of the
paucity of means at his command
for learning the complete doctrine
of the apostles, and the modest, hy-
pothetical manner in which he pro*
posed his erratic theories. We may
also give him the benefit of the
doubt respecting the entire purport
of what he really and persistently
did teach out of all that mass of
wholly uncatholic and in a great
measure absurd opinions, so justly
condemned by the patriarchal sy-
nod at Constantinople in its fifteen
anathematisms, and in a general
way by several subsequent oecu-
menical councils. It is impossible
to doubt, however, that one funda-
mentally erroneous conception was
fixed in his mind, and gave occa-
sion to the fanciful hypotheses of
aeons and ages, and transitions of
spirits up and down through the
scale of being. This conception
was an exaggeration of the freedom
of will inherent in rational nature.
Because no creature is either holy
or wicked by his essence, but every
one is capable of good or evil, he
argued the perpetual flexibility and
vertibility of free-will between good
and evil. Permanence in good
must therefore be attributed only
to a habit of right determination,
and permanence in sin to an oppo-
site habit or obstinacy of purpose
VOL. xxvii. 35

to do wrong. Perhaps his various
and apparently conflicting state-
ments can be reconciled, if we
suppose that he admitted the ac-
tual perseverance of some in holi-
ness through a kind of moral im-
peccability acquired by long and
persistent efforts, with a conse-
quent eternity of unchangeable bea-
titude; and an opposite state of
irreclaimable perverseness in others
with everlasting misery as its ne-
cessary penalty. Those who are
in the middle between these two
extremes are then variable, vacil-
lating between the opposite poles
of moral good and evil, happiness
and infelicity, at least during inde-
finite periods of duration. Our
modern rationalistic Christians to
a certain extent are involved in
the same imperfect philosophical
notions which Origen, in the lack
of a Christian philosophy, borrowed
from Neo-Platonism. They do not
understand the nature of grace,,
which gives immutable holiness-
and impeccability as a perfection
to a created essence which in it-
self is capable of defect. Hence,,
they cannot get a clear idea of a
permanent state of indefectibility
in good except as a moral habit
resulting from a series of acts.
Nor can they understand the op-
posite state of deficiency and pri-
vation as something permanent in
itself, apart from the habit of sin-
ning which has been contracted!
by acts of sin and may be removed!
by contrary acts under the influ-
ence of moral discipline. They
choose to consider the state of
those who become perfectly good>
here or hereafter, and attain the
felicity of heaven, as something
fixed, because it is agreeable to the
feelings to think so. They also
strive to make the prospects of
those who are not very good, and

546

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

even of those who are very bad, as
hopeful as possible, in view of a
certain, or probable, or at least
possible, future conversion at a
more or less remote seonian period,
because it is likewise agreeable to
the feelings to anticipate this hap-
py change. Moreover, they are
very willing to accept the teaching
of the Bible and the Christian tra-
dition concerning the eternity of
heaven, without seeking too anx-
iously for metaphysical or moral
-demonstration of its intrinsic cre-
dibility, because it satisfies the na-
tural desire of the heart for perfect
:good. We do not deny that there
is some truth in their reasonings
concerning acquired habits of vir-
nue and vice, but they are defective
;as an argument for the determina-
tion of the future destiny of souls.
'The certainty of a fixed and immu-
table state of sanctity and beati-
vtude for the just in heaven does
mot depend either on these reason-
rings, or on an exegetical and criti-
-cal interpretation of certain words
in Holy Scripture. It has a deeper
-.foundation. The human soul of
Jesus Christ is impeccable because
of its indissoluble union with the
divine nature in his person. The
.angels and saints are impeccable
ibecause they also are united to
k God by an indissoluble union. The
Holy Spirit is in them as the prin-
ciple of their spiritual life. They
Hove God above all things by a
ihappy necessity, and their intuitive
vision of his essence, the infinite
igood, with the perfect quietude of
the will in the enjoyment of this
: good, raises them above all possi-
bility of attraction toward any ob-
ject which could allure them from
their willing worship and allegiance
to their sovereign Lord. More-
over, they actually possess the in-
ferior good iiv the most perfect

manner, witli an unbounded liberty
to follow all their inclinations, which
are all innocent, in conformity to
reason, and identical with the will
of God. The indestructibility and
immortality which belong to their
essence as spirits, by nature, per-
vades their entire actual being with
all its accidents, so that they are
incapable of suffering any dete-
rioration or injury.

In the natural order of beatitude,
the perfect intellectual cognition of
God accompanied by perfect natu-
ral love to him as the most perfect
being, together with the complete
possession of all connatural good,
removes all tendency to evil. Na-
ture seeks good by a necessary law,
rational nature by its spontaneous,
voluntary movement. No rational
being seeks evil gratuitously or for
the sake of evil, but only under the
aspect of good, not subratione mail
but sub ratione boni. Where no illu-
sion is possible, no sin is possible.
Liberty of choice between the con-
traries of good and evil is not in-
trinsic to liberty of will, or a per-
fection of liberty, but a defect. It
belongs to a defective order and
to a defective subject, an order of
probation and a subject placed un-
der a trial of his obedience. The
order and the subject are arranged
to suit each other. The subject is
required to move toward his end
by using his reason and will rightly,
and concurring with the Creator in
bringing the inchoate order of cre-
ation to its due perfection. The
order is such that it is not yet per-
fect, but capable of being made so
by the operation of free, intelligent
beings upon it. When the time of
the end is reached, in the anona-
rdffTaffiZ, this moral order is su-
perseded ; there is nothing which
can be injured or abused or misdi-
rected. Intelligent creatures which

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

54;

are made perfect have no more
scope for election between contra-
ries ; their spontaneous and volun-
tary action is necessarily toward
the true, universal good, and their
liberty of choice has no possible
terms which are not within the cir-
cle of order. They cannot think
or will otherwise than right, be-
cause they are perfect and all
things which come in contact with
them are perfect. In this way they
are brought into a similitude with
God. He is what he is by necessi-
ty of nature, though he is most pure
and simple act, wholly free from any
extrinsic limitation or intrinsic con-
tradiction to his will. He does
what he will beyond his own being,
but only that which is good. It is
a perfection of his will that he can-
not sin, as it is of his intellect that
he cannot err or be ignorant.
Falsehood and evil are nothing,
and cannot terminate a divine act.
Bonum ex integrd causa, maluni a
quovis defectu Good is from com-
plete cause, evil from any defect.
God is absolute, infinite, first cause,
and no defect in his causality is
possible. Second causes, when they
possess and exert their integral
causality, are deficient in nothing
which belongs to them. All those
beings which are constituted in
their ultimate perfection are in this
integral state, and therefore are
above all liability to evil through-
out eternity.

This flexibility and vertibility in
respect to good and evil, imagined
by Origen as perpetually inherent
in rational creatures, is a mere fig-
ment of his imperfect philosophy.
He had scarcely any books to read
which could help him to satisfy his
unbounded curiosity to penetrate
into the rational sense of the doc-
trines of revelation. Besides the
Scriptures themselves, there was

only pagan philosophy for him to
study. Our modern philosophers
have cast away the Catholic theo-
logy and philosophy, and strive to
reconstruct the higher science for
themselves, though with very poor
success. The old Protestant theolo-
gy was a doctrine of cruel, inexo-
rable fate, which suppressed all free-
dom and justice in the moral order.
The new theology which has sub-
verted it restores the freedom of
the will, and protests against the
gloomy exaggerations and perver-
sions of Christian dogmas which
make them incredible and insup-
portable. But, in the effort to sub-
stitute more rational ideas, it over-
throws or weakens the stability of
the whole order of creation in its
relation of dependence on the sov-
ereign power and will of God.
The wisest and most sober of
those who are seeking for some sta-
ble and certain doctrine regarding
the destiny of man and the final
cause of creation, confess that they
are in doubt and cannot solve the
most momentous of the problems
which force themselves on their at 1 -
ten lion. They never will find the
light of truth until they return to
the true church of Jesus Christ, and
by her lamp recover the lot clew
which guides the steps of the way*
farer through the labyrinth. The
one dark mystery which like a
cloud overshadows the bright
disc of light " which enlighteneth
every man coming into this world,"
the mystery of moral evil and its
punishment, cannot be ignored or
reasoned away. Catholic theology
does not create this mystery but
finds it existing. It cannot remove
it, but it, so to speak, absorbs it in
another, the mystery of moral pro-
bation. And this mystery, awful
as are the responsibilities and risks
which it presents to view as envi-

543

The Principle of Beatitude in Human Nature.

roning those beings who are called
to run and to contend for the su-
pernal prize upon the arena, has
in it more of light than of dark-
ness. It throws new splendor upon
the aTtoKaraGTaffiS in which the
order of reason and justice finally
and universally triumphs. Its dark
spot is reduced by the exposition
of .the atholic doctrine as authori-
tatively taught by the church, in
connection with certain or proba-
ble and permissible reasoning from
revealed or rational premises, to
its smallest limits. The gloom of
doom and fate in the destiny of ra-
tional beings is scattered like an
unwholesome mist from the swamps
of error, in the light of this doc-
trine. The universality and per-
petuity of the struggle and danger
of probation are reduced to the
limits of a relatively small number
and brief period of duration. The
numerical proportion of the losers
to the winners in the strife is re-
duced to the lowest terms which
are consistent with a fair and judi-
cious estimate of the probabilities
of the question. Moreover, the
multitude of beings, whether great-
er or lesser, who suffer eternal loss
as the penalty of their irreparable
failure, are not losers through mis-
chance or inferiority to competitors,
as in a strife where one person wins
at the expense of a less capable or
less fortunate rival. Neglect or
contempt of their own supreme
good, deliberate and wilful wasting
of their day of grace, are the sole
causes of their failure. Their loss
of beatitude is the penalty of their
demerit. It is equally proportion-
ed to their ill-desert, and this is
limited to the sins committed dur-
ing the time of probation which
have never been remitted. The
demerit of the angel which deter-
mines his eternal destiny is the de-

merit of one act only, the sin by
which he fell from grace. The de-
merit of the man is confined to the
sins of his mortal life un forgiven at
the moment when this life ceases.
The notion of an eternal increase
of demerit, and a corresponding
augmentation of torment without
end, is a mere human invention
without any foundation in Catholic
doctrine, God has set bounds to
the dangerous liberty of choice
between good and evil, and to the
evil as well as the good resulting
from its exercise. Hell can be-
come no worse than it is when the
last sentence of the Judge has been
pronounced, and the active hostil-
ity of the powers of hell against the
kingdom of God is suppressed for
ever when they are made to bend
the knee before the name of Jesus,
and to confess his glory. " Qui
crucem sanctatn subiit, infernum
confregit" The unending warfare
between good and evil, the per-
petual strife, the infinite series of
changes, the eternal fluctuations and
revolutions of Neo-Platonic philoso-
phy, are a wild dream. The inven-
tions and exaggerations and dis-
tortions produced by the working
of the human intellect and imagina-
tion upon a mystery of God, have
no value and are not to be con-
founded with the revealed truth
made known through the teachin
of the church. Clear and adequate
knowledge of the future life is re-
served for the future life. In the
obscurity of this present state we
not only have the veracity of God
as the motive and ground of faiih,
but also the perfect, unerring in-
telligence of the human soul of
Jesus Christ as the medium of
transmitting to us the revelation of
those things which are not seen but
believed, and its pure love for hu-
manity as the warrant of confidence

English Statesmen in Undress.

549

in the divine goodness. Human
reason and justice, impersonated in
their ideal and integral perfection
in union with the divine wisdom in
Immanuel, will be the standard
and measure of the final judgment

by which the destiny of all men
and all creatures will be determin-
ed for eternity. We need not have
any misgivings, lest the ways of
God should not be vindicated be-
fore the whole

ENGLISH STATESMEN IN UNDRESS.

EARL DERBY, JOHN BRIGHT, AND MR. GLADSTONE.

THE recent resignation of Earl
Derby was an act entirely charac-
teristic of the man. He is not at
all like Mr. Gradgrind, but he re-
minds one very forcibly of that un-
amiable stickler for, and worshipper
of, facts. Let one come to Earl
Derby with a new fact, or, better
still, with a new application of old
facts, and he is sure of a patient,
candid, and intelligent hearing ;
but if he approaches him with a the-
ory, or a sentiment, or a hypotheti-
cal conclusion based upon " ifs,"
Earl Derby will be as unresponsive
and immovable as a statue. His
ruling passion is to be, or at least
to appear, positively practical ; the
phrase most often on his lips is
"common sense." His illustrious
father was a writer of established
fame ; a gay man of the world ;
fond of society and proud of his
popularity with " the sex " ; a cap-
tivating orator and an extremely
skilful Parliamentary debater; more-
over, he did not disdain to stoop to
tricky devices when sober argument
and sound reason would not en-
sure success. The present Earl
Derby is prosaic to an almost pain-
ful degree ; he cares little for so-
ciety, and has not even "a redeem-
ing vice"; his political and per-
sonal honesty is unimpeachable;

he is as incapable of wilfully de-
ceiving or misleading a foreign
diplomatist as he would be of cheat-
ing his butcher; his speeches, in
and out of Parliament, are models
of wise d illness and calm force ;
they may in vain be searched
through and through for a flight of
fancy or an extravagant expression ;
and as for a joke his lordship, as
seen and heard in public, is appa-
rently incapable of either making
or understanding one. Sometimes
those listening to him are tempted
to laugh at him ; but he never in-
vites them to laugh with him. To
hear him discourse for forty min-
utes at a time upon the compara-
tive advantages of closed and open
sewers, or demonstrating, with ma-
thematical exactness, the superi-
ority of natural manure over artifi-
cial compounds, is instructive, but
it is not exhilarating. Lord Derby,
however, is not without ideas. It
was he who furnished Mr. Disraeli
with a popular cry in 1874, when,
hard pressed for a policy, and find-
ing that appeals concerning the
Straits of Malacca failed to fire the
popular heart, that versatile and
humorous statesman startled the
country by declaring that the most
pressing, inspiriting, and noble
duty of the government at that mor

550

English Statesmen in Undress.

ment was to improve the drainage
of the kingdom. This was Earl
Derby's happy thought, and Mr.
Disraeli was enraptured when, on
asking his lordship to put it in
shape, the latter proposed the for-
mula, " Sanitas sanitatum ; omnia
sanitas." There is a belief enter-
tained by some of Earl Derby's
more intimate friends that at heart
he is a sentimental, romantic, sus-
ceptible person, and that he is so
morbidly timid of being suspected
of such amiable weaknesses that he
has fabricated for himself an arti-
ficial disguise for public wear, in
which he may appear as the hard,
dry, prosy, unsentimental, matter-
of-fact business man. It does not
stand to reason, it is claimed, that
any man, and above. all an English
nobleman with practically bound-
less wealth, in the enjoyment of
vigorous health, and in the prime
of his life (he is now only fifty-two
years old), could possibly be so
preternaturally dry and skilfully
prosaic as is Lord Derby. " It
must be put on," they say, " to hide
the natural romance and tenderness
of his disposition "; and as one of
the proofs of the correctness ^of this
theory they relate the story of his
first and only love ; of its frustra-
tion by accidents not wholly be-
yond his control; of his long and
patient, but not hopeless, waiting
for the death of the rival who had
carried off the prize ; and of his
calm confidence, fully justified by
the result, that he in his turn
would win the lady. The story is
true; but it may bear a different
moral than the one assigned to it
by those who fancy that Earl
Derby, reversing the plan adopted
by Hamlet, has chosen to put a
solemn disposition on to hide the
antic joyousness of his real nature.
A sufficient acquaintance with Earl

Derby will establish the fact that,
if he wears a disguise, it fits him so
well that no one can detect the
imposition. He always seems to
be exactly the same ; never hot,
never cold, never excited, never
listless, attentive to everything that
is said to him, replying without
hesitation but without haste, most
often in words that might have
been cut and dried six months
before.

His resignation, as previously re-
marked, was entirely characteristic
of the man. He will not be led
along a tortuous path; and the
policy of Lord Beaconsfield on the
Eastern question has been very
crooked. Its very success depend-
ed on its crookedness. The two
earls are great friends; in fact,
Lord Beaconsfield would be guilty
of ingratitude if he should ever
cease to regard Lord Derby with
affection. Nor is it to be supposed
that Lord Beaconsfield is a whit
more patriotic than Derby, or that
he has a keener sense of what is
necessary for the safety of the em-
pire. The difference between them
is the difference between the dar-
ing yet keen speculator and the
staid and methodical merchant.
Lord Beaconsfield is sometimes
willing to try the hazard of the
die. Something may always turn
up ; there is the possibility of an
alliance with Austria; there is the
chance that Italy may be willing to
repeat the part that Sardinia play-
ed in 1854; it is on the cards that
the death of Bismarck or of the Em-
peror William may effect a radical
change in Germany's foreign poli-
cy ; it is possible that France may
be magnanimous enough to forget
how England left her naked to her
enemy in 1870, and that the allied
French and English armies may
again fight together in the Crimea.

English Statesmen in Undress.

551

Lord Beaconsfield is popularly sup-
posed to argue thus; but Lord
Derby is subject to no such illu-
sions. At least, he will take no
chances. He has no sentimental
horror of war, as John Bright has,
He would fight soon enough if he
saw his way. clearly to a success-
ful issue of the conflict; but he
does not see his way. For Eng-
land to enter single-handed into
an armed struggle with Russia
would in his opinion be mad-
ness; and he is convinced that she
cannot count upon a single ally.
It is true that some of the German
people are not much in love with
Russia ; but the German govern-
ment, Lord Derby affirms and he
ought to know is altogether on the
side of Russia, and an unkind neu-
trality is all that England can expect
from that source. As for France,
not a single French politician
would advocate an English alliance
for war; the Crimean War was never
popular in France, and the 100,000
French lives lost in that struggle
are still lamented. Sardinia, joined
England and France in the war of
1854 because she was in a position
in which an adventurous policy was
desirable ; but now Sardinia is
swallowed up in Italy, and Italy
has all she can do to make both
ends meet at home. The great
hope lies in Austria; but Earl
Derby knows that Francis Joseph,
Alexander, and William are three
sworn friends, and he sees, more-
over, that one of these would not be
likely to break with another of the
triumvirate unless he were assured
that the third would either aid him
or remain neutral. Still more plain
is it to Earl Derby's cool percep-
tion that the internal divisions of
Austria are so grave that she would
be mad to engage in a war which, if
unsuccessful, would split the em-

pire in twain. The Magyars sympa-
thize with Turkey, the Slavs with
Russia, the Austro-Germans with
neither ; the army could not be
trusted ; and the finances of the em-
pire are in such a condition that it
was with the greatest difficulty that
the government the other day rais-
ed a loan of twenty-five millions
of dollars. It is clear enough to
Lord Derby that England, without
an ally, would be worsted; and it is
equally clear that she cannot safely
count upon an ally. Of course all
things are possible. She may secure
an ally; but it is only a chance,
and Lord Derby will take no
chances.

There is another fact that weighs
upon him : the consideration that
the war, if entered upon, has no
definite, practical object. The cant
is that it is necessary in order to
regain for England influence in
Europe; but this is a consideration
that has no weight in Lord Derby's
mind. He sneers at it in his dry,
prosaic manner as something that
is ridiculous. In a certain sense he
is a democrat. He recognizes fully
the fact that England is practically
a democracy, and on a memorable
occasion he shocked the Lords by
telling them that the people were
their " employers." But he is keen-
ly alive to the fact that a govern-
ment which shapes its course in
accordance with the ever-shifting
breeze of popular caprice cannot
have an intelligible or consistent
record ; and the other day he took
occasion to point out that the
"employers " of the government, in
regard to the Eastern question, had
not been of the same mind for six
months together. Two years ago
it was as much as one's life was
worth to say a word in favor of the
Turks or against the Russians; now
it is all the other way. Turkey;

552

English Statesmen in Undress.

might have been saved, and not a
voice was raised ; now she is irre-
trievably lost, and every one is cry-
ing out that she must be saved.
So Earl Derby refuses to help his
" employers " to embark in a war
without an object well defined,
without reasonable hope of success,
and without an ally. He does it
without the passion that Mr. Glad-
stone displays ; without the rhe-
toric John Bright uses, without a
flourish, or a poetical quotation, or
a sarcasm simply as a dry, shrewd,
cold-blooded, and clear-headed mer-
chant would do when asked to
imperil his fortune by wild invest-
ments on the Stock Exchange.

One of the writer's most memor-
able conversations with Lord Der-
by was on a summer morning in
1872, when he was resting in the
cool shade of the Opposition, and
had plenty of time on his hands to
devote to those subjects of social
science and political economy in
which one might imagine he takes
more real personal interest than in
adjusting the balance of power in
Europe or in maintaining the pres-
tige of England on the continent.
The Stanleys for four centuries,
and I know not how long before,
have been large landholders. The
first Earl Derby was created by
King Henry VII. in 1485 seven
years before Christopher Colum-
bus discovered America but the
family had been a rich and power-
ful one long ere that. The Lord
Stanley whose designed failure to
bring up his contingent to the sup-
port of Richard III. at the battle
of Bosworth Field had so much to
do with the defeat of that resolute
monarch was the father-in-law of
his conqueror and successor, Hen-
ry VII. ; and the young George
Stanley whose head was so oppor-
tunely saved by the suggestion of the

Duke of Norfolk, that there would
be time enough to decapitate him
"after the battle," was the fifteenth
predecessor of the present earl.
I was accompanied in this visit by
an English commoner, who was
greatly interested at that time in
certain projects for the systema-
tic improvement of the dwellings
of the working-classes projects
which Earl Derby also regarded as
worthy of his attention. The large
estates of the family in England
and Ireland have always, or at
least for a very long time, been well
administered. Neither the for-
mer nor the present earl has been
accused of being a bad landlord ;
they were not given to rack-rent-
ing, and their tenants did not fear
to ask them for favors. The for-
mer earl was perhaps more quick to
grant a request from a tenant than
the present one ; but if the plea be
a good one the applicant will not
go away denied. But it must be a
good one ; of all men in England
Lord Derby is^ perhaps the least
easily deceived. There is nothing
imposing in his town-house. It is
not a palace, like the magnificent
mansion of the Marquis of West-
minster ; nor does it stand apart in
dull and ugly grandeur, as does De-
vonshire House ; nor bewilder and
delight the visitor by the splendor
of its saloons and the beauty of its
grounds, as does Stafford House, the
glories of which so dazzled the Shah
of Persia that he asked the Prince of
Wales, who had just entertained him
in shabby Marlborough House, why
he permitted the Duke of Suther-
land, a subject, to dwell in a state
so superior to that which royalty
itself maintained. Earl Derby's
town residence is a plain building
in Piccadilly, not far from the al-
most equally unostentatious house
where the richest lady in England

English Statesmen in Undress.

553

resides. There are houses on Park
Avenue, New York, which are finer
than the London residences of ei-
ther Lord Derby or the Baroness
Burdett-Coutts ; and there is little
in his lordship's dwelling that is
either rare or strange. The great
historical and romantic heirlooms
of the family are elsewhere at
Knowlsey Park, for instance. We
held our conversation on the occa-
sion referred to in a room looking
out upon St. James' Park and the
Green Park. The windows were
open ; the sweet, fresh air of the
morning came freely in. From the
leather-cushioned chair in which
I sat I could see a portion of the
facade of Buckingham Palace, the
west front of Westminster Abbey,
and the towers of the Parliament
House. The earl questioned me
for some time concerning the ac-
tual condition of affairs as they
then were in America; and his
questions were sometimes hard
to answer. One thing impress-
ed me as rather remarkable : he
made no mistakes in his questions;
that is, he did not ask how far Chi-
cago was from Illinois, or whether
New York and Washington were
under the same municipal govern-
ment interrogatories which an-
other very studious and painstaking
English nobleman once put to me.
Had we yet made any satisfactory
progress in solving the problem of
the true relations between capital
and labor ? We had certain facili-
ties at our command for working
out that solution; would we work
it out, and if so, how ? Was there
any common interest and common
feeling between American work-
men and American masters ? The
abolition of slavery was doubtless a
fine thing; but had it not been ac-
companied with, or followed by, a
long series of financial, industrial,

and political mistakes ? It was-
with a feeling of relief that I found
my examination ended, and be-
came a listener instead of a talker.
On the subject of improved
dwellings for the working-classes
he held very firm convictions. Un-
questionably these were needed,
but he did not wish to be a party
to any scheme which proposed to
build little palaces for working-men,
and to rent them at one-tenth of
their value, making up the deficien-
cy by contributions from the rich.
That was all nonsense. Nor was
he very much enraptured with the
Peabody buildings; they were well
enough in their way, but they were
not available for those who most
needed them. The thing to be
done was to make' the workmen
help themselves. How? Well,
possibly by co-operation. The earl
thought that much might be ac-
complished by an aggregation of
sixpences. As for co-operation in
distribution, that had already de-
monstrated its own usefulness ;
would it not be well to attempt the
experiment of co-operation, strictly
confined to the workmen them-
selves, in buying lands, erecting
houses, and selling them, on long
time, to themselves ? He had in a
drawer of his table an elaborate
calculation of what might be ac-
complished in this way ; but after
producing it he suggested so many
objections to its practicability that
I soon regarded it with contempt.
The agitation concerning the de-
mands of the agricultural laborers
was at this time just beginning to
make itself felt; and the conversa-
tion drifted into a rather desultory
discussion of that subject. The
earl made two points very clear :
in his opinion the extension of the
suffrage to the agricultural laborers
would greatly increase the strength

554

English Statesmen in Undress.

of his own party, and if he cared
only for that he would advocate it ;
but it would not advance the in-
terests of the peasants nor promote
the general welfare of the country.
He made some very hard and dry
statements on this point. I was
rather taken aback by them, but
did not attempt to controvert them.
Subsequent events in the United
States have shown that the earl had
a prophetic ken. He disclaimed,
with something like animation, the
idea of comparing the liberated
and enfranchised slaves of our
Southern States with the English
peasants ; but he said that the party
that had enfranchised the slaves
would not retain their political alle-
giance, and would probably owe its
ultimate overthrow to them. Men
are not grateful beings, he said;; tit
is a great mistake to count on their
gratitude. Besides, the negroes
will believe that they were en-
franchised not so much for their
own sakes as for the reason that
they might aid in keeping their lib-
erators in power. Unless negro
human nature was unlike Anglo-
Saxon human nature, the enfran-
chised negroes would say to them-
selves : " What has been given to us
belonged to us ; the men who gave
it wished to buy us to serve them ;
but they have only given us what
was rightfully our own, and they
have nothing more to give us. A
vote is nothing to us, save for the
use we can make of it. We do not
care whether this man or that man
is President ; but we do care
whether our rent is lowered or
raised, or whether we are on good
or bad terms with our landlords."

It was in this way that Earl Der-
by demonstrated to me that the ne-
gro vote in the South, so long as
the rights of property were held
sacred and order was preserved,

would always be at the dispo-
sal of the land-owners of that re-
gion ; and he drew the same con-
clusion as to the results of the en-
franchisement of the English pea-
sants. Affairs were bad enough as
they were; despite all the new de-
vices for securing the purity of
elections, they were not pure, and
he did not see how they were ever
to be made pure. It was in 1849,
if I remember correctly, that Earl
Derby visited the United States
and the West Indies. He was then
a very young man. Mr. Fillmore
was President. A very different
political atmosphere prevailed at
Washington and elsewhere from the
present one. The young Lord
Stanley observed affairs for himself
and drew his own conclusions. At
heart I think he was more pleased
with the South than with the North
or West ; and, without saying so in
words, he left upon me the impres-
sion that he did not entertain a
very high opinion of our Repub-
lican statesmen.

It is more pleasant to hear him
talk in private than to listen to him
in public. But he is not a bad
speaker, as English speakers
He was better in the Commons
when Lord Stanley than in the
Lords as Earl Derby. But when-
ever he speaks he impresses you
as being an earnest and sincere
man not earnest in the sense of
enthusiastic, but sober, steady,
and fully believing in the truth of
what he is saying and of the neces-
sity of his saying it. He is not
what is called a popular man, but
he is esteemed and respected by
every one. His father died in the
autumn of 1869; the nine years
that have since passed have been
eventful ones for the present earl,
and his responsibilities have been
heavy. But they have .not dismay-

EnglisJi Statesmen in Undress.

555

ed or disheartened him, and when
I last met him he was looking
younger and rather less grave
more happy, I thought than usu-
ally.

In certain respects Mr. John
Bright resembles Earl Derby ; in
others he is the very contradiction
of the earl. Physically the two
men are not very unlike. Either of
them would do very well for a
model of the traditional John Bull ;
indeed, Punch has often used both
of them for this purpose. Mr.
Bright is fifteen years the senior of
Earl Derby, and two years younger
than Mr. Gladstone. Earl Derby
has been in active political life for
twenty-six years; Mr. Bright for
thirty-five years ; and Mr. Glad-
stone for forty-six years, for he
was returned as the Tory member
for Newark in 1832, when Earl
Derby was a child of six years ;
and he had sat in Parliament elev-
en years before Mr. Bright entered
the House in 1843 as member for
Durham. It is a curious fact, to
which I have heard Mr. Bright re-
fer with some mirthfulness, that he
sat in the House for four years
without opening his mouth. It
was not until 1847 that he made

ds maiden speech in the House ;
it was a plea for extending the prin-

:iples of free trade, and it gave

lira a national reputation. As be-
:ween Derby, Bright, and Gladstone,

ic latter must be admitted to be the
greatest man greatest in his ac-
quired knowledge, greatest in his
natural genius, greatest even in his
oratorical power. But there is at
times a charm in the speeches of
John Bright that the finest utter-
ances of Mr. Gladstone never carry
with them. Mr. Gladstone capti-
vates the fancy, pleases the taste,
convinces the judgment, for the
time being at least; Mr. Bright

touches the heart and subdues it.
I am not certain but that his skill
in this depends upon a trick. Mr.
Bright in his life has been the
doer of some heartless and cruel
things; he has wrought more mis-
chief than most men of his age ;
his idea of progress has been that
of the bourgeoisie, not that of the
workman ; his beau ideal of a coun-
try is a republic where there is
no titled aristocracy, but where
the working-classes, having fair
wages, are quite content with their
station and have no inconvenient
aspirations beyond it. The manu-
facturers and the traders are Mr.
B right's " people " ; he would like to
see nothing above them; he thinks
those below them should be con-
tent with the station wherein God
has placed them. Mr. Bright has
often fanned popular discontent,
but it has been too often for the
purpose simply of using the power
thus evoked to pull down some-
thing that stood above him. The
mercantile spirit is strong in him.
Anything that was for the good of
trade was good in his eyes ; the
trader was always his idol. But he
had " a way with him " that ena-
bled him to carry along the hearts
of the workmen. His personal
appearance and deportment had
something to do with this : his
round, florid, solid, " English "
face, his almost magical voice, the
ease and power of his delivery, his
* wonderful mastery of plain and
forcible but really elegant English,
the aptness with which he could
introduce a quotation from Holy
Writ or from some familiar English
poet or rhymster. I find myself
unconsciously writing of Mr. Bright
in the past tense. It is only while
revising these lines for publication
that the sudden death of his wife
occurs. That bereavement will be

556

EnglisJi Statesmen in Undress.

very hard for him to sustain ; it
is probable that his public career
has ended. When the utter break-
ing down of his health compelled
him to retire from Mr. Gladstone's
cabinet in December, 1870, he was
in a deplorable condition. After
many months of entire abstinence
from mental excitement of any kind
his mind began to resume its
strength. But from that time there
has always been danger of another
collapse. An intimate friend of his
family told me that Mr. Bright was
in the condition of one whose arm
had been broken and who had the
bones reset. " So long as he does
not use the arm, and allows it to
rest in its sling, all will go well ; but
if he strikes a blow with it, it will
fall shattered at his side." It was
during this period of convalescence
and rest that I saw Mr. Bright most
frequently. The attachment be-
tween his wife and himself was very
evident. He petted her as if she
had been a bride in her honey-
moon. On one occasion, when
breakfasting with them, the conver-
sation turned chiefly on the then
recent declarations of President
Grant in his Des Moines speech
concerning secular education and
the rights of the Catholic Church
in the United States. This must
have been some time in December,
1875. I was grieved, although not
surprised, to hear Mr. Bright ex-^
press sentiments of very bitter
hostility to the church, and a desire*
to see education wholly taken from
her control. He confessed that he
did not know anything about the
merits of the question as it stood
in the United States, but he ap-
plauded the President for his bold-
ness in bringing the subject forward.
*Mrs. Bright, seeing that the topic
was an agitating one to both of us,
adroitly turned the conversation

into another channel, and Mr.
Bright was presently telling me
stories of Mr. Cobden and of the
early struggles for free trade. He
said that one of the things he most
prized was a copy of a resolution
passed in 1862 by the New York
Chamber of Commerce, expressing
its sense of the devotion which he
had manifested to the principles of
international justice and peace.

Mr. Bright is a fascinating con-
versationalist, and it is a great
pleasure to listen to him. Like
most men who have not been born
to high positions, but who have
attained them by the force of their
own genius, there is sometimes ob-
servable a little stiffness, or mauvaise
honte> in his manner. There is
some difficulty here in expressing
one's self clearly without seeming to
be offensive. Mr. Bright has often
expressed great contempt for the
English hereditary nobility ; and
he is, or was, in the habit of re-
garding them as a pack of fools.
The aristocracy of England have
not failed to afford abundant in-
stances of what Mr. Bright was
fond of calling their " unwisdom."
More than this, the personal lit-
tleness, meanness, duplicity, and
cruelty of some of these hereditary
noblemen cannot be denied. But
it would be impossible for one of
them, if you were lunching with
him, to tell you that the sherry you
were drinking cost ninety shillings
a dozen, and therefore must be
good.

Mr. Bright has very frequently
expressed an ardent admiration for
American institutions, and he has
often been accused of wishing to
Americanize the British Constitu-
tion. Had Mr. Bright been born
to an earldom, he would have been
the greatest stickler for the rights
of his class who has lived since the

English Statesmen in Undress.

557

days of Louis XIV. A dozen Eng-
lish noblemen could be named who
are more ardent republicans than
is John Bright. He does not like
to see men above him ; but he is
quite content to see any number
below him, so long as they help
him to lower those above him to
his own level. Men speak of him
as a radical ; but he is nothing of
the kind. Mr. Gladstone is tenfold
more of a radical. If John Bright
lived in the United States he would
belong to the conservative party,
whatever its name might be. Be-
tween him and such men as Aube-
ron Herbert, Charles Bradlaugh,
and the other republicans in Eng-
land there is a great gulf fixed ;
and this not at all by reason of the
irreligious opinions of these men.
He would like a republic well
enough, if he were always to be
President, and if the rights of pro-
perty were secure from all infringe-
ment. It is an utter misconcep-
tion of Mr. Bright's character to
rank him among enthusiastic, un-
selfish, and theoretical reformers
and philanthropists. His passions
are strong, but his hate is far
fiercer than his love is powerful ;
and he cares infinitely more for
the " freedom of trade " than for
the freedom of man. His opposi-
tion to the bill for preventing and
punishing the adulteration of arti-
cles of food illustrates this curious
trait in his character. He said,
almost in so many words, that it
were better that the people were
half poisoned and wholly cheated
than that the government should
interfere between buyer and seller,
to protect the former and lessen
the gains of the latter. This is the
true Manchester spirit the spirit
that has led the cotton-makers of
Lancashire to load their fabrics for
the Eastern markets with so much

glue and chalk that a fabric which
appeared of the best quality be-
came a worthless rag as soon as it
was wet a .deception, by the way,
that has now cost England the loss
of a very large share of her Chi-
nese and Indian trade.

Mr. Bright is also violently in-
consistent at times. We convers-
ed once for a long time on the
question of the extension of the
suffrage to the agricultural laborers
and to women. Some of his re-
marks reminded me of that shrewd
American politician who was in
favor of the Maine Liquor Law,
but was opposed to its enforcement.
Mr. Bright and his party had re-
cently suffered some mortifying
disillusions. The new voters, en-
franchised by the Reform Bill,
which Mr. Disraeli had taken up
and passed after the Liberals had
dallied with the question for years,
began to^manifest evidences of in-
subordination not at all, however,
in the right direction, from Mr.
Bright's point of view. It must be
understood that a superstition had
sprung up to the effect that all the
new voters must necessarily be on
the side of the Liberals; just as it
was supposed that the enfranchised
negroes in the United States must
all vote the Republican ticket for
ever and a day. There was this
difference between the two cases :
the Republicans had actually freed
the negroes; the English Liberals,
led by Bright and Gladstone, had
talked about enfranchising the
lower classes in England, but, while
talking about it and disputing
where the line should be drawn,
the Tories, led by Disraeli, stepped
in and accomplished the work by
establishing what is virtually house-
hold suffrage. The former Earl
Derby, led an unwilling captive by
Disraeli, had reluctantly given his

558

English Statesmen in Undress.

assent to this measure, which he
called " a leap in the dark" ; but at
the time of which I speak it was
becoming plain that this leap had
landed the Conservative party upon
very good ground. The new vo-
ters, instead of swelling the ranks
of the Liberals, were to a great ex-
tent found in the train of the To-
ries, and Mr. Bright was disgusted
with them. I have good reason to
know that he disliked the idea of
universal suffrage, and that he had
quite as sincere a horror of the re-
siduum as that which Mr. Lowe
expressed. The " conservative
working-man " was beginning to
show that he really existed and was
not a myth. The voters of the
kingdom had been vastly increased
in numbers ; but the new voters,
when they came to the polls, were
found to be quite as conservative,
and in many cases more so than the
old constituencies. This was a
source of keen mortification and
disappointment to Mr. Bright, and
the first results of the Ballot Bill
caused him no less chagrin. He
had indulged in two illusions : let
us have a general suffrage (not
universal but general) and secret
voting, and we shall carry every
election district and be masters of
the situation for ever more. House-
hold suffrage and the ballot were
provided, and from that day to
this the Liberal party has grown
weaker. Mr. Bright took no care
to conceal from me the annoyance
that these results gave him; and it
was plain that his faith in the good
sense and integrity of the masses
was weakened. The impression he
left on my mind in this conversa-
tion was that he would have pre-
ferred a much more limited suf-
frage ; no one should vote, for in-
stance, who did not pay a rental of
perhaps six pounds a year. As for

the future, there were two classes
yet to be enfranchised the agri-
cultural laborers and the women.
With regard to the latter Mr.
Bright referred me to his brother
Jacob. " He is the great man for
the women," said he. " He has that
matter in charge ; he can tell you
more about the merits of their de-
mands than I can. I am a little
afraid of women as voters. Women
are naturally easily led away by
romance and glitter; and I suspect
a showy ministry would always be
more apt to secure their support
than a sober and dull administra-
tion." With regard to the claims
of the agricultural laborers for the
suffrage he was cold and guarded
in his expressions. Theoretically
they should have what they asked ;
but as a practical measure, and one
of immediate action, it was plain
that he preferred to allow affairs
to rest as they were. He feared
that the peasants with votes in their
hands would be seduced by the
Tories, as the new voters in the
boroughs had been. " A little
more education would be desirable
before thus increasing the consti-
tuencies," said he. " What kind
of education, Mr. Bright ?" "Well,
certainly not that of the parish
school, with the parson as the real
teacher; and that, as affairs now
are, is almost all they can have."

The study of Mr. Bright's course
upon the great question of the
present day in Englangl war
with Russia or surrender to her is
full of interest to those who wish
to closely analyze his character.
Eighteen months ago Mr. Bright
Quaker as he is, apostle of peace
as he is, trader and manufacturer as
he is was altogether in favor of war;
that is, of a certain war the war
of the Russians against the Turks.
In the Christmas-tide of 1876

English Statesmen in Undress.

559

Mr. Bright could say nothing too
harsh in condemnation of those
who were attempting to prevent
Russia from entering into the war
with Turkey. He spoke, he said,
in the name of Christianity, but
only to remind his hearers that the
Russians were Christians and that
the Turks were Mohammedans.
Very curious language at that time
came from the lips of this great
peace advocate. In substance it
was an appeal to Englishmen to en-
courage Russia in her attempt to
drive the Turks from Europe, " bag
and baggage," as Mr. Gladstone
has it. English Christians were
bade remember by this Quaker
peace-apostle that seven hundred
years ago their ancestors fought to
regain possession of Bethlehem and
Calvary and the Mount of Olives ;
and that those sacred places now,
1 as then, were in the possession of the
infidels whom Russia, if not inter-
fered with by England would
soon drive forth. England should
tand by. If she interfered she
ould prevent the war; she must
not lift a finger nor say a word save
n approval of the Russians ; and
they must be left to wage war as
hey wished or as they could.
Eighteen months have passed; the
Russians have waged their war; it
has been marked at every step
with revolting horrors ; half a mil-
lion of Mohammedans and hun-
dreds of thousands of Christians
have perished in it ; and Mr.
Bright ought to feel satisfied. But
now that England proposes to in-
terfere and to fight a little on her
own account, Mr. Bright boils over
with rage, and calls all England to
observe the unparalleled wickedness
of the government in proposing to
employ its Indian troops to sustain
the empire. It is infamous to em-
ploy them, especially against "Chris-

tian Russia." War conducted by
Russia is not at all shocking ; war
waged against her is the unpardon-
able national sin. Russia might
shed oceans of Christian blood in
her wars, and Mr. Bright be con-
tent ; but when England proposes
to use Mohammedan soldiers in
efforts to save English interests in
the East from utter ruin, Mr.
Bright raises his hands in horror
and declaims against the wicked-
ness of war. Radical inconsisten-
cies like these are natural to Mr.
Bright. They are observable in
many of his acts; they crop out in
his conversation. He has spoken
eloquently against persecution for
opinion's sake ; but, to judge him
by his tone, he would burn Earl
Beaconsfield at the stake to-mor-
row.

In all my conversations with Mr.
Bright there were two things that
impressed me : his indifference to,
and want of sympathy with, the
question of university education in
any of its aspects, and his perfect-
ly ignorant hostility to the Catho-
lic religion. This hostility was
not active, or it was rarely so ; but
it was implanted deep in his mind,
and it colored to a great extent
some of his most important actions.
Without knowing anything at all
about the church, and without, as
I believe, having even so much as
read a Catholic book, he had put
it down among his self-evident
truths that the church was the foe
of what he most held dear, and he
hated her accordingly. Mr. Bright's
instincts are clear, and they did
not deceive him here. The church
is the foe of what he most holds
dear; for in the ideal society which
John Bright would create, if he
had his way, the temple would be a
cotton-mill, the priests would be
the manufacturers, and the people

560

EnglisJi Statesmen in Undress.

would have "free trade " for their
god.*

Mr. Gladstone has within him
the power of being as plodding and
patient in his searck for dry facts
as Lord Derby is ; he is as passion-
ate in his hatreds and as incon-
sistent in his affections as is Mr.
Bright; but he has what neither
Derby nor Bright possesses genius.
He is a far more attractive man
than either. It was my dear friend,
the late John Francis Maguire, who
first brought me into personal con-
tact with Mr. Gladstone. We were
talking together in the lobby of the
House of Commons one summer
evening in 1870, the year after the
passage of the Irish Church Dises-
tablishment Bill, when Mr. Glad-
stone came by and stopped to speak
to Maguire, to whom he was very
much attached as who was not that
knew him ? After a few moments
Mr. Gladstone complained of the
heat in the lobby. " Let us go out on
the terrace," said he. "But I must
not leave my American friend; come

along, . Mr. Gladstone, permit

me to present my friend." We mov-
ed along the long corridor to the
terrace that overhangs the Thames ;
and here, while they continued their
conversation, which was of no in-
terest, save to themselves, I had
ample opportunity to regard at
close range the then ruler of Eng-
land. He was sixty-one years old;
he is now sixty-nine. The disap-
pointments, defeats, and ardent but
unsuccessful conflicts he has fought

* The writer, for whose opinion we have all re-
spect, has the advantage over us of a personal
knowledge of Mr. Bright, and an acquaintance with
his public career to which we cannot pretend. So
far, however, as our knowledge goes, our estimate
of Mr. Bright is far from agreeing altogether with
that of the writer. We always believed Mr. Bright
to be a man of large heart, of generous impulse,
and of large mind, circumscribed by certain defects
of education and inherited prejudice ; but always a
man wishing to see right done and to do right
ED. C. W.

during the last four years have
aged him ; but he is still hale and
vigorous, and, for all that one can
see, may count upon many years of
active life, which indeed no man will
begrudge him. He is not by any'
means an Adonis, and never has
been ; but as we sat together that
evening on the stone bench of the
terrace he seemed to me a fascinat-
ing man. His voice in conversation
is melodious and pleasant, with an
occasional touch of a strange, melan-
choly minor key. If he be inter-
ested in his subject and on good
terms with the person to whom he
is speaking, he is a most charming
conversationalist. He was educat-
ed at Christ Church, Oxford; he
entered Parliament as the member
for Newark in the Tory interest in
1832. He has had forty-six years of
almost uninterrupted public life.
He was under-secretary for the
colonies in 1835 under Sir Robert
Peel, and vice-president of the
Board of Trade in 1841; he revis-
ed the tariff in 1842, and was presi-
dent of the Board of Trade in 1843 ;
he was returned for Oxford in 1847,
and became a Liberal in 1851 on
the questions of university reform
and Jewish disabilities ; he was
Chancellor, of the Exchequer in the
Coalition Ministry of 1852, and
was sent on a mission to the Ioni-
an Islands by the then Lord Derby
in 1858; he was Chancellor of th
Exchequer again under Palmers-
ton in 1859, and repealed the pape
duty, making possible the esta
lishment of the penny newspaper ;
he aided Cobden to accomplish hi
commercial treaty with France, an'
amused himself by interfering offi-
ciously with the domestic govern-
ment of the kingdom of Naples;
he was defeated for Oxford in 1865,
but immediately returned for Lan-
cashire, and after the death of

English Statesmen in Undress.

Palmerston became leader of the
House as Chancellor of the Exche-
quer under Russell. He brought
in his Reform Bill in 1866, was de-
feated on it, and went into opposi-
tion ; he brought in and succeeded
in effecting the passage of his Irish
Church resolutions in 1868; he
was defeated for Lancashire at the
general election of 1868, but return-
ed for Greenwich, and took charge
of the government as Prime Minis-
ter in that year. He disestablish-
ed the Irish Church in 1869; passed
the Irish Land Bill in 1870; abolish-
ed purchase in the army in 1871 by
the arbitrary exercise of the preroga-
tive of the crown, and negotiated the
Treaty of Washington. In 1874,
anxious to finish his Irish work, he
evolved from out of the depths of
his own inner consciousness an
Irish University Education Bill,
and had the extreme mortification
of seeing it not only rejected by
the Catholics but violently oppos-
ed by the English and Scotch Lib-
erals. He appealed to the country,
not on that question but on a new
project invented by himself for the
abolition of the income tax; his
majority of sixty members was turn-
ed into a minority of as many, and
his old foe, Disraeli, came march-
ing into power with drums beating
and colors flying.

Since then Mr. Gladstone has
conducted a species of independent
opposition of his own; he has
sought to punish the Catholics for
their refusal to accept his Univer-
sity Bill by writing several venom-
ous pamphlets to show that Catho-
lics could not be loyal subjects ; he
has endeavored to upset the Dis-
raeli administration on various oc-
casions ; he conducted the Bulga-
rian outrage excitement with great
skill ; and for the last few months
he has been almost incessantly en-
VOL. xxvii. 36

gaged in the most strenuous and
violent efforts to prevent England
from interfering in any way with
Russia in the execution of her de-
signs against Turkey. This was
the extraordinary man with whom
I was sitting on that summer even-
ing. After a while he turned to
me to ask me about some of his
American friends, and thus I was
drawn into the conversation. Mr.
Maguire, for my benefit, I think,
diverted it into the channel of the
then remaining causes of Irish dis-
content ; and the conversation be-
came animated and ran on until
the unlucky ringing of a division
bell compelled both the premier
and the Irish member to run off
and leave me alone not, however,
before Mr. Gladstone had given
me an invitation which I was not
slow, in future days, to accept.

Thus it came about that many
conversations were held between
us, and the memory of them is for
the most part extremely pleasant.
We spoke generally on the imme-
diate questions of the day, occa-
sionally diverging into wider and
more fragrant fields. He had at
this time a very wide circle of
Roman Catholic friends; and he
was so fond of their society that
Mr. Newdegate and Mr. Johnson,
of Edinburgh (the secretary of the
Anti-Papal League), got up the story
that he was about to be received
into the church. This rumor grew
into the fact that he had been ac-
tually received; but to this there
was the variation that he had be-
come a communicant of the Greek
Church ! There never was any
foundation for these stories; but it
is probable that there was a period
in Mr. Gladstone's life when, had
he not been Prime Minister of Eng-
land, he would have become a Ca-
tholic. This reminds me of a story

5 62

that Cardinal Manning once told
me. He and Mr. Gladstone were
very old and very dear friends ;
and this friendship continued un-
broken until Mr. Gladstone's as-
sault upon the church in his " Va-
tican " pamphlets. I do not think
the friendship thus sundered has
ever been restored. But the story
was this : One day the premier was
talking with the archbishop, and
after a little pause he said : " What
a pity you ever left us, Manning!
Had you remained with us you
would have been Archbishop of
Canterbury to-day, with ,15,000 a
year!" "I clasped my hands,"
said his grace, " looked up to hea-
ven, and exclaimed with all my
heart, ' Thank God for having sav-
,ed my poor soul!' "

Mr. Gladstone's town residence
in Carlton House Terrace was plea-
-sant to visit. He had enjoyed be-
ing a victim to the old-china and
Wedgwood mania, and some of
the rooms were crammed with his
-successes in the collection of
" uniques " in this line. He or
some one in his confidence had
liad good taste in pictures, and
some excellent works of old and
new masters hung upon his walls.
It was wonderful to hear him talk
about blue china, but I think his
strong point in this line is Wedg-
wood. It was pleasanter, however,
to draw him away from his china
and lead him on to talk about
men or books. He discussed both,
on occasion, with a freedom and
incisiveness that were somewhat
startling. It was amusing to see
the care with which he sometimes
avoided speaking about Mr. Dis-
raeli, and the latitude which he
allowed himself on other occasions
in denouncing and ridiculing him.
He once complained bitterly that
Disraeli was not an Englishman

English Statesmen in Undress.

and had no English blood in him;
and when I ventured to suggest
that the wretched malefactor could
scarcely be blamed for circumstan-
ces so wholly beyond his control,
he looked very glum for some mo-
ments, and then turned the conver-
sation aside, as if disinclined to
accept even that apology for his
foe.

It is that curious trait in Mr.
Gladstone's character which makes
it so difficult for him in his public
speeches to make a statement with-
out qualifying it, or amplifying it,
or stating several hypothetical cases
with reference to it, that renders
his conversation so charming.
Beginning to tell you something
about Pius IX., for instance, he
will branch off into a story about
Father Newman, an anecdote of
Mazzini, a reminiscence of Orsini,
Palmerston, or Louis Napoleon, an
adventure that happened to him-
self in Naples, his feelings when he
recognized an old college chum of
his as a bare-footed friar in a mo-
nastery on the Alps, and so on. It
is like the Arabian Nights, for one
story grows out of the other, and
all the time he does not forget the
original subject, the Pope, but
comes back to him, and winds up
with the story about him, told with
all due emphasis and action.
There was a time when for Pius
IX. Mr. Gladstone entertained
what seemed to be a truly sincere
admiration and respect; occasion-
ally the feeling appeared to be
even that of affection. As for the
insensate hatred and dread of the
church which fills the breasts of
Messrs. Newdegate and Whalley,
Mr. Gladstone never shared it.
This, however, did not prevent him
from making his outrageous attacks
upon the church, in order to re-
venge himself upon the Irish and

English Statesmen in Undress.

563

English bishops for refusing to
support him in his University Bill.
His passions are very strong. The
difference between him and Mr.
Disraeli is that the latter seems never
wholly in earnest, while the former
always is. Some of the language
in which he has allowed himself to
indulge in his recent speeches on
the war question have been mark-
ed with a degree of passionate vio-
lence that would seem to indicate
a mind overwrought. There used
to be a cruel saying in the London
clubs that " Mr. Gladstone would
die either in a mad-house or a mo-
nastery." I believe the credit of
the mal mot was given to Mr. Dis-
raeli. There seems small hope
left of the monastery, and there was
probably never any danger of the
mad-house. But Mr. Gladstone
has now been out of power for four
years ; he reflects that his own im-
prudence thrust him out ; he can
see no prospect of a return to
power ; and he feels that under
the guidance of Earl Beaconsfield
England is being led into grave
dangers. He chafes and frets,
and the apparently unreasonable
violence of his language is only the
candid expression of his sincere
wrath and fear.

Of these three statesmen, Earl
Derby, Mr. Gladstone, and Mr.
Bright, Mr. Bright is the dandy.
The earl is negligent in his dress,
and thrifty therein ; but his valet,
or some one else, manages to turn
him out neatly every morning. Mr.
Gladstone is positively careless as
regards his attire, and one ima-
gines that nobody but himself has
anything to do with it. It has been
whispered about that Mr. Glad-
stone's tailor pays a large sum eve-
ry year to have his identity con-
cealed, for Mr. Gladstone's clothes
fit him so badly, or seem to do so,

that the tailor's business would be
ruined if his name were known.
The shocking bad hat of Mr.
Gladstone, and his baggy " Sairey
Gamp " of an umbrella, so often
pictured in Punch, are no exagge-
rations ; the last time I saw him
he was sailing down Pall Mall un-
der full steam for the Reform Club,
with this identical hat and um-
brella. There is a deep mystery
connected with his legs, or with
his trowsers, for they bag to an
incredible extent at the knees, and
are always too long at the lower
extremities. I have said that he
was not an Adonis, but when he is
pleased and happy there is some-
thing winning in the expression of
his mouth, and his eyes are won-
derfully eloquent. Mr. Bright's
rich but plain costume is always
faultlessly neat and clean ; his linen
spotless ; his shoes have an almost
unearthly lustre ; his hat shines in
rivalry with them. When, on the
occasion of his taking office as
chancellor of the Duchy of Lanca-
shire, he went to Windsor "to kiss,
hands," the queen, it is said, was.
enchanted with him, and the Prin-
cess Beatrice, who is much given<
to speaking out her mind, is re--
ported to have exclaimed: "Ever
since Louise married young Mr.
Argyll, I have supposed that noth-
ing was left for me but one of Mar-
shal and Snelgrove's young men.
But if any one of those tradesmen
were as handsome and good as,
this old tradesman, I'd take him in
a moment."

Mr. Bright's handwriting is
small, elegant, and beautifully dis-
tinct. Mr. Gladstone writes a ra-
pid, bold, and running hand, at
times rather illegible. He is some-
what too fond of his pen ; of late
he has written too much on unim-
portant subjects. Earl Derby has-

564

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

a happy dread of committing him-
self on paper, and writes but few
letters. " Do not write to me," he
said one day; " come and talk with
me ; it will be better for each of
us." Mr. Gladstone once made a
very happy retort to a question
put to him in the House of Com-
mons concerning one of his letters.
Mr. Bouverie, with all due solem-
nity, and after having given a day's
notice of his question, asked the
premier if his attention had been
called to a letter published in the
Times, purporting to have been
addressed by him to the correspon-
dent of a New York journal, and
whether he had really written the

letter. " It is quite true," Mr.
Gladstone replied. " Mr. ad-
dressed me a very proper and cour-
teous letter, upon certain matters
connected with the Treaty of Wash-
ington and the negotiations at Gene-
va, and I replied to it. He sub-
sequently obtained my permission
to make the letter public. And I
have to add that I often have to
write letters to much less impor-
tant persons than the representa-
tive of an influential American
journal." As he had recently writ-
ten a letter to Mr. Bouverie, the
hit was thought to be a good one,
and the House laughed.

RELATIONS OF JUDAISM TO CHRISTIANITY.

ii.

THE INFLUENCE OF JEWISH IDEAS ON HEATHEN PHILOSOPHY.

STRABO, after having mentioned
the great number of Jews residing
in Cyrene, a city celebrated for its
schools of Greek literature, adds
that " it would be difficult to show
a spot upon earth where they were
not found and where their influence
was not felt." The influence of
which he speaks must not be re-
stricted to that which they acquir-
ed everywhere by their remarkable
industry, commercial capacity, and
wealth ; it was felt in the higher
field of thought, and was brought
to bear on heathen philosophy, in
which it produced considerable
modifications. We are chiefly con-
cerned with the Greeks, whom all
admit to be the representatives of
philosophical speculations in the
ages we are reviewing.

It is the opinion of Aristobulus,
of Aristeas, and of Philo that the
Greek philosophers were acquaint-
ed with the sacred books of the
Hebrews, and that they derived
from them those great truths re-
lating to God, the soul, a future
life which we find in their writings.
We can easily understand this to
have been the case when we re-
flect that the Hebrews \vere already
in Egypt in great numbers, when
the learned men of Greece repair-
ed thither in search of knowledge ;
and in order to account for the
opinion just mentioned it is by no
means necessary to have recourse
to the national pride with which
its supporters are supposed by our
rationalists to have been animat-
ed. Because Aristobulus, Aristeas,

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

565

and Philo were Jews it does not
follow that they should have been
so blinded by the desire of glorify-
ing their nation as to make them
lose their well-known critical acute-
ness. Besides, they were not the
only ones who perceived that the
Greeks had borrowed from the
Hebrews. Antiquity is at one in
recognizing the fact. The Fathers
of the primitive church who had
occasion to touch upon the subject
do not hesitate to affirm it from
observations of their own. " Our
sacred books," says Tertullian,
" are the treasure from which philo-
sophers have drawn all their riches.
Who is the poet, who is the soph-
ist, that has not borrowed from the
prophets ? It is at those sacred
sources that the philosophers have
striven to quench their thirst.
These men, impelled by their pas-
sion for glory, endeavored to reach
the sublimity of our Holy Scrip-
tures, and when they found in them
anything that suited their views
they made it their own. But as
they did not consider them as di-
vine, they made no scruple to alter
them. And, moreover, they could
not understand many a passage
the sense of which was obscure
even for the Hebrews, to whom the
books belonged." St. Justin equal-
ly affirms that " Plato took from
Moses his doctrine of creation, as
well as his notions on the Word, or
Logos, and the Energy or Spirit of
God, though all these truths ap-
pear strangely disfigured in the
Athenian philosopher." Again,
Clement of Alexandria tells the
Neo-Platonics that their master,
Plato, had borrowed from the
books of Moses his most sublime
doctrines and purest moral pre-
cepts, and adds : " We state the
fact that the Greeks, not satisfied
with transferring to their writings

the wonderful events related in
our sacred books, have stolen
from us our principal dogmas in
altering them. They are caught
in the very act of theft as to what
regards faith, wisdom, knowledge
and science, hope and charity, pe-
nance, chastity, and the fear of
, God, which virtues are the off-
spring of truth alone." Eusebius
tells us that Pythagoras had held
communications with the prophets
at the time when the Jews were
exiles in Egypt and Babylonia.
Hennippus, according to the tes-
timony of Josephus, confirms that
fact by saying that Pythagoras
had embraced and professed a
part of the doctrines of the Jews,
and had transmitted their philoso-
phy to the Gentiles. Clearchus
affirms that Aristotle had spoken
to him of his conversations with a
Jew " from whom much was to
be learnt." Theodoret is not less
positive. " Anaxagoras and Pytha-
goras," he says, " in their travels
in Egypt, had made the acquaint-
ance of learned men of that coun-
try and of Judea. It is to the
same source that Plato came later
in search of knowledge, as we are
informed by Plutarch and by
Xenophon. ''What is Plato?"
said the Pythagorean Numerius.
"He is a certain Moses who
speaks Attic." The negations with-
out proofs which men of rationalis-
tic tendencies oppose to this view
cannot stand before the over-
whelming testimony of the Fa-
thers, doctors, and historians of
the primitive church, corroborat-
ed as it is by more than one pa-
gan author. Our modern Catholic
writers, without any exception
that we know of, have recognized
that influence of revelation on the
heathen mind. " The laws which
Solon gave to the Athenians," re-

see

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

marks Fleury, "had a great analo-
gy with those of Moses. The
principles of Socrates are found-
ed on those of the Hebrew legis-
lator; his notions of the unity of
God, the immortality of the soul,
the distinction between good and
evil, the merits and rewards of vir-
tue, the chastisements of vice, are
all derived from the sacred books.
The political system exposed by
Plato in his Republic, in which he
enjoins that every one should live
by his own labor, without luxury
or ambition, without innovation
or change, under the sway of jus-
tice the greatest of all goods, and
the government of a wise ruler de-
voted to the happiness of his sub-
jects, is nothing else but the theo-
ry of the constitution which gov-
erned Judea." "Aristotle," says
M. de Maistre, alluding to a pas-
sage already quoted, " conversed
with a Jew in comparison with
whom the most distinguished phi-
losophers of Greece seemed to him
but barbarians. The translation
of the sacred books into a lan-
guage which had become that of
the universe, the dispersion of the
Jews over the whole world, and
man's natural curiosity for every-
thing new and extraordinary had
caused the Mosaic law to be
known everywhere, which thus be-
came an introduction to Christian-
ity." "The doctrine of the He-
brews," writes M. de Bonald, " was
spread with their writings in those
parts of Asia and of Europe bor-
dering on Palestine. It was not un-
known to the Greeks, and undoubt-
edly gave to the philosophy of Plato
that stamp of elevation and of truth
by which it is characterized."

But it is to Alexandria that
we must turn in order to fol-
low the developments and modifica-
tions of Greek thought in the three

centuries which immediately pre-
ceded, and in the four centuries
which followed, the coming of
Christ. Ptolemy I., during his
glorious reign, that lasted from 306-
285 B.C., among other monuments
with which he adorned the city of
Alexander, established the famous
Museum or University of Alexan-
dria, with its vast library, which is
said to have contained seven hun-
dred thousand volumes. It soon
became the centre of intellectual
life. There the most renowned
teachers in philosophy, poetry,
mathematics, astronomy, and the
arts lived and taught. Thither
would resort the learned of many
countries and religions. From the
time of its foundation to that of
Proclus, the most important of the
Neo-Platonics, who died four hun-
dred and eighty-five years after
Christ, that school continued to
flourish, but then began to decline
until every trace of it disappeared
before the invasions of the barba-
rian Mussulman. For a long time
the philosophy of the Museum
consisted in commentaries on Pla-
to and Aristotle. But the Jews of
the Greco-Egyptian city, which
had become after Jerusalem the
most important seat of their reli-
gion, were destined to give a new
direction to these speculations ;
and from it arose that peculiar
school of thought denominated
Neo-Platonism. It was an effort
made to reconcile together popular
belief with philosophic thought,
and was common both to the Jew-
ish and to the Grecian schools.
The first endeavored to blend Ju-
daism with Hellenism, as the latter
did to give a logical and doctrinal
foundation to heathenism.

It is not easy to fix the date
when the movement began. Some
trace it back to Aristobulus. He

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

567

lived under Ptolemy Euergetes,
whose reign extended from 247
221 B.C., and had been the teacher
of that illustrious prince, who, dis-
daining the coarse divinities of
Egypt, addressed his homage to
Jehovah, the God of the Hebrews,
and sacrificed in the Temple of Je-
rusalem, where he left marks of his
munificence and of his piety. It
is true that Aristobulus appealed
to Orphic poems in which Jewish
doctrines are found in support of
the assertion that the Greek poets
and philosophers had borrowed
their wisdom from the Jews. But
this opinion, which is shared by
Aristeas and others in those ages,
is not peculiar to Neo-Platonism,
and is by no means one of its
characteristics. Others pretend
that the earliest traces of Jewish-
Alexandrian philosophy are to be
found in the Septuagint. Accord-
ing to them, the authors of this
version of the Biblical writings
into Greek, made by order of
Ptolemy Philadelphus (285-247
B.C.), knew and approved the prin-
cipal doctrines of this philosophy,
and contrived to suggest them by
apparently insignificant deviations
from the original text. But the
passages on which they rest their
argument do not necessarily force
us to admit this conclusion. We
find that they avoid representing
God under sensible forms ; such
ideas as God's repenting, being
angry, etc., are toned down in their
expression ; in the same way eu-
phemisms are used when there is
question of sensible manifestations
of the Divinity ; there are omissions
and explanations in the translation
which are not authorized by the
original text. It is evident that
the translators were influenced in
their work by the dread they had
lest Jehovah should be assimilated

to the false divinities of pagan
mythologies. All this competent
critics concede, but fail to see in
the Septuagint a union of Greek
philosophemes with Jewish ideas.
Be this as it may, it was at the
dawn of Christianity, when the
Ptolemies had gone and the Ro-
mans came in, that the Neo-Pla-
tonic movement was really inau-
gurated ; and if it did not originate
with Philo, it was in him, at any
rate, that it first attained to impor-
tance. Philo belonged to a rich
family of Alexandria, and was born
about twenty- five years before our
era. He lived long enough to be
placed at the head of the legation
to Caligula in favor of his people,
and to write an account of it in the
reign of Claudius. What gives a
special interest to his writings is
that they were composed at the
very last period of the Jewish na-
tion, before the appearance of
Christianity. In religion a zealous
Jew penetrated with the truth and
goodness of the Hebrew revela-
tion, and a Greek by education a
man, besides, of high intellectual
gifts it is no wonder that he should
wish to blend in a harmonious
whole the two elements of his own
being, and to fuse the form of
Greek thought with the substance
of Jewish belief. In his endeavors
to realize this object Philo falls
into grievous errors, and on several
points deflects from the Jewish
faith into Greek views. " His love
of Greek philosophy," says Allies,
" had led him, as it seems uncon-
sciously, to desert the divine tra-
dition of Moses and the orthodox
Jewish belief." Here, then, we
are concerned with two questions :
first, What did Philo contribute to
Greek thought ? and, secondly, How
far his orthodoxy suffered by its
contact with it.

568

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

Philo introduced into philosophy
two principles the result of which
can be traced throughout the whole
subsequent periods of Neo-Plato-
nism : the principle of faith, or the
need of a revelation in order to ac-
quire the knowledge of God and
of the great problems relating to
human life; and the principle of
grace, or of a special assistance
from heaven in order to make this
knowledge practically available.
Now, these principles had been
either entirely ignored by the Greek
philosophers or had remained with-
out any significance to them down
to Philo's time. Reason was the
only light by which they were
guided, and scientific thought their
only source of knowledge. We
find in them no assumption of su-
pernatural revelation, no require-
ment of contact with the divine
other than what might be produc-
ed by the effect of thought itself.
Greek philosophy in its whole tenor
was rationalistic. " On the con-
trary," observes Allies in his For-
mation of Christendom, "the reli-
gious and philosophical system of
Philo is based upon the idea of a
revelation made to man by God,
and of holiness, the result of divine
assistance. His conception of God
is derived to him from the theology
of the Old Testament; it comes to
him as a gift from above, not as
an elaboration of his own mind."
Hence it is that his notion of the
Supreme Being is so much above
that given us by Plato and Aris-
totle. The God of Plato is an
ideal and metaphysical God, not
absolutely personal, not free ; the
God of Aristotle, or his Primum
movens, the first Motor, is mechani-
cal, and holds in the universe the
office of the spring in a watch, by
which all its parts are moved; but
the God of Philo is life, and, as he

constantly calls him, "the living
God." " He is one, simple, eternal,
unoriginated, and absolutely distinct
from the world which is his work.
His own being is incomprehensible.
We can only predicate of him that
he is * He who is.' He is most pure
and absolute mind, better than vir-
tue and better than knowledge,
better than the idea of goodness
and the idea of beauty. He is his
own place, and full of himself, and
sufficient for himself, filling up and
embracing all that is deficient or
empty, but himself embraced by
nothing, as being one person and yet
everything " (Legis Allegor., 1. xiv.,
quoted in Allies). His providence
is fully recognized. " Those who
would make the world to be unori-
ginated, cut away, without being
aware of it, the most useful and
necessary constituents of piety
that is, the belief in Providence.
For reason proves that what has an
origin is cared for by its father and
maker. For a father is anxious for
the life of his children, and a work-
man aims at the duration of his
works, and employs every device
imaginable to ward off everything
that is pernicious or injurious, and
is desirous by every means in his
power to provide everything which
is useful and profitable for them.
But with regard to what has had no
origin there is no feeling of inte-
rest, as if it were his own, in the
breast of him who has not made it.
It is a worthless and pernicious
doctrine to establish in the world
what would be anarchy in a city,
to have no superintendent, regula-
tor, or judge by whom everything
must be distributed and governed "
(De Mundi Opificio^ apud Allies).
In his work entitled Quod Deus est
Immutabilis Philo ascribed to God
absolute knowledge. " To God,"
he says, " as dwelling in pure light,

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

569

all things are visible, for he, pene-
trating into the very recesses of the
soul, is able to see transparently
what is invisible to others, and by
means of prescience and providence,
his own peculiar excellences, al-
lows nothing to abuse its liberty or
exceed the range of his comprehen-
sion. For, indeed, there is with
him no uncertainty even in the
future ; for there is nothing uncer-
tain and nothing future to God. It
is plain, then, that the producer
must have knowledge of all that he
has produced, the artificer of all
that he had constructed, the gov-
ernor of all that he governs. Now,
Father, Artificer, and Governor he
is in truth of all things in heaven
and the world. And whereas fu-
ture things are overshadowed by
the succession of time, longer or
shorter, God is the Maker of time
also. . . . For the world by its mo-
tion has made time, but he made
the world, and so with God there
is nothing future, who has the very
foundations of time subject to him.
For their life is not time, but the
archetype and model of time, eter-
nity; and in eternity nothing is past
and nothing is future, but there is
the present only." In his concep-
tions of the Godhead and of his
attributes it is evident that Philo,
as long as he follows the light of
revelation and keeps clear of the
false notions which he had drawn
from Greek sources, rises far above
the speculations of the Greek phi-
losophers on the same subjects.
Plato himself in his happiest mo*
ments never reached such heights.
For Philo, God is goodness and
sanctity itself. By this he does not
mean only that he is the boundless
ocean of all perfections, the arche-
type of all holiness and of every-
thing that is good, but that he is the
origin of all human virtue, which

flows from him into his rational
creatures as from its only source. " It
is God," he writes in his Allegories
of the Law, " who sows and plants
all virtue upon earth in the mortal
race, being an imitation and image
of the heavenly." According to
him, man, in order to reproduce in
himself the divine resemblance in
which holiness consists, must be
freed from the influence of his sen-
suous nature, the source of his
weakness and sinfulness. But in
that nature no power is to be found
to transform itself, as no nature
has the power of changing itself
into anything other than what it is.
The consequence is that " he must
betake himself to a higher power,
and receive from it as a loan that
strength which fails in himself."
The difference between this doc-
trine and that of the older philoso-
phers is palpable. When Plato
and Pythagoras recommend to their
disciples the subduing of the senses
as a condition to reaching truth,
they suppose that man can do it by
his own efforts and without any
help from above ; and this is pre-
cisely what Philo denies. Further-
more, the knowledge of God, in
which man finds his perfection and
supreme happiness, is not a mere
ray of cold light, but it leads to an
intimate union with him, which is
the ultimate point of Philo's sys-
tem; and this union, as everything
perfect in human nature, is an im-
mediate gift of God. Thus Philo
would reach knowledge and virtue
by the gift of God, bestowed
through his grace, whilst down to
his time Greek philosophy, adher-
ing to its own principle, scientific
thought, would reach them by the
exercise of reason alone.

It is impossible to overrate the
influence which Philo, with his pow-
erful genius and vast erudition,

570

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

must have exercised not only
among his co-religionists but
among the Greek-speaking popu-
lations of Alexandria and other
countries. The most authorized
writers have at all times rendered
justice to his great merits. Jose-
phus says that he was "a man illustri-
ous in all things " ; Eusebius extols
" the abundance, the richness, the
sublimity of his style and the depth
of his thoughts"; St. Jerome,
speaking of his works, says that
" they are most remarkable and in-
numerable"; St. Augustine praises
him as "a philosopher of univer-
sal erudition, whose language the
Greeks do not hesitate to compare
to that of Plato." Photius also
testifies that " his writings gave him
an immense reputation among the
Greeks," This truly admirable man
went, as did all the great philoso-
phers of antiquity, over the whole
range of human knowledge : histo-
ry, ethics, jurisprudence, politics,
metaphysics, cosmogony, physics,
mathematics no department of
learning did he leave unexplored.
In morals he rises far above Stoi-
cism, and approaches to the sublimi-
ty of the Gospel a fact which pro-
bably was the origin of the opinion
entertained by some that Philo had
embraced Christianity. But the
glaring errors which are found in
his works on several important
points show that he was rather the
disciple of Plato than a follower of
Christ.

No Christian would have held,
as he did, the independent exis-
tence of matter, which is the sub-
version of the dogma of creation ex
nihilo taught us by revelation. For
Philo God is not, strictly speaking,
the Creator, but the Demiurgos, the
Artificer and Arranger of the world.
He admitted the Stoic doctrine of
the human soul being a fragment

or derivation of the divine Mind.
He places the origin of evil in the
conflict of matter and spirit. Ac-
cordingly, the body is an absolute
contradiction to the mind, and, as
such, the source of all evils. He
thinks that the earthly shell is a
prison out of which the soul longs
to be set free. Thus it is not the
abuse of free-will, but rather the
conflict between the flesh and the
spirit, which is made the source of
evil. On these four points Philo's
ideas are identical with those of
Plato and the Greek school. Philo
is further notorious for his extrava-
gant use of allegory in the interpre-
tation of Scripture on the one side,
and in giving a moral sense to the
Greek myths on the other; besides,
it is asserted that his doctrine on
the Logos, or divine Word, is erro-
neous, and has thrown considerable
obscurity over his otherwise elevat-
ed and exact conceptions of God.

According to the Alexandrian
philosopher, the Logos, or the Word,
would be " an intermediary being
between God and the world," " the
first-born of God," " the highest of
all the divine forces or potencies,"
"a creature whose instrumentality
he used to give existence to all
other creatures," " a second God."
The Logos is also the directing
power of the world, the divine
Providence that governs all things.
" The divine Word," he says,
"flows down as from a fountain,
like unto a stream of wisdom, to
inundate souls enamored with
heavenly things. It is by his Word
that God gives to the children of
the earth the knowledge of that
which is. " Finally, the Word holds
the office of mediator between man
and God ; in this regard it is " the
Supreme Pontiff," and may be call-
ed " the Paraclete, or Consoler." If
we take some of these expressions

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

571

in their literal meaning if the Logos
is, properly speaking, a creature, and
yet a second God endowed, as it
appears from the passages which
we have just quoted, with the attri-
butes of the Divinity there is no
doubt that Philo is at variance with
the orthodox teaching of the Jews,
who were always averse to any-
thing that would in the least go
against their belief in the unity of
God. Creation in the first book of
Genesis is simply attributed to God :
" At the beginning God created
heaven and earth," and in the Book
of Wisdom and other passages of
Biblical writings there is nothing
to indicate that the Word, the
Energy or the Virtue of God, by
which he created all things, is not
identical with God. In Ecclesi-
asticus xxiv. 14, Wisdom is said
to have been created before the
world. But there is no question
here of any creative act, properly so-
called. The meaning is that the
Word, who is the Wisdom of the Fa-
ther, was produced from eternity
by an ineffable generation ; for
Wisdom is spoken of as existing be-

Ifore all time, and therefore is eter-
nal and God himself. The notion
of the Logos which is attributed to
Philo would likewise be at variance
with that of his master, Plato. The
doctrine of Plato on the subject is
contained in his theory of ideas,
the types, exemplars, or immutable
reasons of things, present to the
mind of the Creator, which deter-
mine in him the essence of each
class of beings, and direct him in
the production of his works. Did
Plato make of those types or ideas
separate existences and substantial
beings distinct from God ? Aris-
totle interpreted in this sense cer-
tain expressions of his teacher.
But in antiquity as well as in our
own days Plato found strenuous

defenders who refused to admit
that he ever intended such an ab-
surdity. For our own part, we be-
lieve that the whole of his doctrine is
faithfully exposed in the following
passage of Atticus, apud Eusebius,
one of his most illustrious disciples :
" Plato," he says, " had recognized
God as the Father and Author, the
Master and Administrator, of all
things. Understanding, by the
very nature of a work, that he who
produces it must first of all con-
ceive its plan in his mind to give
it existence afterwards according
to that type, he saw that the ideas
of God were anterior to his works ;
that they were the immaterial,
purely intelligible, eternal, immuta-
ble exemplars of everything that ex-
ists ; that in them was the first be-
ing, the being par excellence from
which all things derive their being,
since they are only in the measure
in which they reproduce their types.
Being fully aware that those truths
are not easily understood, and that
language is inadequate to formulate
them in a clear manner, Plato dis-
coursed of them as best he could,
opening the way to those who
would come after him ; and ab-
sorbed in that consideration, mak-
ing his whole philosophy converge
towards that object, he declared
that wisdom consisted in the know-
ledge of the divine exemplars, and
that such was the science which
would lead man to his end or bea-
titude." Again, if it be true that
Philo conceived the Logos as a
being distinct from God, his doc-
trine has nothing in common with
the Christian dogma of the Word
as exposed in the Gospel of St.
John. The Word that was at the
beginning, and by whom all things
have been made, was with God,
and the Word was God. But it
would not be fair to condemn a

572

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

man before having made honest
endeavors to give to his words the
most favorable interpretation of
which they are susceptible. When
Philo calls the AVord "the first-
born of God," " the first creature,"
nothing forces us to attach to these
expressions any other meaning than
that we give to similar locutions
which we find in Scripture, and in
some of the early Fathers ; as, for
instance, St. Paul, Coloss. i. 15,
who, speaking of the Word, says
that " he is the image of the invi-
sible God, the first-born of every
creature"; and Clement of Alex-
andria, who declares that the Word
is " the first created wisdom." Be-
sides, it is probable that Philo had
some idea of the personality of the
Word. We must not forget that
he based all his philosophical spe-
culations upon revelation as found
in the Old Testament, and that he
could not have been wholly igno-
rant of the teachings of Christianity.
When, therefore, he uses the ex-
pression " second God," or " the
other God " alter Deus it is possi-
ble that he intends to designate by
it the Second Person of the Blessed
Trinity.

Be this as it may, certain it is
that Philo's ideas are found per-
meating Neo-Platonism in that
phase of it into which it entered in
his time, and which is also deno-
minated Neo-Pythagoreanism, be-
cause in that school an attempt
was made to revive the doctrines
and method of Pythagoras, as well
as his mode of life. It will be
sufficient here to direct our atten-
tion to Apollonius of Tyana, the
chief representative of the Neo-
Pythagoreans of that period. He
was a contemporary of Christ. His
life, written by Philostratus in the
third century, is a philosophico-re-
ligious romance in which the Neo-

Pythagorean ideal is portrayed in
the person of Apollonius. He had
visited many countries and sojourn-
ed with the sages of India, whom
he admired, and whose pantheistic
notions he adopted. His doctrine
is no more that of the old Greek
philosophers, who considered rea-
son as the only means of know-
ledge. He pretends to be in di-
rect communication with the Deity,
from which he derives light and
strength; and in this immediate
contact with Heaven his whole be-
ing is purified and elevated to a
degree of power which gives him,
as he pretends, the dominion over
the forces of nature. And as the
soul is, according to him, a portion
of the divine intelligence, and the
source of all good to man, so the
body, which is regarded as the pri-
son of his higher nature, must be
the source of the disordered affec-
tions which gain mastery over his
soul. All the ascetic life of Apol-
lonius is therefore directed to sub-
due this tyranny of the body. This
he must do first in himself and
then in those around him.

There is no doubt that this tone
of mind, which began to prevail at
the very time Christianity made its
appearance in the world, was fa-
vorable to it. Henceforth the sev-
eral schools of philosophy shall be
brought in contact with Christian
dogma and the contest carried on
in the same field. On the one
hand, the Greek philosophers wer
in search of a light which they did
not possess ; they were forced to
acknowledge in spite of themselves
that the speculations and systems
had failed to give a solution to
the most important problems with
which humanity is concerned ; the
had been made aware of the in-
sufficiency of reason to effect this
purpose; they felt the need of a

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

573

special assistance from above as a
check to the corruption of nature.
And, on the other hand, the cham-
pions of a new religion saw the
necessity of becoming thoroughly
acquainted with the ideas of their
opponents, in order to meet them
on their own ground and gain ad-
mittance into the very heart of pa-
gan learning. " In the truest sense
of the word," says a writer in the
Dublin Review ', " Christianity is a
philosophy, and, what is more to
the purpose, in the sense of the
philosophers of Alexandria it was
a philosophy. The narrowed mean-
ing that in our days is assigned to
philosophy, as distinguished from
religion, had no existence in those
times. Wisdom was the wisdom
by excellence, the highest, the ulti-
mate wisdom. It meant the fruit
of the highest speculation, and at
the same time the necessary ground
of all important practice. A sys-

Item of philosophy was, therefore,
at that period, tantamount to a re-
ligion. When the Christian teach-
ers then told the philosophers of
Alexandria that they could teach
them true philosophy, they were
saying not only what was perfectly
true but what was perfectly un-
derstood by their hearers. The
catechetical school was, and ap-
peared to them, as truly a philoso-
phical lecture-room as the halls of
the museum." It was in this light
that the Nee-Platonics must have
looked upon such men as Cle-
ment, Origen, and other writers
of the Christian school. They lis-
tened with deep interest to the
words of those teachers, who, with
a clearness and authority which
they had not known before, pro-
pounded doctrines that had already
found an echo in their hearts.
" Your masters in philosophy," they
were told, " are great and noble ;

but they did not go far enough, as
you all acknowledge. Come to us,
then, and we will show you what is
wanting in them. Listen to these
old Hebrews whose writings you
have in your hands. They treated
of all your problems, and had solv-
ed the deepest of them whilst your
forefathers were groping in dark-
ness. All their light, and much
more, is our inheritance. The truth
which you seek we possess. * What
you worship without knowing it,
that we preach to you.' God's
Word has been made flesh, has
lived on earth, the Perfect Man,
the Absolute Man. Come to us,
and we will show you how you
may know God through him, and
how through him God communi-
cates himself to you. Asceticism
and the subduing of the flesh by
mortification are good and com-
mendable, but the end of it all is
God and the love of God, and this
end can only be attained by a
Christian." Thus those very mat-
ters of intellect and high ethics in
which they especially prided them-
selves were brought back to them
with an intensity of light that made
visible the darkness which sur-
rounded the teachings of their old
masters.

It does not matter that Chris-
tianity found its most bitter enemies
in the ranks of Neo-Platonism. It
was a great advantage for it to
be brought hand-to-hand with all
forms of error. The battle raged
for three hundred years; but from
the very first Christianity proved
itself superior to its antagonist by
the influence which it exerted even
then on heathen philosophy, whose
tone and temper were completely
changed as early as the time of
Plutarch that is, about fifty years
after Philo. That influence is un-
mistakable, as Champagny clearly

574

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

shows in bis Antonines. Philoso-
phy has become more pious, more
worshipful. The idea of one su-
preme God is more definite ; God
is spiritual, not material ; he is
the pattern of every virtue, and his
providence extends over the world
and man. The principles of mo-
rality are purer and in many cases
recall the spirit of the Gospel.
" In the time of Severus," says Al-
lies, " all the thinking minds have
become ashamed of Olympus and
its gods. The cross has wound-
ed them to death." It is in vain
that the later Neo-Platonics and
court philosophers strive to shelter
retreating heathenism in a last
fortress. They only prepare the
way for the Christian faith, which
they strenuously combat. When
the Emperor Severus, regarding
with the eye of a statesman and a
soldier that faith, contemplates its
grasp upon society, and decrees
from the height of the throne a
general assault upon it; when his
wife encourages Philostratus to
draw an ideal heathen portrait,
that of Apollonius of Tyana, as
a counterpart to the character of
Christ, tacitly subtracting from the
Gospels an imitation which is to
supply the place of the reality,
they confess by the very fact the
weakness of heathenism and the
ascendency which the religion of
Christ had already obtained. Soon
after Origen could discern and
prophesy the complete triumph of
that religion. To Celsus, who had
objected that, were all to do as the
Christians did, the emperor would
be deserted and his power fall into
the hands of the most savage and
lawless barbarians, he replied : " If
all did as I do, men would honor
the emperor as a divine command,
and the barbarians, drawing to the
Word of God, would become most

law-loving and most civilized ; their
worship would be dissolved, and
that of the Christians alone pre-
vail, as one day it will alone pre-
vail, by means of that Word gather-
ing to itself more and more souls "
(Orig. contra Celsus, apud Allies).
Philo, therefore, in inaugurating
the Neo-Platonic movement in
philosophy, was only fulfilling the'
mandate delivered to his people,
that of preparing the way of the
Lord and disposing the nations for
the acceptance of the Gospel.
The church succeeds the syna-
gogue as the divinely-accredited
teacher of mankind ; the long-cher-
ished hope of the Hebrews is real-
ized, and the true kingdom of David,
is established upon earth to hold
universal sway. The Gentile world,
through the instrumentality of the
chosen people, had been made to
share in the great hope of a Re-
deemer, and within it aspirations
had been developed and longings
were felt which philosophy was un-
able to satisfy ; and at the very
time when its inanity appeared
more manifest Christ reveals him-
self to that world as " the Way, the
Truth, and the Life," and present-
ed to it in his own person that
form of virtue which Plato thirsted
to see embodied. Under his influ-
ence the face of the earth is renew-
ed ; what human genius, with all
its efforts, had failed to accom-
plish, what such men as Plato,
Pythagoras, and others could not
accomplish, even among a small
number of adepts this and infinite-
ly more was realized, not merely
within the narrow circle of a few
privileged disciples, but among the
masses, among the learned and the
ignorant, the rich and the poor,
the rulers and the ruled, the power-
ful and the weak ; not in one corner
of the globe, but all over the world,

Relations of Judaism to Christianity.

575

from north to south and from east
to west ; not only in countries
favored by great intellectual apti-
tudes, where the arts and sciences
flourished, where civilization with
all its refinements had reached the
highest degree of perfection, but in
countries most abandoned, among
savage tribes and barbarous na-
tions plunged in utter darkness.
Surely a new principle of life has
taken possession of the earth a
divine principle which gives rise to
those heroic virtues which we see
displayed in every rank of society
and in all climes, and by which the
human race is transfigured. This
result was foretold centuries be-
fore ; it is the new creation spoken
of by the Psalmist : " Thou shalt
send forth thy spirit, and they shall
be created ; and thou shalt renew
the face of the earth " (Ps. ciii. 30).
It was preceded by a series of
events so combined that it is im-
possible not to see in them the su-
pernatural action of divine Provi-
dence and the profound wisdom of
God, who makes use of apt means
for the furtherance of his end. Be-
sides, there is a wonderful unity of
truth discernible from the very be-
ginning, and which appears in an
unbroken chain throughout the
course of ages. It is the same
Word, the same light, which was
communicated to our first parents
that we see increasing in intensity
until it reaches in Christ the splen-
dor of the full day. The first rev-
elation of the Word to man is to
be found in his natural reason,
which is pervaded with primary
truths that are axioms in the in-
telligence of mankind. " But on
these,'' says Cardinal Manning

(Temporal Mission of the Holy
Ghost), " descended other truths
from the Father of light, as he
saw fit to reveal them in measure
and in season, according to the
successions of time ordained in the
divine purpose. The revelations
of the patriarchs elevated and en-
larged the sphere of light in the in-
telligence of men by their deeper,
purer, and clearer insight into the
divine mind, character, and conduct
in the world. The revelations to
Moses and to the prophets raised
still higher the fabric of light, which
was always ascending towards the
fuller revelation of God yet to
come. But in all these accessions
and unfoldings of the light of God
truth remained still one, harmoni-
ous, indivisible; a structure in per-
fect symmetry, the finite but true
reflex of truth as it reposes in the
divine intelligence." None of the
much-boasted theories of our mo-
dern rationalists gives us that unity
which is the test of truth. The
restoration of our fallen race by the
manifestation of the Word is the
leading principle of Schlegel's Phi-
losophy of History / and the greatest
minds, as St. Augustine and Bossuet,
admitted no other in their immor-
tal works. How puerile, in com-
parison with their grand and lu-
minous conceptions, are all those
systems which would fain explain
the destinies of man without God !
To the dreamers who have invent-
ed them can be applied the words
of St. Paul : " They detain the
truth of God in injustice. They
have become vain in their thoughts,
and their foolish heart has been
darkened" (Rom. i. 18-21).

576

Neiu Publications.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE DIVINE SANCTUARY. A series of

Meditations upon the Litany of the

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. By the

Very Rev. Thomas S. Preston, V.G.,

Pastor of St. Ann's Church, N. Y.

New York : Robert Coddington. 1878.

We welcome most gratefully this new

book for the month of June. We hope

it will go a long way towards placing

the observance of this month on a level

with that of the month of May ; for the

more the devotion to the Sacred Heart

increases among us the more abundant

will be the graces it always brings.

The book, however, is not intended
for the month of June alone, but can be
used at any time, and particularly on
the first Friday or Sunday of every
month. The author's idea, in choosing
the Litany of the Sacred Heart and form-
ing a meditation on each of the invoca-
tions to this " divine sanctuary," is a
very happy one. He has divided the
whole into three parts, viz. : "The Glo-
ries of the Sacred Heart," as shown in
the first thirteen invocations ; " The Sor-
rows of the Sacred Heart," as contem-
plated in the next eight ; and " The
Offices of the Sacred Heart," as appealed
to in the remaining nine. At the head
of each meditation is an appropriate pas-
sage of Holy Scripture.

As to the excellence of the medita-
tions themselves, there is no need of our
dwelling on it. It is enough to know,
from his past efforts, what Father Pres-
ton is capable of in dealing with devo-
tional subjects. This kind of book is
his peculiar forte. We are sure the little
volume will be highly prized by all lov-
ers of the Sacred Heart, who will also
find the Litany itself, together with a
beautiful Act of Consecration, imme-
diately following the list of contents.

GOOD THINGS FOR CATHOLIC READERS :
A Miscellany of Catholic Biography,
History, Travels, etc. Containing Pic-
tures and Sketches of Eminent Per-
sons, representing the Church and
Cloister, State and Home, etc., etc.
With over two hundred Illustrations.
Second edition, with Additions.
New York : The Catholic Publication
Society Company. 1878.
This large and very handsome volume
is in every way a gem. It contains more
varied and interesting information
much of it of positive and immediate

value than any work we know. It is
called " second edition," but really it is
a new volume, containing twice as much
matter as the original. Its sketches of
Catholic biography, with excellent por-
traits, are brought down to the present
year. The last face that looks at us
from the pages is the beautiful one of
the Rt. Rev. M. M. de St. Palais, the
lamented Bishop of Vincennes, who died
in June, 1877. Near him is the noble
countenance of Bishop Von Ketteler.
Dear old Father McElroy looks out at
us with his bright eyes, his head leaning
against his hand. Archbishops Bayley
and Connolly and Bishop Verot are
there. There is also the leonine head of
Dr. Brownson, and an excellent sketch
of his life. But it is dangerous to begin
the list of these Catholic heroes and
holy men whose portraits and biogra-
phies are here given us. One lingers by
each one, for each one is full of attrac-
tion. A good sketch and an excellent
portrait of our late Holy Father, Pope
Pius IX., catch the eye as we open the
volume of 638 pages. Interspersed with
these biographical sketches and por-
traits is every kind of interesting matter
with pleasing illustrations. No book
could make a more acceptable present ;
for it is indeed an exhaustless mine of
" good things " things, too, which
young and old will find equally good.

WE are in receipt of a number of vol-
umes and pamphlets, many of which
have been noticed and the notices are
already in type, but owing to a variety
of necessities have been regretfully held
over from month to month. We trust to
satisfy everybody in our next number.
A word to publishers : They are very
apt to send in what are called " season-
able " books on the eve of THE CATH(
Lie WORLD'S going to press, and appf
to be surprised at not seeing a noti(
duly appear " in season." For instanc
devotional works intended for the mont
of May come to us by the dozen wh<
the May number of THE CATHOLIC
WORLD is already passing through the
press. If all publishers bore in mind,
as some do, that the magazine is to all
intents and purposes prepared a month
ahead of date, there would be no sur-
prise at the long delay which " season-
able " books that arrive out of seasor
have to endure.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVIL, No. 161. AUGUST, 1878.

DR. EWER ON THE QUESTION, WHAT IS TRUTH?*

TEN years ago Dr. Ewer pro-
duced an argument proving the
failure of Protestantism by some
solid reasons, which he avers have
been met "not by argument, but
by a gale of holy malediction and
impotent scorn," on the part of
those who were included in his
indictment. Dr. Ewer being an ac-
credited minister of a society whose
official designation in its own ec-
clesiastical law and before the civil
law of the land is u the Protestant
Episcopal Church in the United
States," it was a very natural in-
quiry whether he had not indicted
his own church and himself as par-
ticipants in this general failure or
religious bankruptcy, and was not
morally bound to abandon an in-
stitution denounced by himself as
not only insolvent but fraudulent.
The late illustrious Dr. Brownson
did the reverend gentleman the
great honor of reviewing the argu-
ment which he had put forth, in
the pages of this magazine. Not
with malediction and scorn, but
with sober logic, he pointed out
his inconsistent and self-contra-

* A lecture by the Rev. Dr. F. C. Ewer, " Ca-
tholic Truth and Protestant Error," reported in
the New York Tribune of May n, 1878.

dictory position, as a Protestant
minister denouncing Protestantism,
and proved that the only possible
logical alternative of Protestantism,
for one who admits the divine ori-
gin of the Christian religion, is the
genuine and pure Catholicism of
the holy, Catholic, apostolic Ro-
man Church. To the many fail-
ures of Protestantism, not only to
construct any real form of Chris-
tian religion, but also to destroy
the actual and historical Christi-
anity which it has renounced, Dr.
Ewer added another in his own
person by failing to answer the
arguments of Dr. Brownson. Al-
though strongly urged to under-
take the task, he absolutely declined
to do so ; and in presenting himself
anew, after a lapse of ten years,
with the proffer of something which
he is pleased to call " Catholic:
Truth " as a substitute for Protes-
tant error, he does so under the
great disadvantage of having fail-
ed to vindicate himself from the
charge of teaching what is only one
of the Protean forms of the very
error which he so solemnly denoun-
ces as subversive of all faith or
even natural religion.

578

^ Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth?

The present lecture, besides con-
taining a renewal of the indictment
of Protestantism, and a restatement
of the assertion that the truth op-
posite to its errors is embodied in
the infallible teaching of a Catholic
Church existing in his own imagina-
tion, has also what purports to be a
palmary refutation of the dogma of
Catholic faith defined by the Coun-
cil of the Vatican respecting the
infallibility of the Roman Pontiff.
Perhaps the lecturer considers that
this is a sufficient though late re-
joinder to the arguments of Dr.
Brownson in THE CATHOLIC
WORLD. Not so. Dr. Ewer's Ca-
tholic Church has been proved to
be an ens rationis, an abstraction,
and its imaginary infallibility to be
mere moonshine of the fancy. The
logical idea of organic unity, of
corporate, Catholic, unerring teach-
ing and legislating and grace-giv-
ing hierarchical authority,' repre-
senting Christ on earth from his
ascension to his second coming,
has been demonstrated to have no
counterpart and expression in the
order of real and actual existence,
except in the one church over
which Peter presides in his suc-
cessors. If it is proved that the
successor of Peter, with the con-
currence of the bishops, clergy, and
faithful who obey his supreme au-
thority, has committed an act of
self-stultification, this lamentable
catastrophe affords no more ground
to Dr. Ewer and his little party to
claim a gain of cause for their petite
eglise than it does to the Rev.
John Jasper to maintain the tri-
umph of his ancient and primitive
doctrine that "the sun do move."
Let us suppose that the utter fail-
ure of Protestantism is demonstrat-
ed. Let us suppose, also, that the
Church of Rome has erred. Does
it follow by any logical reduction

that the party of Dr. Ewer, how-
ever respectable in regard to learn-
ing and intellectual ability, morali-
ty and religious zeal, is not also in
error ? By no means. The only
conclusion which does logically fol-
low is that two-thirds of those who
are called Christians are very seri-
ously in error regarding the true
and real nature of the Christian
religion which they profess. It is
possible that the remainder may
also have erred. The Greek
Church may have erred, the Church
of England may have erred, the
Oriental sects may have erred.
Some of them must have erred, for
they disagree among themselves in
regard to two important matters,
one as to what pertains to the
essence and integrity of Catholic
faith, the other as to what pertains
to the essence and integrity of Ca-
tholic order. There is a general
disagreement and disunion, with-
out any external criterion or legi-
timate tribunal of judgment by
which their differences can be adju-
dicated and terminated. The ap-
peal which some of our Anglican
friends are wont to make to an oecu-
menical council of Christendom is
about as practical a method of con-
stituting such a tribunal as an ap-
peal would be to Moses, to the
twelve apostles, to the Council of
Nice, or to a special commission of
archangels. Failing all possible
recourse to an actually existing and
infallible tribunal, we are thrown
back upon the necessity of judging
for ourselves between the various
systems and forms of doctrine pro-
fessedly Christian, on their intrin-
sic merits, and the rational evi-
dence which each of them can
adduce in its own behalf. Who-
ever thinks that we are really in
this predicament will, if he
holds firmly to Christianity and

Dr. Eiver on the Question, What is Truth

579

at the same time follows the dic-
tates of reason, conclude that the
various forms of Christianity are
only differentiations of the same
generic ratio, and will seek for some
rationalistic or broad-church basis
of reconciliation and union among
Christians. If he does not hold by
some kind of strong, and dominant
conviction to the Christian religion,
he will adopt the opinion of Mr.
Fronde and many other men of the
nineteenth century, that it is a re-
ligion destined to become obsolete
and be replaced by a new religion
or by nihilism. So far from liberat-
ing those who are " breast-deep in
torrents of scepticism," Dr. Ewer
plunges them with a stone to their
feet to the bottom of the sea of
scepticism. He loudly proclaims
that there is no remedy for doubt,
misery, and spiritual ruin exce.pt in
the coming and the remaining upon
earth, in visible, audible form and
presence, of God made man, by his
natural and mystical body, through
whose organs of human speech the
truths of salvation are infallibly de-
clared to those men who are willing
to hear. Yet he denies all the evi-
dence there is that any such mysti-
cal body of Christ, possessing and
exercising the requisite power of
infallible speech, has continuously
existed, and does now exist, on the
earth, giving to men an unerring
external criterion of judgment
whereby they may discern Catho-
lic truth from Protestant errors.
Having first swept away rational
theology and all certitude concern-
ing revealed truth which can be
gained from the private study of the
Scriptures, he annihilates the living,
teaching authority of the perennial
church, and leaves nothing what-
ever which can furnish a refuge
from the universal sea of doubt,
not even a Noe's ark. The land

which he points out is a mirage, the
ark of safety is a phantom-ship.
Man is justified, according to the
gospel of Dr. Ewer, not by faith
alone, but by theory alone; not by
the works of the law, but by the
plays of the imagination. With
very great pomp of language he
exclaims : " In this God embodied
in the one church, in this God con-
tinuously visible and audible, there-
fore, behold, gentlemen, the foun-
tain of infallibility which you seek;
for God himself cannot err nor
falsify." This is an encouraging
and promising invitation. Surely,
if we can find this divine oracle, this
sacred tabernacle over which a pillar
of fire reposes all through the hours
of this present darkness as a token
of the abiding of the Spirit of Truth
within its sacred enclosure, we may
be satisfied, and if this bright cloud
precedes we may march with confi-
dence through the desert toward
the promised land.

Let us be sure that the Son of
God has come into the world, that
he has founded a church with
sovereign and unerring authority to
teach his truth and his law, that we
know with certainty which is this
church, and it is obvious that all
reasonable cause for doubting in
regard to things necessary to our
interior peace of mind and our
eternal salvation is removed. Dr.
Ewer's theory is right and consis-
tent so far. But he fails to verify
his own conditions, and does not
designate any real and concrete
body which fulfils the exigencies
of his theory. He asserts that who-
ever holds his theory is a Catholic,
and that there are three, and only
three, churches which are parts
of the one body that, according to
the theory which he calls Catholic,
must necessarily be identified and
recognized as the mystical body of

58o

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth f

Christ. He exhorts his hearers to
listen, "as the one Holy Catholic
Church in all its parts, His own
body, raises its voice," which he
says is " the voice of God on earth,
chanting aloud that all the people
in all time may hear, and be with-
out excuse, the unaltering, irrefor-
mable truth." What is the sum
and substance of this truth ? It is,
he informs us, " the solemn, Ca-
tholic Creed of Nice, Constantino-
ple, and Athanasius." This creed,
moreover, he asserts, has been
chanted "in unison round and
round the world in unbroken strain,
following the tireless sun, through
the centuries and the millenniums,"
by his imaginary catholic church,
a body existing in separate parts,
without any head or unity of or-
ganization. Dr. Brownson has de-
monstrated that such a body can-
not exist either in the realm of
nature or in that of grace, and we
need not repeat his arguments.
We simply affirm, at present, that
this unison of voices without dis-
cord or interruption, chanting con-
tinuously from the apostolic age
the three creeds above mentioned,
is a myth, and no historical fact.
Dr. Ewer appears to rely on it as
the external criterion of Catholic
truth, and if it vanishes, as it must
under the historical test, he is left
to the mercy of the torrents of
scepticism, along with the other
Protestants. The creeds, in their
external form, are a growth and a
development from the germ which
first existed under a simpler form.
The slightest acquaintance with
early church history suffices to
show how long and violent a war-
fare was necessary in order to
establish the Nicene Creed with its
test-word of orthodoxy, "consub-
stantial with the Father," as the
permanent, universal, and un-

changeable formula of faith, even
among those who truly held and
confessed the Catholic faith itself
in regard to the true and proper
divinity of the Son. The additions
made by the First Council of Con-
stantinople were not universally
adopted, or the council itself com-
pletely ratified and recognized as
oecumenical, until at least seventy
years after its celebration.

If the doctrine contained in the
creeds is regarded in itself, pre-
scinding from its verbal expres-
sion, the case is much worse for
Dr. Ewer's theory. The Arian he-
retics were numerous and power-
ful, and they were able to perse-
cute the Catholics and lay waste
the church in a fearful manner.
They were nevertheless Catholics,
according to Dr. Ewer's definition.
They professed to have the genu-
ine, apostolical, and primitive faith,
and accused the Catholics of hav-
ing altered and corrupted it. They
recognized the visible church, the
apostolic succession, the hierarchi-
cal order, the sacrifice and sacra-
ments instituted by Christ, and
continued the outward show and
appearance of conformity to estab-
lished Catholic usage, and even to
the language of the Fathers respect-
ing the mysteries of faith. They
were intruded into the possession
of the titles, churches, and other
temporalities of many of the most
important episcopal sees, and sus-
tained in their usurpation by the
civil power.

After the extermination of the
Arian heresy came the Nestorians.
They also professed to be orthodox
and Catholic, anathematized the
Arians and all the previous here-
tics, confessed the Nicene Creed,
and, when they were condemned
and cut off from the church, so far
from ceasing to exist, they increas-

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth ?

581

ed and flourished in a remarkable
way for centuries, and still remain
as a separate organization with
their bishops, who have succeeded
in an unbroken line from those of
the fifth century.

The Eutychians or Monophysites
received the decrees of the coun-
cils of Nice and Ephesus, anathe-
matized the Nestorians, and de-
nounced the Catholics as Nestori-
an heretics. After the Council of
Chalcedony which condemned them,
they persisted in maintaining their
position as being the genuine Ca-
tholics, and formed a new sect,
which still subsists in Egypt and
the East. A century after the
Council of Chalcedon, out of six
millions of Christians in the patri-
archate of Alexandria, there were
only three hundred thousand Ca-
tholics, and in Asia Minor the di-
visions and dissensions caused by
the Monophysite and Nestorian
heresies were so great that the
peace and stability of the Eastern
empire were seriously compromis-
ed. This was the occasion of an
effort at reconciliation made by the
Emperor Heraclius, in concert with
Sergius of Constantinople and Cy-
rus of Alexandria, which brought
in a new heresy, the Monothelite,
with new disorders, new persecu-
tions, and another violent struggle
for life on the part of the Catholic
faith, that resulted after fifty years
in a sixth oecumenical council,
where the Monothelite heresy was
condemned. What reason has Dr.
Ewer for excluding these heretical
Eastern sects from his comprehen-
sive Catholic Church ? They have
always received the creeds of Nice
and Constantinople. They hold
fewer heresies than those which
are admitted by the Church of
England, and, apart from their spe-
cial heretical tenets, are in close

conformity of doctrine and order
with the Greek Church. They al-
ways protested that they held the
primitive, Catholic faith, and that
they were unjustly condemned be-
cause they resisted the effort to
impose new dogmas and additions
to the creed as terms of Catholic
communion. The history of the
whole period of the first six coun-
cils completely falsifies and nullifies
Dr. Ewer's theory, and shows his
fanciful chant in unison to be as
mythical a song as was ever sung
in the brain of a woman with a bee
in her bonnet. It has a very nice
sound to appeal to the first six
councils. Even the Presbyterian
General Assembly could vindicate
their orthodoxy before Pius IX. by
loudly proclaiming their assent to
all the dogmatic definitions of the
first six councils. But what do the
majority of men know about these
councils ? The same objections
which Anglicans make against the
seventh, and Greeks and Anglicans
alike make against the councils of
Lyons, Florence, Trent, and the
Vatican, are of equal force against
those of Nice, Constantinople,
Ephesus, and Chalcedon. The
number of bishops present in each
of them varied from one hundred
and fifty to six hundred and thirty,
out of a whole number of prelates
certainly much larger even in the
beginning of the fourth century,
and estimated by the emperors
themselves, who must have had
better means of information than
any others at the time, as having
increased in the fifth century to a
total of five or six thousand. The
church went on very well for three
centuries without any oecumenical
councils. When the necessity arose,
each council was sufficient for the
present emergency, but not suffi-
cient for the new ones which arose

582

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is TrutJi f

and demanded new councils and
new decisions, of equal authority
with the preceding. Each one has
met the violent opposition of the
rebellious, the schismatical, and the
heretical appellants from the pre-
sent, actual authority of the church
to some ideal tribunal of their own
imagination, in the past or in the
future, which they can call what
they choose, the Catholic Church
or the Word of God. Their word
of God is their own private inter-
pretation of Scripture, or of Scrip-
ture and tradition together; their
Catholic Church is themselves and
their particular party, pretending
to speak in the name of the church
and to be her interpreters. The
whole is worth as much as the
oecumenical council forged by Pho-
tius, acts, decrees, signatures, and
all, and promulgated at large among
the Eastern bishops, in support of
his usurpation of the see of Con-
stantinople. The council of Pho-
tius was Photius himself, and the
Catholic Church of Dr. Ewer is
Dr. Ewer and the other members of
his party. There is no really ex-
isting and speaking society which
says : " I am the church, composed
of three parts, Roman, Greek, and
Anglican." This is the language
of certain individuals put into the
mouth of an imaginary society. The
principle of individualism, which is
the first principle of schism and
heresy, is just as really at the bot-
tom of Dr. Ewer's theory as it is at
the bottom of Chillingworth's. It
breeds the same discord and disun-
ion, and leaves men exposed to the
same inroad of scepticism. Contro-
versies concerning what the church
is, what her authority and in-
fallibility are, which are the true
councils, which is the true Ca-
tholic communion, who are the
lawful pastors to whom obedi-

ence is due, confuse and disturb
the mind and conscience as much
as controversies concerning the
true sense of Scripture, the true
doctrine of the Person of Christ,
or the conditions of salvation in
general. There must have been
an external criterion, a rule of de-
termination, by which the orthodox
faith and Catholic communion could
be discerned from Arian, Nesto-
rian, Monophysite, and Donatist
counterfeits. That same rule must
exist now; it must be an infallible
test of every kind of spurious Chris-
tianity and spurious Catholicity.
It is necessary that this rule, if it
be really sufficient, should deter-
mine not only between Caiphas or
Mohammed and Christ, between
apocryphal and genuine Scriptures,
between Arius and Athanasius,
Macedonius and Basil, Nestorius
and Cyril, Dioscorus and Leo,
Pyrrhus and Maximus, but also be-
tween Calvin and Bellarmine, Eli-
zabeth and Pius V., Nicholas and
Pius IX., Dollinger and Cardinal
Manning, Dr. Ewer and Dr. Brown-
son. It must determine not only
between church and no-church,
Bible alone and Bible with apos-
tolic tradition, priest and preacher,
but between bishop and bishop, the
usurpation and the just right of
ecclesiastical jurisdiction, the pre-
tence and the reality of infallible
authority, the minimum and the
maximum of doctrine which must
be accepted as pertaining to Catho-
lic faith. These are not non-essen-
tial matters or questions of debate
between theological schools. They
relate to obligations of conscience
in which the salvation of the soul
is involved, and are eminently
practical. The Spanish prince
Hermenegild had such a practical
rule, and obeyed it by sacrificing
his life rather than to receive com-

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth ?

533

munion from an Arian bishop.
Marie Antoinette had the same,
and died without the Viaticum
rather than to receive it from a
constitutional priest. An Anglican
living in St. Petersburg, and in
doubt whether he was bound to
remain in his own sect, to join the
Russian national church, or to be-
come a Catholic, or was at liberty
to choose between the three, would
need the same rule. Who could
decide the doubt for him ? His
own clergy ? The Russian clergy ?
Catholic priests? The judgment
of any of these, as private individu-
als, is not infallible. They can
only help him to find some rule
under which they are personally
acting, and which proceeds from
an authority superior to themselves.
According to Dr. Ewer, neither of
these authorities is supreme or in-
fallible in itself; it is only in so
far as they agree in transmitting
the judgments of an authority in
abeyance, that they can furnish an
infallible rule. This is no rule
which meets his case. They agree
only in telling him that he must
obey the rule recognized by the
first six councils. Where is that
voice of God which is audible to
all men who will hear? Where is
the embodied Christ who will take
him by the hand ? What has be-
come of the chant in unison of the
one, Catholic Church, musically ut-
tering unalterable truth ? Suppose
that the Christians of the first seven
centuries had been left without any
better rule than this, what per-
plexity and' unutterable confusion
would have been the result quite
as bad if not worse than that which
exists among our modern Protes-
tant sects.

An extrinsic and infallible rule
of faith must be one that in a self-
evident manner manifests itself as

really extrinsic to those who pre-
sent it, and superior to their indi-
vidual judgment, and it must be
universal. The teacher and the
judge must speak in the name of a
really existing society which is ac-
tually one and universal, and in a
manifest identity with itself in the
past, by unbroken continuity of
life and self-consciousness from the
time of its origin in the divine in-
stitution of Christ. The instructor
of the one who seeks the truth must
teach him what the church thinks
and commands, and give him a
criterion of certainty that she does
think and command what he as-
cribes to her, so that if he falsifies
her teaching he will disclose and
betray his own deception in the
very act of deceiving, like one who
hands over a package of money
which had been entrusted to him
with a letter containing a descrip-
tion of its contents. Such a rule
of faith, with its criterion of cer-
tainty and of self-verification, with-
out any doubt the Catholics of the
first seven centuries possessed.
Their living and immediate rule
was a church really one and obvi-
ously one with itself in its present
and in its past. It declared itself
to have always held and meant
just what it was now saying. The
faithful believed and obeyed it, be-
cause its continuity and identity
from St. Peter and the apostles were
obvious by manifest signs and to-
kens which could not deceive them.
Heretics and schismatics could not
successfully mimic the voice of the
true church. Their lack of conti-
nuity, i.e., apostolicity, of unity, of
Catholicity, and of sanctity as well,
was obvious. Their counterfeits
were always put forth as the genu-
ine coin of ancient stamp, but as
coin which had been hidden or de-
faced until they had discovered it,

584

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth ?

or burnished it anew. The lawful
issues of new coin from the old
mint they denounced as counter-
feit or adulterated. Their very
pretence of returning to a kind of
old Catholic doctrine more ancient
and more Catholic than that of the
present church,- was a sure, detec-
tive test of their spuriousness.
Continuity could not be in them,
or universality, or unity; because
their only claim to a hearing, and
their only justification of their re-
bellion, implied that the church had
not preserved these notes unim-
paired. They were self-contradic-
tory, and affirmed and denied the
Catholic Church in the same breath.
So likewise their successors. The
so-called Greek Church is a con-
tradiction to itself, in respect to its
schismatical position, and a con-
crete absurdity. The Anglican sect
is not on a par with the schismati-
cal and heretical churches of the
East in any way, and deserves no
consideration in the treatment of
the question of the actual extension
of the Catholic Church. The theo-
retical church called Anglo-Catho-
lic is an ens rationis. We give it
only a hypothetical position in our
discussion, as a possible society
which might be organized in ac-
cordance with Dr. Ewer's theory,
if there were one real bishop to un-
dertake the experiment. This hy-
pothetical church is an hypotheti-
cal absurdity, as the Greek Church
is a real one. The absurdity con-
sists in the contradiction between
the concrete and practical actuality
of separate existence as a partial
and incomplete church, and the
confession of faith in one, holy,
Catholic, and apostolic church, hav-
ing infallible authority in faith and
morals. If the one church continues
to exist as a complete, integral
whole, there is no place for another

partial and incomplete church, and
any society which exists under that
name is condemned by itself as an
anomaly and a crime. If it does
not exist, the church has failed.
There being no whole, there can
be no parts. There is no church
at all of divine institution, no mys-
tical body of Christ on earth.
There are only human organiza-
tions, each of which is changeable
and fallible. The profession of
belief in the one, holy, Catholic, and
apostolic church is, therefore, a
profession of belief in a falsehood.
Mentita est iniquitas sibi.

In that part of his theory which
is Catholic Dr. Ewer affirms as a
necessary consequence from the
nature of God as a God of love, to-
gether with the method which he
has chosen for manifesting his love
through the Incarnation, that the
Catholic Church must be really ex-
isting : "that God has still re-
mained, and will to the end of time
remain, in a one, undying, ever-
fresh, amazing, organic, visible,
audible, tangible, and recognizable
body of human matter, known as
the mystical body of God on earth."
Once more he says : " As Jesus
Christ was the only being who
dared to call himself God, so Ca-
tholicity is the only Christian body
that dares to call itself infallible ;
that dares to begin its discourses, to
give its truth, to pronounce its
judgments, and to pardon sin, * In
the name of the Father, and of the
Son, and of the Holy Ghost."
This is given as a token of the true
church, the real possessor of infalli-
ble authority.

From this it follows that the
church whose supreme ruler is the
Roman Pontiff is the one, Catholic
Church, complete and integral in
itself, and in no sense a compart
with the Greek and Anglican

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth f

585

churches as other parts making up
with it, as a composite totality, the
Catholic Church. The members of
this church are on the same footing
with the Catholics of the earlier
ages, and have the same rule.
They recognize one church, dis-
tinct and separate from all others,
as perfect and infallible, witli its
continuous series of oecumenical
councils. This church, and this
church alone, dares to assume the
exclusive name and prerogatives of
Catholicity, to proclaim itself in-
fallible, and to command obedience
to it^ decrees as the necessary con-
dition of salvation. The Sovereign
Pontiff of Rome, and he alone,
dares to call himself the Vicar of
Christ and the Head of his entire
mystical body, the church. But
that most illogical and inconsistent
of men, Dr. Ewer, confronted by
Pius IX. and the CEcumenical Coun-
cil of the Vatican, and feeling him-
self and his pseudo-Catholicism
smitten by their anathemas, sud-
denly drops his Catholic disguise,
and, showing himself in his true
character as a Protestant and a
sceptic, cries out : " LET us EXAM-
INE." We have no objection to an
examination. For a Catholic, to
examine the dogmatic decrees of
an oecumenical council or of the
pope in respect to matters of faith,
with an examination of doubt and
hesitancy, is ipso facto a renuncia-
tion of his rule of faith and an act
of apostasy. For one who is in in-
culpable ignorance or doubt con-
cerning the criterion of truth and
the proximate rule of faith, to ex-
amine with sincerity and honesty
of purpose is a duty as well as a
right. Dr. Ewer puts himself and
his auditors into this position, as
seekers, inquirers, who are invited
to " go back and start all over
again without a Bible, without a

church, without sacraments, with-
out any religious notions and see
where we shall come out" An in-
teresting exploration, assuredly !
Dr. Ewer, and those who follow his
guidance, come out, by a tolerably
short path, to a logical position,
which is the next one to a final
term of the process. Nothing re-
mains to be determined, except
the subject of the attribute of in-
fallibility, in its specific and indi-
vidual being as really existing, and
representing the sovereign author-
ity of Christ on earth. Even this
is determined in respect to the past
existence of the body which is re-
cognized as the one, true church,
and was assembled in the first six
councils. The one point to be ex-
amined is whether the body as-
sembled in the Council of the Vati-
can is identical with the one, true
church assembled at Nice, Chalce-
don, and Constantinople, in oecu-
menical council. If it is, the ex-
amination is terminated ; the infalli-
ble church is found really exist-
ing in the present, with the same
specific and individuating notes by
which it is identified as existing in
the past. If not, the examination
is equally terminated, for there is
no other body even ostensibly simi-
lar to this one which remains to be
examined. Consequently, Dr. Ew-
er and his followers have come out
into a cul de sac, or no thorough-
fare.

Dr. Ewer, having examined the
claim of the Vatican Council to be
the Ecclesia Docens, defining the
Catholic faith with infallible au-
thority equal to that of the Council
of Nice, does not merely dispute or
deny it, but scouts and ridicules it
with most contemptuous language,
unsurpassed by any ever used by
Arians or Eutychians against pre-
vious councils and definitions. Its

586

Dr. Eiver on the Question, What is TrutJi ?

great dogmatic decree defining the
infallibility of the Roman Pontiff he
vituperates as " this flagrant in-
stance of the fallacy known as ' beg-
ging the very question at issue ' ;
an instance which is perhaps the
sublimest in its presumption, and
the most absurd in its simplicity,
that the world ever stood amazed
at." This is a strong assertion and
powerful rhetoric ! But what we
want is evidence and logic. Has
Dr. Ewer furnished any ? There
is some pretence of an argument,
and, such as it is, we will endeavor
to sift its value. The argument is
briefly this. The dogmatic decree
is the product of two factors, the
collective judgment of the bishops
apart from that of the pope, and
the judgment of the pope himself.
The judgment of the bishops being
confessedly not final and infallible
in itself, it is the judgment of the
pope which must make the decree
defining his infallibility final and
infallible. Therefore, he defines
his own infallibility by the same
infallibility. He declares himself
to be infallible because he is ; the
reason why we are bound to be-
lieve is identical with the very ob-
ject of belief, idem per idem.

We will first point out the con-
sequences to Dr. Ewer's own theo-
ry from the argument he has used
against the infallibility of the pope,
and show its thoroughly scepti-
cal tendency, and afterwards refute
it in a more direct manner. The
infallibity of the church or of oecu-
menical councils has never been
defined by any of the councils ac-
knowledged by Dr. Ewer. It has
always been taken for granted.
Suppose that the Council of Nice
had explicitly declared this doc-
trine as a. dogma of Catholic faith.
It would have affirmed the infalli-
bility of a council as its own infal-

lible judgment, and the infallibili-
ty of this judgment itself would
rest on the infallibility of the
church in council, the very thing
defined, as much as the infallibility
of the judgment of Pius IX. rested
on his own declaration that he was
infallible. It would be the same
in the case of the imaginary future
council gathered from the three
parts of Dr. Ewer's catholic
church. The taking of infallibili-
ty for granted was just as much a
begging of the question, on the
part of the Ecclesia Doc ens, in her
ordinary universal teaching and her
solemn definitions, as if she had
expressly defined it. According
to the same logic, the affirmation
of their infallibility and inspiration
by the twelve apostles would have
been a begging of the question.
It would have been a demand for
belief in their inspiration, because
they declared that they were in-
spired. Even so witli our Blessed
Lord. He declared that he was
the Son of God, and required ab-
solute faith in his words because
he was the Son of God, and the
very reason for believing his de-
claration rested on his actually be-
ing the Son of God. It is exactly
the same with the intellect and rea-
son of man. The demonstrations
of reason rest on first principles
which are taken for granted. Why
do you take them for granted, we
may ask of the intellect. Because
they are evident to me. What is
the proof that what is evident to
you is truth ? I am intellect, and
am made to see truth? By what
authority do you affirm that ? By
my own, because I am intellect and
reason. But I want an authority,
extrinsic to you, as a warrant that
you do not err when you say you
are intellect and reason, and that
what you call self-evident is really

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth f

5*7

so, and not a mere hallucination.
There is none.

Let us go back to God himself.
We believe God on his veracity,
i.e., because he is truth in his es-
sence, his knowledge, and his mani-
festation of the same to us. This
veracity of God, which is the rea-
son for believing whatever he
makes known to us by revela-
tion, is made known to us by God
himself, and we depend on his
truth for the certainty that it is
truth, that he exists, and that he
has manifested to us the truth.
If, therefore, the declaration of
the infallibility of the pope by the
pope himself is a logical fallacy be-
cause the infallibility of the person
and the act declaring it is implied
and presupposed, there is a logical
fallacy at the bottom of all faith
and all science, of the first acts of
reason and intellect, of the very
idea of being and reality. This is
Kantian and transcendental scep-
ticism and nihilism pure and sim-
ple. Being and nothing are iden-
tical. We are swallowed by the
abyss of the unknowable, and the
only fate possible or desirable for
us, phantoms of a nightmare, is to
be swallowed by the lower abyss
of dreamless unconsciousness.

There is a real affinity between
the pseudo-Catholicism of Oxford
and scepticism. The former breeds
the latter, and has actually been
succeeded by it in the English uni-
versities and in many individual
minds. Its sophistical methods
pervert the reasoning faculties and
undermine the basis of certitude.
There is, moreover, a reaction
caused by the refusal to draw from
premises which can only find their
just conclusions, their logical con-
sequences, .in genuine and com-
plete Catholicity, which drives men
back upon a rejection of all Chris-

tianity and all rational theology.
As for the great mass of the pre-
sent doubting generation, they are
disgusted and repelled, if they are
not rather moved to laughter and
contempt, by the exhibition of such
an illusory and fantastic claim of
authority, before which they are
exhorted to bow down. If Protes-
tantism is a failure, and the autho-
rity of the Roman Pontiff and the
great councils which have been
celebrated under his presidency is
futile, and the doctrine of the
Greek Church is only Catholic in so
far as the Church of England agrees
with it, and this final measure of
truth is only ascertained by taking
the opinion of one small party of
individuals, most men will con-
clude that Catholic authority is the
most baseless of pretensions, and
that Christianity itself is a failure.
It is very unwise for any man to
attempt to play the prophet, and as-
sume to speak to men with a solemn
air in the name of God, in these
days, unless he has very authentic
credentials. The pope can speak
to the world as the Vicar of
Christ, and receive some respectful
attention. Any Catholic priest
preaching Catholic doctrine has
the pope, and the whole hierarchy,
and many past centuries behind
him, to overshadow him with their
majesty. But the world cares
nothing for what is said officially
by the Patriarch of Constantinople
or the Archbishop of Canterbury,
much less for Dr. Ewer, and others
like him who attempt to play the
priest and imitate the Doctors of
the church. In the great contro-
versies of the age they count as a
cipher. Whatever else the men of
the coming age may do, they will
not become Greco-Russian or Ri-
tualistic. The issue is between
Rome and anti- Christianity. Our

588

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth ?

only reason for noticing such a
theory as that of Dr. Ewer is that
numbers of individual members of
his communion who are personally
worthy of all respect are hindered
by its speciousness from perceiving
clearly the truth over which it casts
a haze, and that others are likely
to be prejudiced against the truth
which it misrepresents and denies.
It is a pseudo-Catholicism. Those
who imbibe its Catholic ingredient
are hindered from embracing the
genuine Catholicity, toward which
they have a tendency. Those who
assimilate its uncatholic and
sceptical element are hardened in
their unbelief. We have said
enough to show that it is no sub-
stitute for pure Catholicity and no
antidote against scepticism. We
drop this theory now out of sight,
and during the remainder of this
article we shall present to the can-
did inquirer for truth whose mind
may have become confused by fol-
lowing the exposition of sophistry,
a brief counter exposition of the
integral Catholic truth in respect
to that extrinsic, infallible criterion
and rule by which it is ascertained
with certitude, and all Protestant
errors, or errors in faith or morals
of any kind, are rejected.

In the first place, we repudiate
utterly that extravagant fideism, if
we may call it so, which makes an
extrinsic rule, an authority exterior
to the individual intellect and rea-
son, and a faith or belief on testi-
mony or authority, whether human
or divine, the ultimate and only
source and basis and rule of certi-
tude in knowledge of the higher
truths. We can never begin with
any such source and criterion, and
of course never progress and finish.
Discursion of the reason, and faith
as well, must have an intrinsic
starting-point, which for man is in

both the senses and the reason. We
want no other light, and can have
none, by which to see light itself,
or rather to see illuminated objects
in and by light. The intellect is a
spiritual light. All men who have
the use of their senses in a normal
and healthy condition, and likewise
their reason, see and feel and hear
and understand and reason and
know, without doubting ; and when
they reflect, they are certain that
they do perceive sensible and in-
telligible objects. Each one knows
this for himself, independently of
the rest of mankind, as well as by
the agreement and common sense of
all. The intellect and reason of
each one, and the intellect of man-
kind in general, is that to which we
appeal, as containing the first prin-
ciples and the intrinsic criterion of
truth. Whoever pretends to doubt
these first principles, or asks for
somewhat above them and exterior
to them, throws himself out of the
rational sphere, and with him it is
useless to argue. By intuition and
discursion, by self-evident princi-
ples and demonstration, a great
amount of certain science, even in
natural theology, is attainable.
Belief on testimony is rationally
based on the evidence of the vera-
city of the witnesses, and furnishes
another great amount of knowledge.
Besides what is thus made meta-
physically, or physically, or moral-
ly certain, there is a much larger
quantity of that which is probable,
in philosophy, physics, history, and
all kinds of higher science. In re-
spect to those things which are
made known by divine testimony,
that is, by divine revelation, the
fact of the testimony is accredited,
and made rationally credible, by
the motives of credibility attesting
and authenticating the revelation.
The veracity of God is known

ion.

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth f

589

the light of reason. That which is
really contained in the revelation,
however it is transmitted, whether
by books or by tradition, can be
known in a great variety of ways,
like other facts and ideas of the
purely natural and human order.
It is by no means absolutely neces-
sary to prove the infallible autho-
rity of the church before we can
refute scepticism, false philosophy,
infidelity, or heresy. Christianity
and Catholic theology rest on a
sound rational basis and can be
proved to the reason of one who is
competent to understand the argu-
ments. Revelation itself is abso-
lutely necessary only for the dis-
closure of truths which are above
reason. And these very truths
can be demonstrated, not indeed
by their intrinsic connection with
truths of natural theology, but by
their extrinsic connection with the
veracity of God, through a logical

I syllogism. Whatever God testi-
fies is true ; but. God has testified
the mysteries contained in the Holy
Scripture ; therefore these mysteries
are true. It is only necessary to
prove the minor, and the demon-
stration is complete. The greatest
part of the distinctively Catholic
doctrines can be proved historically,
critically, and logically, without re-
sorting to the divine authority of
the church. In great measure its
human authority suffices, together
with extrinsic sources of proof. In
this way many Protestants have
conclusively proved a great quanti-
ty of the truth contained in the
Christian revelation. Even infi-
dels are able to perceive and to
prove that the religion established
by Christ is the Catholic religion,
and that whoever believes in the
divine mission of Christ, or even in
the existence of God, is logically
bound to believe in the supremacy

of the pope and in all the doc-
trines defined by the Roman
Church.

What, then, is the necessity of
revelation ? It is absolutely neces-
sary for the disclosure of truths
above reason, and morally neces-
sary for the instruction of the great
mass of men in all religious and
moral truth, in a perfect, certain,
and easy way, adapted to their
spiritual needs. What is the ne-
cessity of an infallible authority in
the church? It is necessary as
the ordinary means of applying
this instruction efficaciously and
unerringly, in respect to all the
dogmatic and moral truths and
precepts, with absolute and univer-
sal certainty, to the minds of all
men, in a simple, easy, and unmis-
takable manner, and of determin-
ing finally controversies and con-
demning heresies.

A specious and fallacious objec-
tion is made on the very threshold
of the argument on infallibility to
show that there is necessarily a
begging of the question from the
start, and that some prior infalli-
bility must be assumed as a reason
for affirming any infallible extrinsic
authority whatsoever. This is the
very sophism we have previously
brought to view, and which is the
very essence of universal scepti-
cism. It is objected that we can-
not really identify and appropriate
an infallible rule without a pre-
vious infallible criterion, and that
we cannot apply it without the
same criterion. The mind of man
is fallible in determining that there
is an infallible authority, what is
that authority, what it teaches.
But if I am fallible in the very
judgment upon which rests the in-
fallibility of the criterion which I as-
sume as a safeguard against my own
liability to error, I can never get

5QO

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth f

beyond a fallible conclusion. This
is the very argument of sceptics
and probabilists against physical
and metaphysical certitude. The
senses are fallible, reason is falli-
ble. Men are sometimes deceived
by trusting to their senses, to their
reason, to the testimony of others.
Therefore we ought to doubt every-
thing, or at least to rest satis-
fied with probability and a kind
of blind, instinctive assent. We
must substitute practical reason for
pure reason. This is all sophistry
and false philosophy. Fallibility
is not essential but accidental in
sensitive and intellectual cognition.
It is a deficiency of nature, not a
natural incapacity for certitude.
Some would say that the intellect
and reason are infallible within a
certain sphere, so that by reason
the mind infallibly joins itself to
the higher infallibility of the church,
and infallibly receives the truth
from its teaching. We think it
more accurate to restrict infallibi-
lity to that criterion which is abso-
lutely and universally exempt from
all liability to the accidental defect
of error. In respect to the senses
and to reason, we say they are fal-
lible per accidens and by a defi-
ciency in their operation. Never-
theless, we can be certain, in many
cases, that they do not and cannot
fail to give us certitude through
any such accidental failure and de-
ficiency. We can test their accu-
racy, as in observing sensible phe-
nomena, and in mathematical cal-
culations. This is enough to over-
throw scepticism and probabilism.
There is such a thing as rational
certitude, and this suffices for our
purpose. By rational certitude
human reason can obtain, without
any fear of error, its infallible cri-
terion. By the same it can receive
and apply its infallible judgments

without fear of error. We are not
analyzing supernatural and divine
faith, but the rational process which
underlies, accompanies, and follows
faith with more or less explicitness-
and completeness, and which is the
preamble of faith for those who are
not yet in possession of Catholic
faith, but are sincere inquirers.
No one is asked to grant any beg-
ging of the question of infallibility,
or to accept any proof of idem per
idem, or to give unqualified assent
to a mere probability. The truth
of Christianity, and the identity of
Catholicity with it, are proved with
conclusive certainty by the motives
of credibility. The same proof
which establishes the divinity of
Jesus Christ establishes the divine
authority of the Catholic Church.
This authority is infallible because
divine and supreme, and having
the right to command the firm, un-
doubting assent of the intellect to
its teaching, and the unconditional
submission of the will to its pre-
cepts. The authority of the church
once established, its testimony to
its own character and prerogatives
must be received as true. The di-
vine mission of Jesus Christ was
proved by his miracles, and his
own affirmation of his divinity was
thus made credible. The mission
and authority of the apostles are
authenticated by his commission
and the church founded by them i
identified by the manifest notes o
unity, sanctity, apostolicity, and ca-
tholicity. The hierarchical organi-
zation of the church, its principles
of unity and government, the con-
stitution of its tribunals, and the
respective attributions of the rul-
ing, teaching, and judging magis-
trates who preside over the whole
or particular parts, must be deter-
mined by its own traditions, laws,
usages, and declarations. In any

Dr. Eiver on the Question, What is Truth ?

591

matter of controversy respecting
any of these things, the supreme
authority must decide without ap-
peal. Find the sovereign authority
to which the whole church is sub-
ject by its organic law, and there
can be no further question. In
every perfect and unequal society
there is a sovereignty which is con-
sidered as practically infallible,
that is, as a tribunal of last resort,
from which no appeal can be taken.
In a society having divine autho-
rity to teach and judge in matters
of faith and morals in the name of
God, this practical infallibility must
be a real infallibility in the strict
sense of the term. From this prin-
ciple springs the reason and obli-
gation of the recognition of infalli-
bility in oecumenical councils. They
are supreme, because they contain
all the authority which exists in the
church. Although the entire epis-
copate numerically is not present
in such a council, the authority
which it possesses is equivalent to
that of the whole episcopate. The
accession of the suffrages of the
bishops who are absent from the
council supplies what is wanting in
respect to numerical quantity in
the representation of the whole
body at the deliberations and deci-
sions of the council. Their tacit
assent, which in due time becomes
the explicit and formal profession
of complete concurrence, adds mo-
ral weight and invincible force to
the authority of the conciliar deci-
sions. This is augmented by the
assent of the whole body of the
clergy and laity. It is no matter
how numerous dissidents and re-
cusants may be among bishops,
clergy, and people, or how long
their protest and rebellion may
continue. They separate them-
selves from the true body, and are
legitimately excluded from it, and

therefore their suffrages do not
count. That unanimity which is a
criterion of truth is not a unani-
mity of Catholics, heretics, and
schismatics together, but of Catho-
lics alone. There is requisite,
therefore, some certain mark by
which Catholics can be discerned.
The Catholic episcopate, the Ca-
tholic priesthood, the Catholic peo-
ple, Catholic councils, Catholic
creeds and confessions, the Catho-
lic communion, must be discrimi-
nated in some plain and obvious
manner from all their counterfeits,
however great the semblance of
reality which these counterfeits
bear on their surface. The test of
separation from the true faith and
the true church, and the autho-
rity which judges of the fact of
separation, must be clear and in-
dubitable. The oecumenical coun-
cil must have its complete and legi-
timate authority, in which the au-
thority of the whole church and
the whole episcopate is concentrat-
ed and applied, independently of
the assent or dissent of any number
of individuals, even bishops or pa-
triarchs, who are not actually con-
curring in its judgment. It must
have power to command assent and
to punish dissent, or its authority
is nugatory. It is a plain, histori-
cal fact that the supremacy of the
Apostolic See of St. Peter gave to
the episcopate its unity, and to the
episcopate assembled in general
council its final authority, from the
first age of the church, and from
the beginning of its action through
oecumenical councils. The coun-
cils were not complete without the
pope, and it was his ratification
which confirmed and made irre-
formable their judgments.

The Council of Nice and the
Council of the Vatican are pre-
cisely alike in this respect. The

592

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is TrutJi ?

bishops possess now, as they have
always possessed, conjudicial au-
thority in deciding matters of faith
with the pope, whether in or out
of council, as they are, in all other
respects, jure 'divino co-regents with
him of the universal church. But
they do not share in his supremacy
and sovereignty, even though they
may be bishops of apostolic sees
and have patriarchal jurisdiction.
He is the supreme judge, as he is
the supreme ruler. As such, his
right to judge in matters of faith,
without the aid of a general coun-
cil, as well as to make laws and
exercise all the plenitude of juris-
diction, has been acknowledged by
all the oecumenical councils and by
the whole church in every age.
It is false to say that the dogmatic
decree of the Council of the Vati-
can made any change in doctrine
or law respecting the authority of
the pope over the episcopate,
whether assembled or dispersed,
and over the universal church.
The Council of Florence, to go no
higher, defined the plenitude of his
power. The Creed of Pius IV.,
to which every bishop, and every
particular council since Trent, has
been obliged to swear assent, pro-
claims the Roman Church " The
Mother and Mistress of Churches,"
denoting by the words " Magistra
Ecclesiarum " not supremacy in
government but in defining and
teaching doctrine. The undoubt-
ed authority of the pope to teach
and define doctrine by his apostolic
authority, to condemn heresies and
errors, and to command not only
exterior but interior obedience and
assent even from bishops, was
universally recognized before the
Council of the Vatican assembled.
Appeals from his judgments to an
oecumenical council have been for-
bidden for centuries past, under

pain of excommunication. The
infallibility of the pope in his de-
cisions ex cathedra is a necessary
logical deduction from his supreme
authority in teaching and judging.
It is false to say that it was doubt-
ful before the Council of the Vati-
can defined it. It has been implied
and acted on, as a fundamental
principle of the Catholic Church,
from the beginning. Some Catho-
lics doubted or denied it, and the
church wisely tolerated their error
for a time, as she tolerated the
Semi-Arians, awaiting the oppor-
tune occasion of destroying the
error without damaging the cause
of truth and the salvation of her
children. That some few bishops
at the Council of the Vatican still
held to the Gallican error, that it
was taught by a few professors and
learned writers, that it was held by
a small minority of the clergy and
educated laity, and that a still
greater number were not clearly
aware of the true and Catholic doc-
trine, does not prejudice the case
in the slightest degree. All these
were bound as Catholics to recog-
nize the infallibility of the defini-
tion solemnly promulgated by the
pope with the assent of a majority
of the bishops. Those who refused
were excommunicated as heretics.
The pope, together with all the
bishops, clergy, and faithful of the
Catholic Church, are united in the
profession of the faith as defined in
the Vatican Council, precisely as
they were united in the profession
of the dogmas defined at Nice,
Ephesus, Chalcedon, and Constan-
tinople, at Florence and at Trent.
It is absurd to deny to a tribunal
competent to define with metaphy-
sical accuracy the most abstruse
truths concerning the trinity of
persons in the Godhead, and the
divinity and humanity of the In-

Dr. Ewer on the Question, WJiat is TrntJi ?

593

carnate Word, an equal ability to
determine the attributions of the
distinct parts of the Catholic hier-
archy, and to define clearly how
the infallible church is constituted
in respect to the relations between
her head and members. It is
absurd to recognize the Council of
Nice as infallible, and to deny the
infallibility of the Council of the
Vatican. They rest upon the same
basis, the divine constitution of the
Catholic Church in the episcopate
as the Ecdesia Docens, with autho-
rity to teach and to command as-
sent, under the supremacy of the
successor of St. Peter in the Ro-
man See, This is not an arbitrary
authority to impose any opinion
which may happen to command a
majority of suffrages and receive
the sanction of the pope. Neither
is it an original authority, found-
ed on inspiration, to propose truth
immediately revealed. It is autho-
rity, in the first place, to deliver
authentic testimony of the faith
handed down by tradition from the
beginning and continually preserv-
ed in the church, but especially in
the Roman Church. It is autho-
rity, in the second place, to inter-
pret and declare the true sense of
all past decrees and decisions, of
the general teaching of the church
in past ages, of the doctrine of the
Fathers and Doctors of the church,
and of all records in which evi-
dence is found of the traditional
doctrine derived originally from
the apostles. In the third place,
to interpret and judge of the
true sense of the Holy Scriptures,
the principal source from which
knowlege of revealed truth is de-
rived. Finally, to declare the re-
vealed dogmas contained in the
Written and Unwritten Word, in
Scripture and Apostolic Tradition,
in clear and precise terms which
VOL. xxvii.- 38

are fit and proper to express them
intelligibly, that is, to define dog-
mas of faith, and to require univer-
sal assent to these definitions under
pain of anathema. The inerrancy,
or infallibility, is a security from
the accident of error in these dog-
matic definitions, which results
from a supernatural and divine as-
sistance, overruling the conclusions
of the human judgment which
have been reached by a human and
rational process, so far as needful,
in order that they may not be
faulty either by excess or defect as
an exact expression of the revealed
truth. This divine assistance is
not given exclusively to the pope
as an individual, to regulate the
acts of his own mind, in thought or
investigation regarding the reveal-
ed truths. It extends itself over
the church universally, and over
all the processes and methods by
which the doctrines of revelation
are preserved and developed in her
living consciousness, and proclaimed
through her organs to the world in
their integrity. In the councils of
the church it is by the assistance of
the Holy Spirit to the deliberations
of the bishops and theologians, as
well as by his overruling direction of
the exercise of his office of supreme
judge by the pope, that the result
is reached in the solemn and final
decisions. This result is not a
blind determination, a passive re-
ception of an impulse superseding
reason. It is a rational certitude,
an enlightened judgment based on
motives which are convincing and
conclusive. It has the highest hu-
man authority, apart from the di-
vine sanction which confirms it.
When the prelates of the Vatican
Council presented the dogmatic
decree defining the infallibility of
the pope, to Pius IX. for his sanc-
tion, history, theology, the consent

594

Dr. Ewer on the Question, What is Truth?

of Fathers, Doctors, councils, and
Catholic Christendom, and the
Holy Scriptures as interpreted by
a series of the most learned and
holy men who have adorned the
annals of the church, demanded
through them the solemn confirma-
tion of this decree. Pius IX. was
called upon to declare the tradition
of the Roman Church, the doctrine
of his predecessors, the principle
upon which the Holy See had al-
ways acted in defining faith and
condemning heresy. He was asked
to complete and confirm by his
supreme authority the explicit or
implicit judgment of nine-tenths of
the Catholic episcopate. The ab-
solute finality and divine authority
of his judgment was not dependent
upon his personal assertion of his
own belief in his infallibility, as its
support. His right and power to
determine that the decree of the
council should be final and irrevo-
cable were beyond question or con-
troversy. The fact that, by virtue
of his right as Vicar of Christ, he
defined something respecting the
nature and extent of that right is
irrelevant as an objection, and to
make use of it as one is a sophistical
artifice. If Almighty God is credi-

ble when he declares his own ve-
racity, if Jesus Christ is credible
when he declares his own divinity,
the Vicar of Christ is credible
when he declares his own infallibil-
ity. If God is God, he must be
veracious ; if Christ is Christ, he
must be God ; if the Vicar of Christ
is his Vicar, he must be infallible.
God does not command our belief
without giving us evidence that he
is God; Jesus Christ does not re-
quire our submission to his divine
authority without giving us evi-
dence that he is the Son of God ;
the pope does not exact our obe-
dience to his infallible judgments
without giving us evidence that he
is the Vicar of Christ and the Vice-
gerent of God on earth. The Ca-
tholic religion makes no demand
for irrational assent to anything.
It is not mere logic and philosophy,
but it contains both in their ulti-
mate perfection, and will bear the
most rigorous rational examination.
It is logically consistent and con-
sequent throughout, from its first
principles to its last conclusions.
There is no other religion or phi-
losophy which is so, and the most
illogical of all is pseudo-Catholi-
cism.

Child- Wisdom. 595

CHILD-WISDOM.

A LITTLE maiden, dear through kindred blood
And loving from her very birth begun,
Stood at my side one summer afternoon
And hearkened quiet stories : bits of verse
That told of shipwreck and of strong sea-birds
That rode on sunny waves or beat their wings,
Storm-driven, 'gainst the sea-washed beacon-light.
Delighting in sad tales, wide-eyed she gazed,
Yet fearing, half, their ends might be too sad ;
Still, bidding e'er, with doubtful joy in grief,
The repetition of each dolorous strain.
Then, choosing 'mong my books some pictured page,
She took my Roman missal on her knee,
Turned o'er its many pages one by one,
Seeking the prints that there lay interleaved,
Still patient turning as with conjurer's touch
To win a richer harvest than she found.

From these oft- questioning, full-budded lips
No ave e'er had dropt in that sweet faith
That holdeth brotherhood with Bethlehem's Babe
Blessing from Mary's knees true, guileless faith
That, suing so God's Mother, dares to share
With Him dear claim unto her mother-love.
The thoughtful maiden's little, childish life
Had grown 'mid alien faith where men half feared
To honor her whom God hath honored most,
Even while cherished they as solace sweet
Through sorrow's hours, and sickness* length of days,
Some picture of the Maid Immaculate
With heaven-bent eyes and meekly-folded hands,
'Mid luminous clouds, the cherubs at her feet
The sinless Maiden dowered with quenchless grace,
Filling earth-weary hearts with rest and trust
By the mute strength of her soul's purity.
And knew the little child of Jesus' name
By reverent mother and much-loving aunt
Told the sad story of Jerusalem's loss.

So, still with constant question turning o'er
My pictured hoard, she begged that of its wealth
Some might to her be given, choosing first
What brightest shone with color deep and rich,
And, though, because to each least line there clung
Some precious thought, her question oft denied,
Persisting ever; till at length were found
Some little prints, less treasured, at her will.

5 g6 Ch ild- Wisdom.

One, holy Joseph, with enraptured gaze,
The blossoming palm of justice at his side,
The Sun of Justice shining on his arm ;
Another, our dear Mother Undefiled
Clasping in loving arms her Child Divine ;
This favor found, but gave not perfect joy,
Since all uncolored, and so lacking worth
In ever-longing gaze of wide gray eyes
That pleaded softly, while the small child-lips
Begged that at least the little plain black print
Might have some color sweetness on it set.
Winning so heightened beauty as complete
As the bright pictures that she might not have.

The missal's store no longer coveted,
It was laid by; the fairy colors brought
That should with simple touch the magic work
That might for all that wealth denied atone.
Expectant stood the little maid demure,
The round cheeks bent intently o'er the work,
The eyes drawn very near to closely watch
Each line of added joy the swift brush gave.
Clothed was the Mother in her cloak of blue,
And crowned the Child Divine with halo wide
That in its golden light still sadly bore
The shadow of his cross. With lesser glow
Was drawn the shining ring that loving wreathed
The Queen of Grace, crowned fairest in her Son.

Not so the little maid would have it done :
Just such bright halo cruciform must shine
Round Mary's head, and spreading, too, more wide
Than his, her Child's his Mother, was she not ?
More near the round cheeks drew : protesting lips
Would have the Mother with His glory crowned.

Telling the little one how God alone
The nimbus wears wherein is lined the cross,
I traced along the Mother's simpler ring,
With gilded brush, a circle of fair stars
That in the asking eyes by far outshone
The shadowy cross's sorrow-dimmed halo.

And so the maiden was well comforted,
And bore in triumph her much-prized spoils
Of that still, sunny afternoon's calm talk
And pictured pages of my holy books.
And I a fine-wrought, warm-lined picture kept
That looked from innocent eyes of truthful soul
With child-wise lips and pure, unconscious heart,
Sweet witness bearing to our Mother's state
God's stainless Mother with his glory crowned,
And in his sorrow sharing for our sake.

Parisian Contrasts.

597

PARISIAN CONTRASTS.

THE PARIS OF 1871 AND THE PARIS OF 1878.

PARIS, May 22, 1878.
SCENES and sensations there are
in life which seem to cut themselves
into the soul as diamond cuts into
glass, and on May 22, 1871, oc-
curred one of this kind. On the
afternoon of that day I was sitting
on the balcony of a house in Lon-
don with a large and merry party
watching the " return from the Der-
by " up Grosvenor Place, every
house and balcony in which was sim-
ilarly draped in red and filled with
bright faces and brighter dresses,
with youth, beauty, and fashion,
when a friend appeared amongst
us, sad and solemn, come from his
club in breathless haste, evidently
burdened with some important
news. In a few seconds a thrill of
horror ran through the lively cir-
cle, for he had announced that the
"Tuileries was burning ! Paris was
in flames !" Never shall I forget the
sensation. All at once the count-
less carriages below, full of ladies
and children, ranged in aline along
the street ; the four-in-hands com-
ing back from Epsom, driven by, and
filled with, the reigning "hopefuls"
of the " Upper Ten," whose faces
as they passed betrayed the varied
effect of the race on purse and bet-
ting-book; the dust-stained inmates
and blue-veiled coachmen of the
open landaus and hansoms, with
their emptied picnic-baskets slung
behind ; the serious countenances of
some, the smiling features of others ;
the thousand-and-one comic-tra-
gic incidents of the motley multi-
tude which make the return from
this annual British Olympic game

so celebrated all suddenly faded
from our view, for the eyes of the
soul became transfixed on the ap-
palling scenes then occurring in
Paris, and their possible conse-
quences caused all hearts to feel
sick with anxiety and dismay.
^imagination travaille^ it is true, at
such moments, and is prone to ex-
aggerate ; but had not the Versailles
troops succeeded in entering the
city, our fancy would in no way
have outstepped the reality. Un-
til that day all had believed
themselves prepared for the worst.
The murder of the archbishop and
his martyred companions had sore-
ly grieved mankind, and a repeti-
tion of the guillotine scenes of the
Reign of Terror we felt might any
day occur ; the idea was not un-
familiar, but so wholesale an instru-
ment of destruction as petroleum,
such demons \\zslesPetroleuses, had
never entered into our wildest cal-
culations. " The terrible year,"
as the French have since so aptly
named it, 1871 most truly was, not
only for them but for the thinking
world at large, who, from the uni-
versal confusion, the ungoverned
passions, the fast-increasing athe-
ism, had need of a confidence in
Providence, supernatural in the
highest degree, not to lie down and
die of sheer despair.

Eighteen months later I passed
through Paris on my way home
from Switzerland, but so dolorous
was the impression that I had fain
leave it in a couple of days. Ruin,
desolation stared one in the face at
every step, and the smell of petro-

59 8

Parisian Contrasts.

leum seemed to haunt one at every
turn. The blackened shells of the
historic Tuileries, of the beautiful
Hotel de Ville, the Conseil d'Etat,
the Ministry of Finance, the Gobelin
tapestry manufactory with its art
treasures accumulated there during
the last three hundred years, the
blank in the Place Vendome
caused by the destruction of its
splendid column, the felled trees
in the Bois de Boulogne, and the
complete annihilation of St. Cloud,
town and palace, were sights which
deprived us of all happiness during
the day and of peaceful rest at
night. Not less melancholy was the
effect of the sad countenances of
the inhabitants. The elasticity and
cheerfulness which had formerly
seemed to be a component part of
Paris air was gone, and in its place
one only heard tales of their suffer-
ings in those days of anarchy, of
the Petroleuses seen gliding stealth-
ily through the streets, of the pe-
troleum strewn round St. Roch and
the chairs piled up in the nave of
Notre Dame, so that both church-
es might be set on fire, when the
troops providentially entered just
in time to prevent this and many
other wicked designs being carried
out. Instead of the brightness one
remembered of yore, people seemed
to have a suspicious dread of their
neighbors, and veiled communism
undoubtedly still lurked even in
the best quartiers. One notable
instance of the kind will never be
effaced from my memory, and even
now, though mayhap unjustly,
makes me view Parisian cabmen
with anything but affection.

My friend and I, feeling dejected
and oppressed by sad thoughts, one
morning determined to indulge our
feelings by a kind of pilgrimage to
the scene of the massacres, especi-
ally as we had known and revered

the sainted archbishop at the time
of the Vatican Council in Rome.
Calling a cab, therefore, on the
Boulevard des Capucines, we
quietly desired the grinning coach-
man to drive us to the Rue Haxo.
In an instant his expression chang-
ed to one of sturdy anger. He
knew no such street ; had never
heard of it before ; could not pos-
sibly take us there. Perceiving at
once the spirit we had, to deal with,
and that he had divined our object,
no other cab, moreover, being with-
in view, we insisted no further on
the point, but tranquilly told him
to drive instead to La Roquette^
the prison where the unfortunate
victims had been confined. Know-
ledge of so large a place we knew
he could not deny, and, trusting to
our own general idea of its position,
we felt satisfied when he apparently
started in that direction. However,
on and on we went, in and out of
lane and street, without seeming to
approach the object of our search,
but as we proceeded soon found our-
selves amongst a most forbidding
population, men and women look-
ing stern and sulky as we passed,
and exchanging glances with our
driver, who appeared known to
many, while on more than one
window were the ominous words,
"Icionvend lepetrole!" An in-
voluntary shudder seized us, not
diminished on reaching an open
height whence we beheld La Ro-
quette in a distant part of the town,
and our horse's head turned ex-
actly the opposite way. The truth
suddenly flashed upon us. Our
Communist driver, possibly one of
the undetected incendiaries or mur-
derers himself, calculating on our ig-
norance, while unable to plead such
on his own part, had cunningly out-
witted us by driving in and out
toward a different point, whither

Parisian Contrasts.

599

doubtless he would have gone on
indefinitely but for our unexpected
discovery. It was too dangerous a
neighborhood in which to quarrel
with him, even though but mid-day ;
therefore, merely telling him that
we had altered our intentions, we
tranquilly desired him to return to
our original starting-point on the
Boulevard des Capucines. Most
curious was it then to note the
same instantaneous change of
countenance as before, but this
time to an exultant expression as
undisguised as the sulky mood of
the previous hour. And how could
we wonder at it ? For had he not
succeeded in defeating the object
we had in view, and, moreover, in-
spired us with so much fear that
we sighed to get away from such
a population and never breathed
freely again until safely back in the
more civilized quarters ? Our
courage, however, then revived, and,
determined not to be altogether
conquered, we bade him turn aside
and stop at the ci-devant Hotel de
Ville. Incredible as it now sounds,
again he feigned ignorance, then
pretended to have lost his way, and
at length, when we forced him to
" land " us there, the scowl and
growl he honored us with made us
realize, more than any description
ever could, what such a being might
be if uncontrolled, above all if mul-
tiplied indefinitely.

To-day, the 22d of May, 1878,
as I stand in the new building on
the Trocadero and behold the
scene before me, thinking of this
recent past, I am tempted to doubt
my own identity. Paris the same
Paris that was in flames on this
day seven short years since now
lies, like a vision of beauty, out-
stretched around ; the pretty Seine
winds beneath its beautiful bridges,

the countless boulevards are thick
in shade and perfumed blossoms,
the then unfinished streets finished,
the scars and wounds well-nigh
(though not completely) removed,
all faces bright and people civil,
and the whole city still hung with
the thousand flags spontaneously
hoisted on the opening day of the
Exhibition, when England and
America were everywhere given the
posts of honor beside the tricolor.
Opposite, the huge main building
of this same Exhibition, standing on
the Champ de Mars, is crowded
with its fifty and sixty thousand
daily visitors ;* the gardens be-
tween it and this Trocadero, con-
nected by the bridge of Jena, are
covered with a moving mass of all
nationalities, while the Spanish
restaurant, Turkish kiosk, Chi-
nese " summer palace," English
buffet, Hungarian Ccife, dotted with
others around the grounds, tell of
peace, apd of a national revival un-
paralleled for its rapidity in the
history of the world.

And what subjects for deep
thought, what food for philoso-
phic meditation, as one gazes at
this glorious landscape, and from
the hidden recesses of one's memo-
ry spring forth recollections of the
past few years !

My own acquaintance with this
Champ de Mars dates from 1865,
when in the August of that year I
here witnessed a review of fifty
thousand men in honor of Don
Fran9ois d'Assise, King Consort of
Spain. On this last ist of May, 1878,
the same royal personage, long
since classed amongst the ex's resid-
ing in this capital, walked beside
the Marshal-President, MacMahon,
and the Prince of Wales in the

* The largest number at the Exhibition was on a
Sunday, when upwards of 111,000 entered the build-
ing.

6oo

Parisian Contrasts.

procession which opened the Ex-
hibition, and it were but natural to
presume that thoughts of his pre-
vious visit must now and then have
flitted across his royal brain.
On that former occasion military
of all arms lined the sides of the
then arid square, while the im-
perial party advanced from the
Porte de Jena up its centre to a
tribune in the Ecole Militaire.
First came the empress, beautiful
and popular, loudly cheered as,
in her open carriage, she passed
along the lines ; next appeared the
little Prince Imperial, not more
than nine years old, riding far in
front quite alone on his tiny pony,
followed by his father, the empe-
ror, and his royal guest, Don Fran-
ois d'Assise, escorted by an ap-
parently brilliant gathering of dis-
tinguished military men. No pro-
phetic eye was there to point out
those who in brief time were to
court the national defeat, or whose
names would soon become bywords
for corruption and incapacity.

Nor in the large mass of sol-
diery who required two hours and
a half to march past, albeit in
quick time, could any one dis-
cern the possibility of coming
gigantic disasters. Alas ! alas !
what reputations have since then
been blown into thin air, what cal-
culations dashed to the ground,
what history " acted out," fearful
suffering endured, theories explod-
ed ! Such thoughts are overpow-
ering sufficient to make the giddi-
est spirits ponder. And such, in
truth, has been their effect of re-
cent years in France ; for, side by
side with the marvellous material
resurrection of this energetic na-
tion, its religious revival has grown
to astounding proportions. Not
that we ever can admit with many
passing observers that the French

people were so completely devoid
of religion as it has been some-
what the fashion to affirm and on
this point we thoroughly agree
with the article by an eloquent
Protestant writer in the Black-
wood of last December but the
terrible events of 1871 have made
the most frivolous more sober-
minded, forced many an indolent
mind to reflect, and from thoughts
have made them now proceed to
acts, to good works and alms-deeds.
Above all they seem to have
learnt the necessity of expiation
and of prayer, and the whole Ca-
tholic portion of the French com-
munity since then have fallen up-
on their knees and endeavored to
pray. Their pride, it is true, has
been humbled, but they have tak-
en the lesson properly to heart, and
appear to have realized the truth
that in all things, human as well
as divine, "in order to live we
first must die," and that without
supernatural aid even humility it-
self cannot be acquired.

And here it must be noted that
mortifying as the defeat by the
Prussians has been to French pride,
it never could have produced the
permanent effect on their charac-
ters which has been achieved by
the frantic outbreak of the Com-
mune. This it is which has so
thoroughly sobered the entire na-
tion and made them feel that every
one must combine as against a
common enemy. The republic,
too, whether destined to last or
not, has been productive of one
incalculable service in depriving
all its citizens of the possibility of
shirking individual responsibil ity by
throwing the blame, as heretofore,
of every failure on some supposed
or real despot ; so that, while they
have arisen from this death-strug-
gle wiser and better men, French-

Parisian Contrasts.

601

men now see the necessity, almost
for the first time in their history, of
taking an active part in public af-
fairs and putting their own shoul-
ders to the wheel.

But leaving these reflections, let
us turn to the Champs Elysees and
take a seat beneath its trees. What
a contrast between the May of '71
and this one of '78 ! That all ter-
ror and woe, this one all joy and
contentment. French mothers
with their bonnes and babies
are in groups around far and near,
mingled with foreigners of all sorts
and nationalities. Faultless car-
riages pass by, drawn by magnifi-
cent, high-stepping horses, of a size
and breed formerly unknown in
France, and which make many an
Englishman exclaim with wrath :
" This is the way in which all our
horses are taken out of our coun-
try !" Doubtless he is right, though
only to a certain degree ; for the
perfection to which horses now at-
tain in France is said to be mainly
due to the climate, which has been
found to suit equine nature in a
way undreamt of some few years
since. Thus the breed, when once
imported, is improved on Frencli
soil, and easily accounts for the
multitude of fine horses at present
met with all over Paris. This fact,
however together with the taste
for horses, driving, and every other
thing connected with the existing
Anglomania, so foreign to the Pari-
sian natures of forty years ago
owes its discovery to the late em-
peror, little as any Frenchman now
likes to admit its possibility. Be-
fore his day no one ever thought
of holding the reins, and almost as
little of riding, not only in France
but on the Continent, leaving such
matters to grooms, as Easterns
leave dancing to hired performers.
But if these tastes were fostered by

him before the war, the extra-
ordinary development they have
since acquired is one of the re-
markable changes in modern Paris,
and denotes both greater wealth
despite the Prussian indemnity
and more manly habits than in the
" good old days long, long ago."
Louis Napoleon no doubt laid the
foundation, but during the repub-
lic the edifice has been raised.
He it was who inspired the tastes,
prepared the ways and means, laid
out the roads and drives the mar-
shal-president and his "subjects"
who now profit by them. Perhaps
one of the prettiest and most in-
teresting sights nowadays in this
beautiful city is the daily Parisian
overflow of riders to the Bois de
Boulogne between the hours of
eight and ten, not only of men but of
ladies, whose wildest dreams in for-
mer times never aspired to such an
expensive pleasure. On a fine May
morning " Rotten Row " has here
a formidable rival both in num-
bers and in the steeds, with the dif-
ference, too, that instead of riding
up and down a monotonous, straight
road, the happy-looking parties of
equestrians in Paris, almost invari-
ably numbering many ladies, turn
off into the fifteen small and large
roads that surround the lake in the
Bois, and there for a couple of
hours enjoy a genuine country can-
ter or a walk beneath pleasant shade.
And mingled with these are pony-
phaetons well driven by ladies, re-
turning later laden with ferns, wild
flowers, and greenery of various
kinds. There is true enjoyment
in sitting on a bench in the Ave-
nue de Boulogne (once de rimpe'r-
atrice] and watching the well-
shaped horses, their healthy looks
and glossy coats, which would awake
the envy of many a London groom,
and are not more striking than

602

Parisian Contrasts.

the good seats of the fair rid-
ers and the vast improvement in
those of the younger men. Of the
number in the early morn the sol-
dier-like President may here be
seen, accompanied more than once
during this month of May by the
Prince of Wales or some other roy-
al visitor.

But this is the afternoon, and,
though our thoughts have flown back
to the morning, we are sitting in the
Champs Elyse"es and the hour for
driving has arrived. Here comes a
four-in-hand, driven, though some-
what badly, by the young Marquis
de Chateau Grand strictly a I'An-
glaise, as he fondly hopes closely
pursued by the Due de Grignon in
his pretty dog-cart, attended by his
English groom. " Victorias " with
duchesses and countesses the blu-
est blood of the blue faubourgs
follow in countless numbers.
But whose is this open landau
with its four black horses and gay
postilions, containing two ladies
in close converse as they pass
along? The stout one is Isabella,
ex- Queen of Spain what mem-
ories her name evokes ! the
younger " La Reine Marguerite," as
her intimates love to call her ; in
other words, the wife of Don Carlos,
now the inseparable companion of
Isabella, with that remarkable disre-
gard to conventionality, considering
the remonstrances of her son's gov-
ernment, which has always been as
strong an element in her character
as the bonhomie that has led her
into this intimacy, and also makes
her love her present Parisian life
almost as much as she ever did
her throne. A few seconds later a
handsome man rides slowly by, at-
tended only by his groom, his sad,
pensive countenance amidst this
gay throng telling a tale of care and
inward sorrow. It is Amadeus,

son of Victor Emmanuel, but unlike
him in most respects, now Duke of
Aosta, once too " King of Spain,"
and still grieving for his lost wife.
Then, turning round to look again
at the mass of children, voue to the
Blessed Virgin, driving up and
down in their blue and white per-
ambulators, and which thus silently
bear witness tb wide-spread French
devotion amid all the seeming world-
liness, the eye falls on General de
Charette as he walks by with some
old friend, and whom we last saw
commanding the Papal Zouaves in
Rome during that eventful winter
of 1870. Since then he has seen
fire and fought valiantly for his own
native land, he and his corps, as in
the ages of faith, first making a
public act of consecration to the
Sacred Heart, the scapular being
emblazoned on their regimental
colors. Trial and suffering, how-
ever, have rather improved than
injured him, for he has grown in
size and freshness, mayhap owing
somewhat to present happiness and
the fair American who has lately
brought him both wealth and beau-
ty. Looking towards the road
again, the Crown Prince and Prin-
cess of Denmark are seen driving
past, but only to make us miss the
sweet, smiling face of the Princess
of Wales and the pleasant manners
of the Prince, seen here on their
road to the Exhibition -every after-
noon until last week, but now re-
turned to England, not, however,
until they had become such univer-
sal favorites and so completely won
French hearts that if this were 1880
and not 1878, universal suffrage, it
is said, if Paris were a criterion,
would be very likely to offer Queen
Victoria's heir the doubtful honor
of MacMahon's place.

Nor does this in any way com-
plete the list of royal representa-

Parisian Contrasts.

lives during this month of May
in Paris. Archdukes of Austria,
princes of Belgium and Holland,
with Orleans princes and princess-
es, old and young, and, neither last
nor least, the blind King of Han-
over, Bismarck's victim, and now
permanently settled in the gay
capital, may be here discerned by
those who care to penetrate their
incognito.

And not only during the day but
at night is the city gay and full of
life, for balls and/2/fef are going for-
ward, where twelve and fourteen
royalties may often be seen at a
time ; nay more, unlike as in impe-
rial days, the faubourg has come
forth from its retreat, and legitimacy
has opened its doors with hospital-
ity, oftentimes with regal splendor.

Where, then, are the signs of
poverty and depression which the
enormous indemnity paid to Prus-
sia and the sad events of recent
years might lead a foreigner to ex-
pect ? Naught but wealth and com-
fort is apparent ; money and money's
worth; the rich showing every out-
ward mark of luxury, the people
well clad and housed ; that squalor
which makes itself so painfully visi-
ble by the side of London riches
here entirely absent, life bright and
cheerful as far as casual observers
can perceive.

But beneath all this enjoyment,
the flutter of flags on the " open-
ing day, ! ' the gathering of foreign
princes as in the palmiest period of
imperialism, and the evident revival
of trade, in no other country is there
so great a dread of impending evil,
such a vague, undefined fear, base-
less it may possibly be, but which it
were folly to ignore. 1880 and the
termination of the Septennate are
ever before French minds, and the
dreaded lack of durability, of a firm
basis to their edifice, and the possi-

ble renewal of the Commune horrors
seem nowadays always uppermost
in their thoughts. Despite the
outward symptoms of brightness,
perhaps even frivolity, no change is
more impressive to any one former-
ly acquainted with France than the
grave and sobered character of the
nation; the reflection which mis-
fortune seems to have evoked, and
the subdued tone their crushing de-
feat has stamped upon the entire
people. The old crowing of the
Gallic cock, so Napoleonic and offen-
sive to strangers of yore, has, at least
for the present, entirely disappear-
ed and been exchanged for a tran-
quil manner, a greater civility in
answering questions, and a total
absentee of the " swagger " so univer-
sal in the ante-war period. Hence,
too, springs a sudden awakening to
the possibility of other nations hav-
ing special merits unnoticed for-
merly, with a studying of their
minds and habits as compared with
their own both in the press and
private circles, which unconscious-
ly betrays how terrible an ordeal
the French have been passing
through and how little they count
upon its being as yet fully past.

Nothing, therefore, is so inter-
esting and at the same time touch-
ing to any one who has not been
in Paris since 1867 as to note the
signs of change in these respects
which meet us at every turn. One
time it is the eloquent tribute of
the Figaro to the reign and sub-
jects of Queen Victoria on the
birthday of that constitutional
monarch ; at another, the strict neu-
trality, so foreign to their na-
tures, which this excitable people
are maintaining in the present tur-
moil of the Eastern question ; yes-
terday I noticed it at a dinner,
when a heedless remark about the
ruined Conseil d'Etat caused all

604

Parisian Contrasts.

the party to shudder and to ex-
claim, one after the other, that
hard as it had been to eat horses
nay, dogs, and even cats, as many
of them had had to do during the
siege the suffering was as naught
compared to the terror of those
fearful Commune days. One who
had lived near the Palais Royal
had seen the Tuileries burning
from the end of her own street, an-
other had been roused from her
work by a shell throwing the oppo-
site chimney down into her court-
yard and now that it is rebuilt an
inscription records the fact while
a third had slept for the two worst
nights, if sleep it could be called,
in the cellar of her house, amongst
the odds and ends of a band-box
maker's stock, who occupied the
place. But the most singular ex-
perience of all, perhaps, was that
of a family who then lived at their
villa twelve miles outside of Paris,
and became aware of the Conseil
d'Etat being in flames from a show-
er of burnt paper falling on their
lawn on that May evening of the
22d, 1871, of which some scraps
showed the government stamp and
belonged to documents of the state.
And, perhaps, of all the Commune
misdeeds the burning of this build-
ing and the Hotel de Ville was the
most malicious, for in both places
marriage contracts and family deeds
were kept or registered, and the
loss and confusion which have hence
ensued in families can never pro-
perly be estimated.

But it is especially in the church-
es, just where passing travellers
have neither the time nor oppor-
tunity for observation, that the
strides in religious fervor become
most apparent. Above all in the
Faubourg St. Germain is one at
once conscious of breathing a dif-
ferent atmosphere. There the bells,

as in old Catholic Swiss and Ger-
man towns, wake one at five or
half-past five o'clock of a summer
morning, and keep up a constant
call to Mass thenceforward until a
late hour. There, too, should one
turn in to a church on coming
home from the Exhibition, he is
certain to find devout women, and
men also, lost in meditation before
the Blessed Sacrament. " Kneel-
ing-work " (as a late writer names
this ceuvre) and " reparation " are
the practice of the day in the
orthodox quarter. But especially
before the Grotto of Lourdes in the
Jesuits' Church, Rue de Sevres, is
the crowd of ardent petitioners
never ceasing and intensely fervent.
I have watched them with admira-
tion the many times I have been
there myself, and the thousand ex-
votos, many from military men,
prove that their prayers have not
been made in vain. The faubourg
is also like a network of " Mother
Honors," second only to Rome it-
self in their number and variety.
Sisters of Charity especially flit
about it in every direction, and are
even to be met with in the omni-
buses or shopping with the utmost
simplicity amidst the vast crowds
of the Bon Marche. The devo-
tions of the " Mois de Marie,"
moreover, lend the district at this
moment an additional source of
ardor.

May, too, has ever been the
month of First Communions, and
those who know French life under-
stand what this implies. The whole
winter, nay, for many previous
years, the catechism has been lead-
ing up to this point, and now since
Easter Sunday the examinations
have been constant and severe.
Each parish has a day set apart in
May for this great event, preceded
by a short retreat, attended many

Parisian Contrasts.

times a day by all the children.
Then on the happy morning the
whole church is given up to the
ceremony- All is arranged most
systematically : the nave set apart
for the two hundred or three hun-
dred young communicants rich
and poor mixed together the boys
in front with white rosettes in their
new jackets, the girls in rows be-
hind enveloped in long white veils.
Beautiful hymns are sung by the
whole congregation, led by one of
the priests ; a touching sermon is
preached by the cure ; the parents
are in the aisles, and many follow
their children to the holy table. In
the afternoon the little ones again
meet to renew their baptismal vows
in presence of the Blessed Sacra-
ment, and the day closes by Ves-
pers and Benediction. On that day
week, before they lose their first
fervor, in the same church the
same children receive confirmation.
These have been fete days for the
whole family, nay, parish; and as
parishes and churches are number-
less in Paris, tiny brides and white-
rosetted boys are met in all quar-
ters during the whole of this beau-
tiful month. If any of these chil-
dren have the misfortune in after-
years to lose their faith, their pa-
rents and the clergy at least have
faithfully and zealously fulfilled
their share of duty, while, on the
other hand, it is a certain fact that
in most cases this care lays the
foundation of the solid virtues and
tender piety, of that religious ele-
ment in French life so well de-
scribed by Mme. Craven and others,
and which, side by side with the
frivolity, is now making such sure
and steady progress in every part
of France.

The month of May, too, is here,
as in England, the period of chari-
table bazaars, annual meetings, and

rendering of accounts. Amongst
others, two societies, the immediate
offspring of the Commune, are now
attracting much attention. One is
that of St. Michael, to whom devo-
tion as ancient patron of France
has revived with marvellous ardor,
and under whose protection has
been placed the society for the dis-
tribution of good books ; the other,
"Les Cercles Catholiques," * or
Working-men's clubs, more deeply
interesting than any other of the
present day.

At this present moment Paris
counts its eighty different " Cer-
cles," while the provinces possess
not less than two thousand. The
third Sunday after Easter, the
Patronage of St. Joseph, is their
annual feast, and on that day, while
gay Paris was attending the races
in the Bois de Boulogne, we were
present at the afternoon service
in the Cathedral of Notre Dame.
A more imposing sight, with greater
promise for the future, it were im-
possible to conceive ; for six thou-
sand members, but only that portion
which consists of the schools and ap-
prentices many from the Belle-
ville quarters had marched thither,
each headed by their own chaplain
and carrying handsome banners,
unfolded as they entered the
church. For them the nave was
set apart, all others being in the
aisles, while the meek> venerable
Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris sat
opposite the pulpit during the ser-
mon, the blind Monseigneur de
Segur at his side, the Comte de Mun
and other gentlemen of the society
directing the general arrangements.

The now celebrated hymn of the
Sacred Heart composed by the
blind old bishop was first sung; and

* For a full description of these excellent asso-
ciations see THE CATHOLIC WORLD, January, 1878,
" Catholic Circles for Working-men in France."

6o6

Parisian Contrasts.

if the sensation of the Derby Day
in May, 1871, had cut deeply into
my soul, it was now all but effaced
by the sublime, thrilling emotion
caused by this vast multitude an-
swering each verse chanted by
the choir by the famous, heart-stir-
ring chorus of

Dieu de Clemence,
Dieu Vainqueur,
Sauvez, sauvez la France
Par votre sacre" Coeur.

The effect at any time would
have been marvellous, but with the
knowledge that these six thousand
youths had almost all been to Holy
Communion that very morning,
with such a past in one's memory,
and a congregation composed of
such elements before one, it became
simply overpowering. Moreover,
we all knew that at the same hour,
nay, at the same moment, the same
prayer was being offered up in
two thousand other churches in
France ; for, the provincial branch-
es had made arrangements that
their ceremonies should thus coin-
cide with those of Paris. A pro-
cession, rendered picturesque as
well as impressive by the six thou-
sand lighted tapers winding in and
out of the nave and aisles of this
grand, historic cathedral and headed
by the cardinal-archbishop, followed
the short sermon, when a public
act of consecration, with Benedic-
tion of the Blessed Sacrament,
brought this most heart-stirring and
encouraging celebration to a close.

And now, on the 3oth May, since
writing the above lines, another
impressive ceremony has taken
place in the same cathedral, but
strikingly illustrative, too, of the in-
creasing influence the religious ele-
ment is obtaining in France name-
ly, a public act of reparation for
the intended celebration of Vol-
taire's centenary and in memory of

Joan of Arc. Good principles have
certainly made more progress than
was supposed, for public opinion
and the protests of the religious
portion of the nation have forced
the government to forbid the de-
monstration in honor of -the enemy
of Christianity. But, to show even-
handed justice, they equally forbade
all homage to Joan of Arc, even that
of depositing wreaths around her
statue in the Rue de Rivoli erected,
by the way, on the spot where she
was wounded when attacking Paris
for the king.* No authorities, how-
ever, could or would interfere in-
side a church. Hence at three
o'clock precisely the act of repara-
tion commenced, every spot in the
vast cathedral being occupied by
a crowd, composed in greater part,
too, of men, though the ladies, es-
pecially the "Enfants de Marie,"
distinguished by their lighted ta-
pers, mustered strong under their
president, the Duchesse de Chev-
reuse. Amongst the number, in
her Spanish mantilla, I recognized
" La Reine Marguerite," with many
another high-born dame of far-
sounding title. It was purely a
work of devotion vespers and
benediction, the Miserere chanted
by this enormous congregation, con-
stituting the " reparation," followed
by a " Regina Cceli " which in
beauty nothing could surpass. But
the countenances of all present
were a perfect study in themselves,
showing the depth of their emotion
and how different such ceremonies
are in a country like this, where
every one attends them for a solemn
and public purpose, far more than
for private, individual motives. It
lends a sublimity to such acts that
raises the spirit high above ordinary

* The Place des Pyramides in the Rue de Rivoli
is on the site of the ancient ditch of the fortifica-
tion in the Faubourg St. Honore, and is known to
be the spot where Joan of Arc was wounded.

The Created Wisdom.

607

moments. Who, for instance, could
behold the vast multitude beneath
the roof of this lofty nave, which
goes back to the ancient days of
France, without remembering that
Providence had saved it seven
short years since from destruction
by its own sons, and that the chairs
whereon they were kneeling had
been piled up in that same spot, in
the hope of putting an end to all
ceremonies or worship of this kind ?
As one listened to the " Regina
Cceli," and gazed on the beautiful

statue of the Virgin Mother pre-
senting to us the Divine Infant, and
which stands amidst the lights and
flowers over the altar outside the
choir, courage and hope revived,
and all left the sacred edifice with
renewed grace to encounter their
struggles in the cause of right.
Most surely prayer and expiation
are the strength and the duty of
modern France, and with such re-
ward as has been already vouch-
safed to them her sons and daugh-
ters need no longer despair.

THE CREATED WISDOM.*

BY AUBREY DE VERE.
II.

BEHOLD ! I sought in all things rest :
My Maker called me : I obeyed :

On me he laid His great behest,
In me His tabernacle made.

The world's Creator thus bespake :
" My Salem be thy heritage :

Thy rest within mine Israel make :
In Sion root thee, age on age."

Within the City well-beloved

Thenceforth I rose from flower to fruit
And in an ancient race approved

Behold thenceforth I struck my root.

Like Carmel's cedar, or the palm
That gladdens 'mid Engaddi's dew,

Or plane-tree set by waters calm,

I stood ; my fragrance round I threw.

Behold ! I live where dwells not sin :
I breathe in climes no foulness taints :

I reign in God's fair court, and in
The full assembly of His saints.

* Ecclesiasticus xxiv.

6o8

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

THE VENERABLE MOTHER MARY OF THE INCARNA-
TION.

A DECREE of the late Holy Pon-
tiff permitted the introduction of
the cause of the canonization of
Mary Guyard Martin, known in re-
ligion as Mother Mary of the In-
carnation, foundress of the Ursu-
line Convent at Quebec. There is
in this much to console and en-
courage us. Up to this step no
servant of God who lived or labor-
ed even transiently in any part of
our continent lying north of the
Rio Grande had ever been propos-
ed for that exceptional public hon-
or which the church permits by a
decree of canonization.

To any servant of God whose
life, stamped with the impress of
sanctity, seems to justify a belief
on our part that he is now reigning
with Christ in glory, we may ad-
dress our prayers to obtain those
more abundant temporal and spiri-
tual graces which we crave as a
means to our ultimate end, salva-
tion ; but this devotion is for our
own closet. The church permits
no public honors till she has ex-
amined with the closest scrutiny
the life, writings, virtues, and mi-
raculous gifts of the one whom
thousands are honoring in private.

Exalted sanctity was developed
in the mission life in our northern
wilds, in the first rude cloisters, in
laborious ministry, in patient suffer-
ing ; but there were no monarchs
or wealthy communities to under-
take the long and often expensive
investigations and evidence de-
manded at Rome, where, as the
saying is, it almost requires a mira-
cle to prove a miracle.

Spanish America under the Ca-

tholic kings was differently situated,
and that part of the western world
numbers not a few canonized or
beatified, as well as many whose
process of canonization, begun
long since, has been laid aside
amid the changes in the political
world, which in this century show
us the government in almost all
Spanish-speaking countries the ene-
my of religion.

Mexico and Peru were the two
great centres of Spanish power,
originally rich, prosperous, semi-
civilized states. In and between
these two states flourished nearly
all those whose canonization was un-
dertaken or completed. It would
be an error, however, to sup-
pose that the Spanish colonies
were all that the church desired,
or that they were models for a
Christian state. The popular pic-
ture of them is dark enough, and
the untempered zeal and vivid
imagination of Las Casas gave to
the enemies of Catholicity and
Spain an authority for the most
fearful charges. Calm Spanish
accounts, however, reveal facts
which show that, in the mad rush
for wealth aroused by the open-
ing of these golden realms, an im-
migration poured into our shores
which made light of the salutary
teachings of Catholicity, and even
of humanity or the natural law.
The sudden wealth did not tend to
chasten or spiritualize these na-
tures in which pride, avarice, and
lust held such sway. Yet it was
with adventurers of this kind that
the church began her mission to
bring the Indian to the Gospel, the

The Venerable MotJier Mary of the Incarnation. 609

Spaniard back to the spirit of the
Gospel. There was opposition alike
from Indian and Spaniard. If
missionaries fell, slain by the In-
dians whom they sought to enrich
with blessings beyond all price, a
bishop died like St. Thomas of Can-
terbury, slain by his own Chris-
tian countrymen. Shining sancti-
ty, however, exerted its influence
and ultimately prevailed.

In Mexico the humble Francis-
can brother Sebastian de la Apari-
cion filled Puebla with the odor of
his virtues, and the process of his
canonization attested his sanctity
so clearly that he was beatified by
Pope Pius VI. The causes of the
Venerable Gregory Lopez and of
the Venerable John Palafox, Bish-
op of Puebla and Viceroy of New
Spain, were also introduced, while
missionaries either born in Mexico,
like St. Philip of Jesus, or laborers
for a time in that field, won in Ja-
pan the crown of martyrdom, recog-
nized by the beatification of the
:hurch.

St. Louis Bertrand for several
r ears illumined by his holy life and
jospel eloquence the coast of South
.merica from Panama to Santa
Marta and Carthagena, laboring
among the Spaniards and the
conquered Indians, and endeavor-
ing, as did all his order, to save the
latter from misery here and here-
after, as well as to bring his own
countrymen to the practice of the
religion which they professed. As
though one saint prepared the way
for another, Blessed Peter Claver
came in the next century to devote
his life en that same coast to a still
more degraded race, the enslaved
African. New Granada thus has
her saints, but Peru is the favored
spot in our whole continent Peru,
where religion seems at so low an
ebb, where governments of a day,
VOL. xxvii. 39

put up for sale by praetorian guards,
agree only in one point : hostility
to the church of God and to the
well-being of the people. Peru was
above all other parts blessed by
the example of exalted sanctity.
St. Toribius Mogrobejo, called from
among the laity to the archiepis-
copal see of Lima, illustrated his
stewardship by untiring zeal re-
viving religion in the clergy and
people, extending the missions,
erecting institutions of learning
and charity and by the wise de-
crees of synods and councils con-
firming his holy work. Among
those who labored in his diocese
was the holy Franciscan St. Francis
Solano, whose zeal has made his
memory hallowed from Tucuman,
in the Argentine Republic, to Pana-
ma, but who is honored especially
at Lima, long the scene of his
apostolic ministry. His heroic
virtues, the miraculous gifts with
which God endowed him, gave a
force to his words that no human
eloquence could equal and the
most hardened sinners could not
resist.

While Lima, the City of the Kings,
had these two brilliant examples
before her, a child of benediction
was born of a father Spanish in ori-
gin and an Indian mother. Little
Isabel Flores y Oliva was, however,
known from her cradle as Rose, and
the church, in canonizing her,
adopted this name, which St. Tori-
bius, too, gave her when he confer-
red the sacrament of confirmation.
Her wonderful life of austerity and
zeal, of intense love of God and her
neighbor, has made the name of
the Lima virgin known throughout
the world ; and even before her
canonization she was declared pro-
tectress and principal patron of
all the churches of the New World.

She is one of the glories of the

6io The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

Order of St. Dominic, and in her
day two humble lay brothers, in
convents of the same order in
Lima, were conspicuous for sancti-
ty. Blessed Martin Porras, a mu-
latto, holy, zealous, full of love for
the sick, the poor^and the afflicted,
was looked upon by all as a saint
and an angel of mercy. His labors
and his fame were shared by the
Spanish lay brother Blessed John
Massias. What a privilege it must
have been to have lived at that
time in Lima !

Coeval with the last of these
flourished in Quito the secular
virgin Mariana de Paredesy Flores,
whose life so resembles that of St.
Rose that she has been called the
Lily of Quito. Her beatification
by the late Pope Pius IX. gave us
another patroness for the western
world.

The canonized and beatified in
Spanish America thus represent all
states and ages : the episcopate,
the priesthood, the religious state,
and secular life.

Spanish America, in the wild rush
of the restless and adventurous to
its rich and luxuriant soil, resem-
bled California and Australia as we
have seen them in our days, could
we imagine the tide of emigration
Catholic, with some of the knightly
graces of chivalry still powerful,
and devoted clergy and religious
striving manfully to recall the wild
horde from their temporary forget-
fulness of religion, morality, and
civilization.

When we turn from this picture
to that of Canada, we find a con-
trast as striking as the difference
of the climes. In Canada labor,
hardship, the deepest religious feel-
ing prevailed from the outset and
left their impress on the colony.
The world has rarely witnessed a
community so completely guided

by religion and morality as the
first Canadian settlers, and so deep-
ly imbued with them as to elevate
to its own standard the repeated
emigrations of more than half a cen-
tury. The austere virtue of Cana-
da was gay and cheerful ; it had
none of the ferocious Puritanism of
New England, which enforced re-
ligious tyranny, and pursued with
unrelenting hate alike dissenting
whites and unbelieving natives.
While New England, narrow and
restrictive in character and territory,
hugged the bleak coast of the At-
lantic, Canada, under the broader,
higher impulse of Catholicity, won
the friendship of countless native
tribes and pushed her conquest
thousands of miles into the heart
of the continent. "Peaceful, be-
nign, beneficent were the weapons
of this conquest. France aimed
to subdue not by the sword but
by the cross; not to overwhelm
and crush the nations she invaded,
but to convert, to civilize, and to
embrace them among her children,"
is the testimony of one to whom
Catholic piety seems only a wild
dream.

Time has shown on what a solid
foundation they built who laid the
corner-stones of the Canadian colo-
ny. At a critical moment, when
the court of France, yielding to the
spirit of licentiousness and infideli-
ty which had leperized the highei
classes, was forging a rod of iroi
wherewith in the hands of the nej
lected and demoralized masses t(
chastise the monarchy and the ari<
tocracy, God in his providence sav-
ed Canada by what seemed a deatl
blow, by allowing it to pass und(
the sway of England, the bitter en<
my of Catholicity and France. But
though the French spirit in the
colony died out, her teeming popu-
lation is intensely Catholic, well

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 611

trained, well guided, holding their
own against Protestant and infidel
influence.

With such results we may look
to the founders of the Canadian
commonwealth for examples of
high and exemplary virtue. The
history of the Canadian Church
has not been written even in French,
and does not exist in English ; it
has seemed scarcely necessary to
write separately the history of a
church when the history of the col-
ony is so imbued with the religious
element that, deprived of it, her
annals would be almost a blank.

In every history of Canada we
trace the life of the church ; we see
governors whose lives were models
of Christian piety, of strict admin-
istration, of skill and courage ;
priests and missionaries whose aus-
terity, zeal, and piety shrank from
no hardship, no peril, no torture ;
religious devoting their lives to ed-
ucation and works of mercy; colo-
nists, the whole tenor of whose ca-
reer recalls us to the days of the

>rimitive church, influenced by the

lighest motives of faith.
Among all the founders of Cana-

la the eye rests especially on her
martyred missionaries ; on Mother
Mary of the Incarnation, foundress
of the Ursuline Convent, Quebec ;
on Margaret Bourgeoys ; on Bishop
Laval ; on Catharine Tehgahkwita,
the Mohawk maiden, who rose to
such sanctity. To them devotion
has been constant though private,
fervent, and not unrewarded.

The time has come when the
Head of the church has been so-
licited to sanction and confirm the
devotion so long entertained for
one of these heroic souls "Mary
Guyard Martin, known in religion
as Mother Mary of the Incarnation.
She was born at Tours, in one of
the loveliest provinces of France

one that gave that kingdom some
of its master-minds and American
colonization some of its most en-
ergetic and manly pioneers. Her
father, Florence Guyard, was a
wealthy silk manufacturer, and her
mother belonged to the noble house
of Babou de la Bourdaisiere, one
of her ancestors having been deput-
ed by Louis XI. to escort St. Fran-
cis of Paula to his states. The
hereditary piety of the family was
marked by a special devotion to
this servant of God.

Mary was born on the i8th day
of October, in the year 1599, and
showed from her cradle marks of
God's predilection. Her childish
soul had no greater passion than
a lively charity and most tender
compassion for the poor and the
sick, viewing in them the be-
loved of Jesus and Mary, whose
names, were the first she learned
from a pious mother's lips. On one
of her little errands of mercy she
was caught by the shaft of a cart and
thrown so violently to the ground
that bystanders rushed to raise the
child, whom they supposed terribly
injured, only to find that she had
escaped unharmed, protected, as
she always believed, by the influ-
ence of the prayers of the poor and
afflicted.

When only seven she had a vis-
ion, in which our Saviour called her
in an especial manner -to be his
alone. Her docile heart respond-
ed to the divine vocation, and from
the age of nine or ten she sought
the most retired places and least-
frequented churches, in order to
spend a considerable part of the
day in communion with our Lord.
She watched the devout persons at
prayer, and imitated their humble
and pious attitude, and, ignorant of
meditation or mental prayer, made
her spontaneous acts of virtue, re-

612 The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

peated the prayers she knew or
ejaculations prompted by her own
innocent heart.

As she grew and began to -study,
the influence of her girlish com-
panions could not wean her from
her love of spiritual things. In
pious books she found her greatest
and most unwearied delight, and
her piety only grew more solid as
her mind was enabled to under-
stand the mysteries of faith and the
immensity of God's love and mercy.
Her whole soul tended to the con-
secration of herself to our Lord in
some religious retreat, and she ex-
pressed to her mother her desire to
enter the Benedictine convent at
Tours, then the only one in the
city; but as her pious mother, after
advising her that she was yet too
young to take such a step, heard
no further allusion, she supposed it
a mere passing thought and .not a
solid vocation. The child had not
the advantage of a wise and pru-
dent director at this moment, and
her future was apparently to lie in
secular life; yet Providence was
but guiding her surely to her real
vocation.

At the age of seventeen her pa-
rents proposed that she should ac-
cept the hand of a young man of
good character who solicited her
as his wife. She evinced the
greatest * repugnance to enter a
state so incompatible with the re-
collection and prayer which were
her great desire. But as her pa-
rents had accepted the offer she
durst not resist. "Mother," she
exclaimed, ** as the whole thing is
determined and my father insists
on it, I feel obliged to obey his
will and yours ; but if God does
me the grace to give me a son, I
here promise to consecrate my son
to his service ; and if he restores
me the libertv I am now about to

lose, I promise to consecrate my-
self to him."

The young wife accepted her
new life courageously. Her hus-
band, Mr. Martin, was a silk manu-
facturer, employing many opera-
tives, and she had a certain super-
vision over a number of them who
lived on the place. But these new
duties did not cause any relaxation
in her pious practices; she heard
Mass every day, and gave a con-
siderable time to meditation and
pious reading. Affection founded
on the purest motives united her
and her husband, who soon learned
to revere the holy wife whom God
had granted him. Yet her life was
not free from bitter trials. Even
greater were in store. She had
passed but two years in the mar-
riage state, and had been but six
months a mother, when her hus-
band was almost suddenly taken
from her. The widow of nineteen,
with her helpless child, saw her
property swept away, law-suits en-
circle her in their deadly meshes,
and a lot of almost absolute desti-
tution await her. She soon return-
ed to her father's house, and in a
garret room led the life of a re-
cluse.

God now began to favor her by
interior lights, and placed her un-
der the guidance of experienced
directors. She consecrated herself
to his divine service, but the future
was not made clear to her, and a
further period of trial was to purify
her virtue. A sister, also married,
urged her to come and aid he
in the business that devolve
upon her. Mine. Martin reluctant]
yielded, but was ungratefully made
the drudge of the house, and then
burdened with the superintendence
of her brother-in-law's extensive
forwarding business. Amid all this
distracting toil, apparently so in-

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 613

compatible with high spirituality,
the servant of God maintained an
almost uninterrupted union with
God- Amid all the din and bustle
of business life she was raised to
the highest contemplation. In all
this she subsequently beheld God's
providence. Writing at a later date
from Quebec, she said : " I see
now that all the states, all the trials
and labors through which I passed,
were a preparation to form me for
the work of Canada. This was my
novitiate, from which I issued far
from being perfect, but yet, by the
grace of God, in a state to bear the
difficulties and hardships of New
France."

Heaven was fitting her alike for
the external work in founding a re-
ligious community in a scarcely-or-
ganized colony, and for conducting
its members with the experience
of the highest mystical knowledge.
As the ties which bound her to
the world fell away her longing for
the religious life increased. Her
director, however, deemed it her
kity to remain in the world in or-
ler to superintend the education
)f her son; but he ultimately al-
lowed her to make vows of poverty,
chastity, and obedience, the last re-
ferring to her director, and in tem-
>oral affairs to her sister and bro-
ther-in-law.

Her austerities at this time were
constant and severe. She slept on
a bare board, wore hair-cloth, min-
gled wormwood in her scanty food,
and by frequent disciplines even
with nettles and fastings morti-
fied a body already over-burdened
with daily toil. For this privileged
soul, raised to the highest contem-
plation, and prepared by the hea-
venly Bridegroom for the most su-
blime union, mortifying the body
with austerities that rivalled the
anchorets of Thebais, was not even

in a religious cloister, but immersed
from morning to night in those
business cares and details which
seem so incompatible with a spirit
of prayer and of recollectednes<J.
She not only gave so much of her
time to God and made all her
labor one prayer, but in her great
heart was always solicitous for her
neighbor. Over the working-peo-
ple under her direction she exer-
cised the greatest influence, giving
them from time to time clear and
persuasive instructions suited to
their understanding, and by coun-
sel and mild reproof guarding them
from offending God or recalling
them from danger. But it was es-
pecially in the hour of sickness
that they found her a true mother,
rendering them all the service and
care that the best of mothers
Could lavish on them.

It was not to be wondered at
that she came to be regarded as a
saint ; but God, to purify her and
preserve her from any self-esteem,
permitted her suddenly to fall into
the greatest aridity. Her fidelity
when all sensible consolation was
withdrawn was rewarded by extra-
ordinary favors visions in which
the most profound mysteries of
faith seemed laid open to her gaze.

The period at last arrived when
she could place her son in a suita-
ble institution and follow the incli-
nation which had so long been to
her as a vocation. Yet she was
far from beholding to what order
she was called. Her first inclina-
tion had been towards the Ursu-
lines, while the contemplative order
of Mount Carmel seemed most in
unison with her whole spiritual
life. Her director was a father of
the order of Feuillants, and the
general, desirous of securing for a
convent of nuns of his rule a soul so
privileged and so highly advanced

6 14 The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

in the ways of perfection, offer-
ed to assume the education of her
son. While she remained thus un-
decided the Ursulines founded
their first house at Tours. She
felt at once that Providence wished
her among them. A knowledge of
their rule and of their profession of
serving their neighbor confirmed
this impression, and she felt con-
vinced that she was not called to a
purely contemplative life. A pious
bishop, about to found a Visitation
monastery at his see, heard on his
way through Tours of the pious
widow, and called upon her. He
pressed her earnestly to join the
community he projected, but all
confirmed her in believing that the
Ursuline was the order into which
she must enter.

She did not, however, propose
the step either to her director or to
the superior of the convent, with
whom she soon formed a holy
friendship; but one day, visiting
the convent to felicitate Mother
Mary of St. Bernard on her re-elec-
tion as superior, it came into her
mind that her friend would offer
her admission into the community,
and she had no sooner congratu-
lated her than the superior exclaim-
ed : "I know well of what you are
thinking : you believe that I am
going to offer you a place in our
community. I do indeed, and it
depends on yourself to become one
of our number." Her director,
however, showed no favor to the
project until the divine call be-
came so distinct and irresistible
that he could not oppose it.

The Archbishop of Tours au-
thorized the convent to receive her
without a dowry; her sister assum-
ed the education and future care of
her son, and, giving him her last
instructions, she parted with him
and her aged father. Then, with

the blessing of the archbishop, she
entered the convent, expecting to
commence her novitiate as a lay
sister, but to her confusion was
placed among the choir nuns.

She had reached the haven for
which she had so long prepared
herself by prayer and mortification ;
but a storm soon arose. Her son,
excited by some who disapproved
of her course, made his way into
the convent, and by cries and com-
plaints and boyish threats so inter-
fered with the order of the com-
munity that it seemed impossible
to retain the novice. A Jesuit Fa-
ther, however, becoming acquainted
with her great virtues and the dif-
ficulty of her position, took charge
of young Martin's education and
placed him in a college of his or-
der.

Thus freed from the last care,
Mme. Martin took the white veil
of a novice, and assumed in religion
the name of Mother Mary of the
Incarnation. In the sacred abode
of piety new lights seemed to be
given her. A knowledge of Latin
was imparted to her without study,
and an infused understanding of
the Scriptures. Her fellow-novices
listened to her eloquent and solid
expositions with breathless wonder.
But in a moment darkness over-
spread her soul, and she was assail
ed by the most horrible temptation
All her spiritual life seemed a
error and an illusion ; a self-decei
and a deceit in her director. Un
fortunately her wise and exper
enced spiritual guide was remove
about this critical time, and w
replaced by one who regarded h
as an ill-directed visionary. H
devotions in behalf of the obsesse
sisters of Laudun made her th
object of terrible visitations. Her
son, after a brilliant opening at col-
lege, was led astray, and tidings

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 615

came that he was threatened with
expulsion. Everything seemed to
thwart the vocation of the servant
of God; but for two years amid all
these trials she persevered in her no-
vitiate, and when her superior di-
rected her to prepare for her pro-
fession she obeyed, and pronounced
her vows on the 25th of January,
1633, rewarded for a brief period
with the highest spiritual consola-
tion, only to be followed by a fresh
season of trial.

At last a new and experienced di-
rector enlightened and relieved her
soul ; and this strong woman, taught
in the bitter school of experience,
became mistress of novices. Soon
after in a prophetic vision she saw
the Blessed Virgin and our Lord
overlooking some vast land, sunk
in the depth's of heathen darkness.
Without knowing yet to what part
of the world this vision seemed to
call her, she became filled with
a desire to aid by her prayers and
other good works the missionaries
laboring in pagan lands. But this
did not divert her from her duties
as mistress of novices. Her in-
structions to the young candidates
were full of unction, and based es-
pecially on the words of Holy Writ.
She explained fully and clearly to
them the Psalms of David, which
form so large a part of their office,
and the Canticle of Canticles, in
which the great masters of spiritual
life have seen such mysteries of the
union between the elect souls of
predilection and our Lord. She
also composed for their use a cate-
chism, which the judicious Father
Charlevoix, the historian of New
France, regarded as perhaps the
best then extant in French. " We
may at least aver," he adds, " that
there is none in which the truths
are explained with greater order,
precision, and conciseness. The

selection and application of the
passages of Scripture show that
Mother Mary of the Incarnation
was one of those who in her age
knew the Holy Scriptures most
thoroughly. All breathes a wondei-
ful simplicity which avoids that
dangerous curiosity, the ordinary
cause of pride, levity of mind, and
insensibility of heart."* The no-
vices formed by her showed how
solidly she had grounded them in
spiritual life, and how fully her
great experiences and trials had
enabled her to guide them through
all the dangers of that period where
unwise and rash directors make
shipwreck of so many vocations or
hurry the unstable and doubtful
into professions for which they
have no grace of state. The no-
vices of Mother Mary of the Incar-
nation can be traced among the
superiors and important officers of
many of the greatest Ursuline con-
vents of France.

The interior sense of a vocation
to the foreign missions grew steadi-
ly within her till her very body
wasted under the longing and yearn-
ing to know the will of God. Her
prayer was incessant. At last a
divine light suffused her soul, and
at the same time these words were
spoken to her : " Ask me through
the Heart of Jesus, my most amiable
Son ; it is through it that I shall
grant thy desire." From that mo-
ment, she declares, she felt so in-
timately united to the Heart of
Jesus that she spoke and breathed
only through it.

Among the points she often in-
culcated on the novices was a con-
stant devotion to the Sacred Heart
of Jesus, of which she was one of
the early propagators, although God
did not make her the instrument of

* It was published in France in 1684 under the
title of L'Ecole Chretienne.

6i6

The Venerable MotJier Mary of the Incarnation.

its general diffusion. She would
say to her novices : " The Eternal
Father has made known to a per-
son that he is ever disposed to
grant what is asked of him through
the Heart of his Son."

One day she explained to her di-
rector, the Jesuit Father Dinet, her
interest in the foreign missions and
her mysterious dream. He re-
marked that it seemed very possi-
sible, and that Canada was proba-
bly the country designated in the
vision. She had never heard of
the colony begun there by France
some twenty-five years before, and
knew absolutely nothing about it ;
but some days afterwards, while in
choir, she had an ecstasy and the
vision was repeated, but she heard
distinctly : " It is Canada that I
show thee; and thou must go
thither to found a house in honor
of Jesus and Mary." God's de-
signs were becoming clearer ; and
when a few days later she received
from the Jesuit Father Poncet now
known for his labors and sufferings
in Canada and New York, but then
a perfect stranger to her one of
those Jesuit Relations which our
bibliophiles so eagerly seek, and a
pilgrim's staff from Loretto, she felt
that the land for her future labors
and prayers was beyond the Atlan-
tic. Father Poncet sent with the
pilgrim's staff these words: " I send
you this staff to invite you to go
and serve God in New France."

In her heart she responded fully ;
but how was she, a cloistered nun,
to begin a convent in a distant colony
of a few log huts, a colony with no
female population, where everything
was poor, scanty, struggling, and
laborious ? How was she to become
the pioneer nun among the back-
woodsmen who had begun to clear
the Canadian forest? Nothing
could seem to most minds more

preposterous in a nun in a quiet
convent in a quiet provincial town
in France. Yet Providence was
guiding her surely to her work.
A holy young widow, Mme. de la
Peltrie, who had reluctantly enter-
ed the marriage state when her
heart was in the cloister, had re-
sponded to a call in a Jesuit Rela-
tion of Canada, where Father Le
Jeune exclaimed : " Alas ! cannot
some good and virtuous lady be
found willing to come to this land
to gather up the blood of Jesus
Christ by instructing the little In-
dian girls ?" She resolved to de-
vote herself, and, when stricken
down by illness and given up by
physicians, she made a vow to St.
Joseph, promising to consecrate
under his patronage her fortune
and her life to the service of the
Indian girls. A recovery from the
very brink of the grave, that seem-
ed a miracle, confirmed her. Baf-
fling all the objections of her fam-
ily, she sought some community of
religious to begin the work in which
she desired to take an active part.
The Jesuit missionaries from the
shores of Lake Huron were writing
to Mother Mary of the Incarna-
tion ; the Jesuits in France had
resolved to attempt an Ursuline
convent in New France. Mme.
de la Peltrie and Father Poncet
wrote to Mother Mary of the In-
carnation to undertake the great
work. The divine call so myste-
riously given was at last accom-
plished. Her letter to the holy
widow shows the fulness of her
heart.

" Ah ! my dear lady," she writes, "be-
loved spouse of my divine Master, in
finding you I have found her whom I
love in truth, since there is no greater or
truer love than to give one's self and all
one has for the person beloved. And
since it has pleased His mercy to give
me the same sentiments, it seems that

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

my heart is in yours, and that both to-
gether are but one in that of Jesus, amid
those vast and infinite spaces where we
embrace the little Indian girls, teaching
them how to love Him who is infinitely
amiable. Do you really mean, madame,
to do me and those of my companions
whom God well chose this favor, to
take us with you and connect us with
your noble design ? For five years now
have I been awaiting the opportunity to
obey the urgent summons which the
Holy Ghost has made me ; and, not to
speak untruly, I believe that you are the
one whom his divine Majesty wishes to
employ to enable me to enjoy this bless-
ing."

This was in November, 1638.
So rapidly did all progress that
early in spring two pious compa-
nies gathered at Dieppe to found
amid the unbroken wilderness of
Canada the first convents of reli-
gious women the first, indeed, be-
tween the Mexican frontier towns
and the icy ocean.

On a vessel devoted to St. Jo-
seph, already designated to Mother
Mary as the patron of Northern
America, embarked May 4, 1639,
Mme. de la Peltrie and her attend-
ant, Mother Mary of the Incarna-
tion, and Mother St. Joseph, the
only Ursuline of Tours who was
permitted to join her, though all
desired to do so ; with Mother Ce-
cilia of the Holy Cross from the
Ursuline convent at Dieppe, three
Hospital Nuns of the order of St.
Augustine, Father Vimont, Superior-
General of the Jesuit Missions in
Canada, with two missionaries for
that field, Father Chaumonot and
Father Poncet.

The voyage was menaced at first
by pirates and cruisers ; was long
and stormy, and the vessel escaped
as by a miracle being crushed by a
mountain-like iceberg. Yet, amid
storm and blast, the vessel was a
monastery and chapel ; Mass was
said, and the nuns, in two choirs,

chanted the office of the day. On
the i5th of July they reached Ta-
doussac, at the mouth of the Sa-
guenay, and the passengers in a
smaller vessel then ran up the river
to Quebec.

At daybreak on the ist of Au-
gust the whole population of the
little settlement was gathered on
the height, their eyes fixed on He
Orleans. At last boats were seen
putting out. The Chevalier de
Montmagny, Knight of Malta, Gov-
ernor of Canada, marched to the
water-side with his garrison, fol-
lowed by all the settlers, and the
cannons of the fort saluted the sis-
ters as their barks touched the
strand.

Mother Mary of the Incarnation
had reached the field of her labors,
designated so long by heaven. It
was a land endeared to her by the
will of God. When she stepped
ashore she and her companions
prostrated themselves and kissed
with respect the land so long de-
sired. They were then escorted to
the Church of Our Lady of Recou-
vrance, where a TeDeum\ta.$ chant-
ed and Mass offered up. All com-
municated, and Mother Mary re-
mained long before the altar in a
holy ecstasy.

The work of building up her
convent began. After visiting the
Indian mission at Sillery the Uriai-
lines took up their temporary resi-
dence in a little house in the lower
town. One of the two rooms was
choir, dormitory, and refectory ;
the other a school, where their first
pupils were six Indian and some
French girls born in the colony.
A little chapel was erected beside
this rude convent, and here this
little community spent three years
amid trials, hardships, and suffer-
ing, awaiting the completion of
the new structure. Quebec was

6i8

TJie Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

but a hamlet of two hundred and
fifty souls, and, though Mme. de la
Peltrie generously devoted her for-
tune, the work made but slow pro-
gress. In the selection of the site
Mother Mary showed not only a
superior judgment and prudence
but a holy submission of her will.
When the question of the site was
raised their director, Mme. de la
Peltrie, and the sisters fixed upon a
spot. Mother Mary alone recom-
mended a different one, and gave her
reasons. Her opinion was rejected
almost without examination, and
the building was begun at the pro-
posed place; but the difficulties and
disadvantages were soon seen. The
work was stopped, and the site sug-
gested by the servant of God was
adopted as really the only practi-
cable one.

When the "Ursulines were install-
ed in this temporary convent Mo-
ther Mary of the Incarnation was
at once elected their superior.
The instruction of the Indian girls
being one of the principal objects
of the foundation, Mother Mary
commenced the study of the Al-
gonquin language, spoken by all
the tribes on the St. Lawrence. It
was no easy task, but she acquired
it with an ease that astonished all.

The discomforts of these pioneer
nuns were not yet completed. Their
little convent was crowded to its
fullest extent with Indian girls,
whom they washed and clothed,
and were endeavoring to form to
European life, when the good nuns
were dismayed to find the small-
pox make its appearance in the
Indian villages. Their school be-
came an hospital, and the Ursulines
stripped themselves of all their
linen for the use of the sick.

The arrival of two sisters from
the Ursuline convent at Paris gave
the holy superior great joy, but the

members of the little community
were now from three different
houses, each with special rules of
its own, and great diversity of opin-
ion prevailed as to the rule to be
adopted. The patience, piety, and
caution displayed by Mother Mary
were those of a saint ; and her
really great mind and thorough
knowledge of nature and grace
enabled her to blend all into one
happy community actuated by the
same spiritual instinct.

But the very existence of the
house was menaced. The expen-
ses, especially in the great multitude
of articles that it was necessary to
import constantly from France, and
the aid given to the Indians in
health and sickness, exceeded all
their income, and Mme. de la Pel-
trie withdrew for a time to Mon-
treal, depriving them of her usual
and stipulated contribution. Their
agent in France assured them that
the establishment must be aban-
doned, that there was no way leftT
except to return to France. But
Mother Mary was undisturbed. Her
holy soul never lost its calm, its
union with God. She wrote inces-
santly, and her appeals to hundreds
of charitable souls in France brought
alms that saved the convent.

Mme. de la Peltrie returned to
the community she had helped to
found, and on the 2ist of Novem-
ber, 1642, the Ursulines took pos-
session of their new monastery. It
was not the only consolation of the
venerable superior. Letters from
France announced that her son,
after securing a favorable position
at court, had abandoned the world
and entered the novitiate of the
learned order of St. Benedict, where
in time he became an illustrious
member.

The new building was spacious,
but in their poverty they still had

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 619

much to suffer, especially in the
long Canadian winters. Then
came the overthrow of the Huron s
in Upper Canada, the massacre of
many holy missionaries personally
known to Mother Mary, who be-
held at her doors a crowd of fugi-
tive Hurons. Their language she
learned, to be able to labor for their
good, if God spared the colony ; for
the Iroquois, intoxicated with suc-
cess, now ravaged the valley of the
St. Lawrence, and no one was safe
even at Quebec.

While all were paralyzed by fear,
and the colony in its sorest dis-
tress, fire broke out in the convent
one December night toward the
close of the year 1650, and before
dawn naught remained but the
walls. Mother Mary was the last
to leave the burning structure.
The whole community and their
pupils were left in the snow, in
their night-dresses, nothing having
been saved of their clothing or
stores. The Hospital Nuns re-
ceived them with open arms and
the whole town endeavored to
meet their wants.

All was gone. There seemed no
course but to return to France.
Such was not, however, the deci-
sion of Mother Mary and her heroic
companions. " The resolution was
that, without further delay, we
should rebuild on the same foun-
dation, inasmuch as our courage
had not been crushed by the weight
of this disaster, and as our voca-
tions were as strong or stronger
than before, and the girls of French
and of Indian origin needed our
services."

The work was begun at once,
Mother Mary and the other sisters
helping to clear away the ruins.
A little house which Mme. de
la Peltrie had erected became
their temporary convent, while by

loans they paid the workmen to
continue the work on the new
building. The work cost thirty
thousand livres, and the furnishing
and supplies required still more.
Yet all came so wonderfully that
Mother Mary of the Incarnation
declared it to be a miracle and as-
cribed it to the special protection
of the Blessed Virgin.

Soon after an Iroquois army
spread terror through Canada, till
a heroic band sacrificed themselves
in an attack on the ferocious ene-
my, and by a glorious death so
crippled them that the savages re-
tired. During the panic caused by
these cruel invaders the Ursulines
were forced to leave their convent,
which became a fortified house.
Then came an earthquake which
convulsed the whole country, at-
tended by meteors that filled all
with terror and alarm. Amid all
these dangers Mother Mary of the
Incarnation preserved unruffled her
calm and serenity of soul.

One of the founders of the col-
ony, she lived to see it develop and
strengthen ; children born on the
soil had grown up under her gui-
dance and become mothers of fami-
lies, handing down to coming gene-
rations the solid Christian instruc-
tion imparted to them by Mother
Mary of the Incarnation and her
sisters in religion. Canada had
grown, too, from a mere mission to
an organized church with a holy
bishop at its head, a seminary for
the training of candidates for the
priesthood, a Jesuit college, and in-
ferior schools. Her work was well-
nigh accomplished. In 1664 she
felt the first symptoms of the dis-
ease which was to terminate the
long death of her earthly existence
and unite her for ever to her hea-
venly Spouse. Extenuated by aus-
terities, labor, and vigils^ she was

620 T/te Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

attacked by a continued fever, ac-
companied by effusion of bile and
violent pains which gave her no
rest by night or day. Her consti-
tution, naturally so strong and en-
during, could no longer resist the
inroads of the malady. She was
soon at the point of death, and re-
ceived the last sacraments amid
the sighs and tears of her spiritual
children. All Quebec was in tears,
for there was scarcely a family in
which she was not looked up to as
a guide and mother. The con-
tinual prayers seemed to move
Heaven to spare her to them for a
time. But she survived only to
remain on the cross in a state of
continual suffering. Masses, no-
venas, prayers were offered for her
complete recovery; but she herself
offered none. Several persons,
among others Bishop Laval, who
visited her regularly, implored her
to solicit her cure from God ; but
she replied that she felt utterly un-
able to frame such a prayer. " Of
what use can an infirm old woman
of sixty be? Oh! do not prolong
my exile; let me go to my God."

She did not even beg for a
cessation of her pain or her state
of suffering. The office of supe-
rior had been for the third time
conferred upon her; from this she
now asked to be relieved, as she
was unable to discharge the duties
incumbent on it. But when her di-
rector declined to permit this she
submitted without a murmur and
continued to bear the burden.

" My present condition," she wrote to
her son, <l is most dear to me, because
the cross is the pleasure and the delight
of Jesus. I can never recover from my
long malady, which has very painful and
torturing consequences. But nature
grows tame to suffering and becomes
familiar with pain. I even feel attached
lo it ; and I fear that my tepidity will
oblige the divine goodness to deprive

me of it, or at least to moderate it. Every-
thing I take is like wormwood, and con-
stantly brings to my mind the gall in
the Passion of our Lord. This makes
me love this state."

Yet in a state which would have
kept most persons prostrate on a
bed she labored as unremittingly
as ever.- She rose the first and re-
tired the last, attended all the du-
ties of the community, conducted
an extensive correspondence, and,
when too weak to do other work, em-
ployed her time in painting or em-
broidery. Her existence during
the eight years she spent in this
state was as great a mystery as her
whole mystical life had been.

Her missionary zeal never flag-
ged, and the great consolation of
these years was to instruct in the
Algonquin and Huron languages
the younger members of the com-
munity, to enable them to continue
after her death the instructions
which she had been in the habit of
giving. It would seem as if her
wish had been gratified, for two cen-
turies after her death Huron girls
were among the pupils in the con-
vent she founded, playing beneath
the very tree where she and Mmei
de la Peltrie had washed, dressed,
and instructed the Indian children.

Her works compiled for the use
of the sisters, had they escaped the
conflagrations of the monastery,
would give her a high rank among
the authors in Indian languages,
for they comprised two extended
Algonquin dictionaries, an Iroquois
catechism, and a huge volume of
Bible stories in Algonquin.

She could now walk only when
supported. Mother Mary of St.
Joseph went to receive her reward.
Mme. de la Peltrie was also taken
from her.

On the night of the i5th of Janu-
ary, 1672, an oppression of the chest

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 621

seized Mother Mary of the Incar-
nation, attended with incessant
vomiting and fever. The end had
come, but amid the most exquisite
suffering not a sigh, not a com-
plaint, scarcely the quivering of a
muscle, betrayed what she was un-
dergoing. She seemed absorbed
in an ecstasy. She received the
last sacraments with unspeakable
joy, and asked pardon of her di-
rector, her superior, and the com-
munity for all the trouble she had
given them. She spoke to the
younger sisters in the most touch-
ing and eloquent terms to excite
them to esteem their vocation and
to encourage them to care for the
Indian children.

But the community could not
part with its founder. They offer-
ed up earnest prayers in her behalf,
and her director, Father Lalemant,
commanded her to join her prayers
with them. Though anxious to be
united to God, she obeyed. An
immediate improvement ensued.
She rallied so as to join the com-
munity in the devotions of Holy
Week.'

On the evening of Good Friday
the pain of two tumors that had
formed became intense. An opera-
tion was performed, but she sank
gradually, and on the 3oth of April
entered into her agony. It was
long; but the strength of purpose
evinced in life enabled her even
then to raise the crucifix repeated-
ly to her lips when speech and
hearing were gone. At six o'clock
in the afternoon, after looking
around on her sisters, as if to take
a last farewell, she gave two sighs
and expired.

The news of her death spread
rapidly. She had been regarded as
a saint, and all flocked to the con-
vent. Every pious person in Que-
bec desired some relic ; so that

everything belonging to her was
carried away, and the Ursulines-had
great difficulty in retainingher large
rosary, which has been preserved
to this day as their chief relic.
Her funeral service was attended
by all the dignitaries in church and
state, and a sermon by Father Je-
rome Lalemant, her chief director
during her long mission in Cana-
da, depicted her labors and her sub-
lime virtues.

Her body was interred in the
chapel vault, and amid all the vi-
cissitudes of war, conflagration, and
change of nationality the Ursu-
lines have continued guardians of
the precious remains of their foun-
dress.

She had in life impressed all as
one elevated above the common or-
der, one who received extraordi-
nary graces from God, and who
corresponded with them. The
missionaries, men versed in the di-
rection of souls and the paths by
which divine grace leads them, all
entertained the highest esteem for
her virtues. Her fellow-Ursulines
living with her, watching her mi-
nutely from day to day and from
year to year, could aver that they
had never seen her commit a fault
against meekness, patience, humili-
ty, charity, modesty, poverty, or
obedience, and that she never let
an occasion pass unheeded of prac-
tising those virtues.

When, therefore r all could pious-
ly believe that she was reigning
with Christ, the confidence of the
afflicted led them to seek her in-
tercession, and the consolation de-
rived has kept alive devotion to
her to this time; while her letters,
published by her son, revealed to
the masters of spiritual life the
wonderful interior and mystic life
led by this nun in a rude convent
amid the handful of log-houses

622

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

which constituted the capital of
New France.

Father Charlevoix alludes to the
opinion of " two learned prelates
who have not always been of the
same opinion [evidently Bossuet
and Fenelon], but who, neverthe-
less, agree in regarding her as one
of the brightest lights of her age."
Bossuet in one of his arguments
says :

"Mother Mary of the Incarnation,
Ursuline, who is called the Teresa of
our days and of the New World, in a
lively impression of the inexorable jus-
tice of God, condemned herself to an
eternity of pain and offered herself for it,
in order that God's justice might be sat-
isfied, provided only, she said, ' that I be
not deprived of the iove of God and of
God himself.' "

Mr. Emery, superior of St. Sul-
pice at Paris, wrote :

" The Venerable Mother Mary of the
Incarnation is a saint whom I revere
most sincerely, and whom I place in my
esteem beside St. Teresa. In my last
retreat her life, her letters, and her medi-
tations alone constituted my reading and
the subject of my mental prayer."

Father Charlevoix wrote her life
in gratitude for favors obtained by
her intercession.

" Indebted," says he, " as I have rea-
son to believe, to the merits of the foun-
dress of the Ursulines in Canada that
I did not end my days in a foreign land
in the flower of my life, it seemed to me
that I could not do less than extend her
knowledge among men. Not that she
was hitherto unknown. The eulogium
pronounced upon her by the greatest
men, and her own works, in which we
admire an exquisite taste, sound reason,
a sublime genius, and that divine unc-
tion which so well distinguishes the writ-
ings of the saints, have already placed
her in the rank of the most illustrious
women."

Father Galifet, in one of his
spiritual works, says :

" Her life was full of marvels by the
heroic virtues she practised, by the su-

pernatural gifts with which she was en-
dowed, by the choicest favors of her di-
vine Spouse, by unspeakable communi-
cations of the Divinity, by the wisdom
she derived from the Scriptures and
from the mysteries of faith, and finally
byhe experience she had of all condi-
tions of interior life, which rendered her
a thorough mistress in this Divine know-
ledge. ... This wonderful servant of
God had an extraordinary devotion for
the Sacred Heart of Jesus at a time
when this devotion was yet unknown.
She could have learned nothing about
it from men. It was from God himself
that she learned this in a heavenly reve-
lation."

Even Protestant writers, to whom
all Catholic spiritual life is some-
thing unreal and deserving only of
scorn and contempt, blasphemantes
qua ignorant, recognize in Mother
Mary of the Incarnation a woman
of a rare and singular combination of
qualities, and never ascribe to her a
fault. " She had uncommon talents
and strong religious sensibilities,"
says Parkman. u Strange as it may
seem, this woman, whose habitual
state was one of mystical abstrac-
tion, was gifted to a rare degree
with the faculties most useful in
the practical affairs of life." " Her
talent for business was not the less
displayed." " Now and hencefor-
ward one figure stands nobly con-
spicuous in this devoted sisterhood.
Marie de 1'Incarnation, . . . engag-
ed in the duties of Christian chari-
ty and the responsibilities of an ar-
duous post, displays an ability, a
fortitude, and an earnestness which
command respect and admiration."
" Marie de 1'Incarnation in her sad-
dest moments neither failed in
judgment nor slackened in effort.
She carried on a vast correspon-
dence, embracing every one in
France who could aid her in-
fant community with money or in-
fluence ; she harmonized and regu-
lated it with excellent skill; and in

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 623

the midst of relentless austerities,
she was loved as a mother by her
pupils and dependants. Catholic
writers extol her as a saint. Pro-
testants may see in her a Christian
heroine, admirable with all her fol-
lies and faults."

The follies and faults consisted
in her being a Catholic, a nun, and
in rising to the higher states of
mystical life.

And how are we to regard this
inner life of this remarkable woman ?
Was this clear and gifted mind,
this pure soul, this person devoting
a long life to incessant occupation
and free from all selfish taint, one to
be readily self-deceived ? Was any-
thing that passed in her soul, as de-
scribed by her, without its parallel
in the history of the church ? By
no means. It is, indeed, the state
to which few comparatively are
called by God, and to which all
who are called do not rise. But it
is one recognized by the church,
which is the pillar and ground of
truth, and from the case of St. Paul
there have been ever in the church
remarkable examples of great souls
combining the exterior activity
with the highest contemplation.
Wise and spiritual directors are
seldom wanting as guides, and the
highest authority in the church is
frequently called upon to decide
questions that arise.

" Moreover," says Father Charlevoix,
in reference to this very case, "we have
general rules which, being founded on
good sense, are within the reach of all ;
and they are given to us by the Doctors
of the church and by all the masters of
interior life, as sure means to guarantee
us against seduction. I will not men-
tion all, as the detail would lead me too
far, and the rules can readily be found.
I shall speak of only one of the most im-
portant, which includes the principles of
all the others. According to this rule,
we may believe that what passes in the
soul is a favor of heaven, if in the con-

duct of the person who receives it, in
the matter in question, in the manner in
which it occurs, and in the effects which
it produces, there is nothing that does
not lead to God, nothing savoring ever
so little of one's own mind, or which
can come from a suggestion of the devil.
For if in a vision, revelation, or any simi-
lar impression nothing can be discover-
ed that is not conformable to pure doc-
trine and sanctity of life, if there is no
ground for prudently fearing surprise or
deceit, on what basis can we pronounce
the whole to be frivolous ? It may be that
after all it is only an effect of the ima-
gination, but, at least, nothing is risked
if the soul in which it occurs remains in
distrust of self and in humility.

"But if it is only an operation of the
enemy of salvation to seduce and lead
into sin, a little application and experi-
ence will soon reveal the venom hidden
under the appearance of piety. . . .

" When, then, we are told of a person
to whom it is said that God communi-
cates himself in an extraordinary man-
ner, if this person is recognized by all
acquainted with him to have a sound
and upright reason, a firm mind, imagi-
nation under control, solid virtue based
on Christian simplicity, humility, and
distrust of self ; if his conduct never be-
lies itself; if he perseveres to the end in
the exact discharge of his duties ; if on
all occasions he does works worthy of
that sublime state in which he is repre-
sented to be there is, I admit, no indis-
pensable obligation of giving credit
to what is said in regard to him ; but
there is, it seems to me, a reasonable
prejudice in favor of this person, and we
can scarcely avoid a want of the respect
due to God's gifts in a soul which has all
the appearances of being so singularly
adorned. I may even go further, and
if Lactantius has proved the truth of
the Christian religion by showing that
it is in all points conformable to reason
and nothing contradicts it, would I rot
have some right to maintain that we can
recognize God's operation in a soul
when what passes there is in perfect ac-
cord with good sense, faith, reason, and
itself?"

When two centuries had elapsed
after the holy death of Mother
Mary of the Incarnation, and her
memory was still fresh in the minds
of the Canadian people and of the

624

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

few remaining bands of Indians, and
temporal and spiritual graces were
constantly ascribed to her interces-
sion, a process in due form was
drawn up by the authority of the
Archbishop of Quebec in regard to
the miracles attributed to the ser-
vant of God. This was duly au-
thenticated, and sealed and de-
spatched to Rome in 1868 by a
clergyman selected for this duty.
These documents were presented
to the secretary of the Sacred Con-
gregation of Rites, and, according
to a wise regulation, must lie there
untouched for ten years, during
which time nothing is to be done
in regard to the desired beatifica-
tion.

The Ursulines solicited the bea-
tification of the illustrious mem-
ber of their order ; the remnant of
the once powerful Huron nation
attested the traditional reverence
for her who had welcomed them
when wretched fugitives from Iro-
quois cruelty, and had lavished her
kindness on the hapless women and
children, teaching them to suffer as
Christians and training them to
die worthy of the name.

The hierarchy of Canada, assem-
bled in Provincial Council in that
year, gave to the Holy See their
testimony in regard to the fame of
the servant of God.

u Nearly two centuries have elapsed,"
say these venerable prelates, " since
the death in the Lord of Mary Guy-
art, called in religion ' Mary of the
Incarnation,' first superior and foundress
of the Ursuline convent erected in this
city of Quebec. How illustrious she
was both in the theological virtues
and in the observance of the religious
life is attested by history and by con-
stant tradition. The tree is still shown
under which she sat and taught the In-
dian girls the rudiments of the faith ;
the wandering tribes still retain a tradi-
tion of the benign mother who first in-
troduced into this land, then seated in

darkness and in the shadow of death,
such an illustrious example of monastic
life in her sex.

"As years have gone by, the fame of
her sanctity and her miracles has not
decreased, but is rather increased from
day to day, especially as many aver
openly every day that they have obtained
great temporal and spiritual benefits
through her invocation. . . .

" Assembled in provincial council,
turning to your paternity with the ut-
most confidence, we cannot refrain from
expressing our most ardent desire, as
well as that of our diocesans, and of all
the Ursulines scattered throughout the
whole Catholic world, of soon publicly
and solemnly invoking her whose assis-
tance we now often implore privately
but efficaciously."

Such was the testimony of the
Archbishop of Quebec and the
bishops of Montreal, Ottawa, Ham-
ilton, St. Boniface, Kingston, To-
ronto, St. Hyacinth, Three Rivers,
St. Germain, and Sandwich, given
in the most solemn form.

The ten years of patient waiting
had almost ended in 1877, and fur-
ther steps could be taken. The
documents were by a special per-
mission opened, the life of the ser-
vant of God and her writings were
proposed. It was then for the
Holy See to decide whether they
presented such a case that the
cause of her beatification could be
introduced, and the long law-suit,
so to say, be commenced in which
her life, writings, and miracles
should be subjected to the severest
scrutiny. The Sacred Congrega-
tion of Rites reported favorably,
and one of the latest acts of the
great Sovereign Pontiff, Pius IX.,
was :

"Our most Holy Father, Pope Pius
IX., having deigned to permit on the
gth of September of last year that the
question of the signature of the commis-
sion charged with introducing the cause
of the servant of God, Sister Mary of the
Incarnation, be brought up in the Sacred

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation. 625

Congregation of Rites, in ordinary ses-
sion, and without the participation and
the vote of the consultors, although it is
not ten years since the day of the pre-
sentation of the process of the ordinary
in the Acts of the Congregation of Rites,
and that the writings of the said servant
of God have not been inquired into or
examined ;

"The Most Eminent and Most Rev-
erend Cardinal Aloysius Bilio, Prefect
of the said congregation, in the name
and in the absence of the Most Eminent
Cardinal Bartolini, reporter of the cause,
at the instance of the Rev. Benjamin Pa-
quet, Private Camerlengo to his Holi-
ness, and Dean of the Faculty of Theo-
logy at the Catholic University of Que-
bec, designated as postulator in this
cause, in view of the postulatory letters
of a great number of cardinals of the
holy Roman Church, of venerable pre-
lates and persons illustrious by their ec-
clesiastical and civil dignity, to-day pro-
posed at the session of the Sacred Rites,
held at the Vatican, the discussion of the
following question: 'Should the com-
mission of introduction of the cause, in
the case and for the object in question,
be signed ?'

" The same Sacred Congregation, hav-
ing maturely examined all things, hav-
ing heard the address and report of Fa-
ther Lorenzo Salvati, promoter of the
faith, has decided to answer affirmative-
ly, that is, that the commission should
be signed, if such was the will of the
Holy Father. September 15, 1877.

" The undersigned secretary having
then made a true report of all the fore-
going to our Holy Father, Pope Pius
IX., His Holiness ratified and confirmed
the decision of the Sacred Congregation,
and signed with his own hand the com-
mission of introduction of the cause of
the venerable servant of God, the said
Mary of the Incarnation. September 20,
1877-

"A., Bishop of Sabina,

CARDINAL BILIO, Prefect.
" PLACIDUS RALLI, Secretary"

Years will be spent in the inves-
tigation ; and meanwhile the hearts
of the devout, not only in Canada
but throughout this country, will
turn with confidence to this won-
derful and holy woman, this early
propagator in the western world
VOL. xxvii. 40

of devotion to the Sacred Heart of
Jesus, soaring to the highest mys-
tical contemplation, yet immersed
in constant, active labor a fitting
patroness indeed for so many of
us who find the best and holiest
impulses of our lives choked and
stifled by the thorns and brambles
of earthly cares and duties. Her
intercession will be as powerful as
it has been, and it may be in God's
providence that confidence will be
rewarded by some striking mark of
favor to attest the sanctity of his
servant.

The body of the Venerable Mo-
ther Mary of the Incarnation, at the
time of the removal of the remains
of the deceased members of the
community to the new choir in
1724, was placed in a leaden coffin
with those of Mine, de la Peltrie
and Mother St. Joseph. They
were again taken up in 1799 and
placed under the communion screen.
On the 3oth of April, 1833, the
ever-constant devotion to Mother
Mary of the Incarnation led to
another verification of her relics.
The leaden coffin was found full of
clear, limpid water, which was de-
voutly preserved as a relic of the
holy foundress, and has been, un-
der God, the instrument of many
cures which are regarded as mi-
raculous.

The first of these occurred, we
may say, on the spot. One of
the scholars, Miss Margaret Mary
Gowan, had for a year been deprived
of the use of an arm. Full of con-
fidence in the Venerable Mother
Mary, she began a novena, apply-
ing the water that had touched
her venerated relics. A total cure
followed. This remarkable restora-
tion was soon made known, and
far and wide the afflicted turned
as of old to this holy servant of

626

The Venerable Mother Mary of the Incarnation.

God for temporal and spiritual
aid.

Cures like that of Father Charle-
voix had taken place from time to
time, but the authentications had
been neglected or perished in the
repeated destructions of the con-
vent by fire. The miracles of re-
cent date are well attested. Miss
Gowan became a Sister of Charity,
and is, we believe, still alive to give
her testimony of the cure wrought
in 1833.

The devotion of the Venerable
Mother Mary is generally a novena,
using especially her prayer to the
Sacred Heart of Jesus * and the
application of the water,
k Among the prodigies ascribed to
this servant of God are the cure of
Mary Cote, a girl of twelve living
at Black River. She had been
blind for five years after an attack
of small-pox. No pupil, iris, or cor-
nea could be distinguished in either
eye, and the pain, especially in win-
ter, was intense. Dr. Morin exam-
ined her and declared it an incura-
ble case of leucoma. By the advice
of Miss Bilodeau, the teacher at the
place, to whom the child was

* Prayer of the Venerable Mother Mary of the
Incarnation :

' It is through the Heart of Jesus, my way, my
truth, and my life, that I approach thee, O Eter-
nal Father. Through this divine Heart I worship
thee for all who worship thee not ; I love thee for
all who love thee not ; I acknowledge thee for all
the wilfully blind who through contempt acknow-
ledge thee not. I wish by this divine Heart to ful-
fil the duty of all men. In spirit I traverse the
whole world to seek all the souls ransomed by the
most precious Blood of my divine Spouse, in order
to satisfy thee for them all by this divine Heart. I
embrace them in order to present them to thee
through it, and by it I ask of thee their conversion.
Wilt thou, O Eternal Father, suffer them to be ig-
norant of my Jesus, or live not for him who died for
all? Thou beholdest, divine Father, that they
live not yet. Oh ! make them live through the di-
vine Heart.

brought to prepare for her First
Communion, she began a novena to
Mother Mary of the Incarnation,
applying a drop of the water. On
the fourth day, during Mass, the
child felt all pain leave her eyes,
and, raising them for the first time,
saw the altar and a large statue of
the Blessed Virgin upon it. On
examining the eyes they were found
clear and limpid. A few reddish
stains remained for some days in
the left eye, but gradually disap-
peared. The cure was complete
and durable, and was attested by
the physician, the teacher, and
others who were eye-witnesses.
This remarkable cure occurred
June 8, 1867.

The cure of James McCormac, a
boy five years old, in 1868, is also
attested in a most satisfactory man-
ner. He suffered from terrible
internal pain, especially in the
bowels, and from a contraction of
the leg, and hip disease. No sooner
had a novena been begun and the
water applied than the pain ceased
and the child was able to get upon
his feet and walk, though uncertain-
ly, like a young infant not yet accus-
tomed to step. At the end of the
novena he walked perfectly, and
from that time enjoyed complete
health. Damian Gavard was simi-
larly cured at St. Alban in 1876.

The devotion to the Venerable
member of their order extended to
the Ursuline convents in Europe,
and cases are reported from Au-
bresles, Quimperle, Carhaix, Blois,
Mons, in France and Belgium, as
though Providence was preparing
near the Eternal City testimony of
the sanctity of the Canadian nun.

Mabel Willeys Lovers*

627

MABEL WILLEY'S LOVERS.

EARLY -one June morning-, not
many years ago, a young couple
might have been seen strolling
along by tire side of a babbling
brook a short distance from the
village of North Conway, New
Hampshire*

Harry Fletcher, although a late
riser when at home, had determin-
ed to be up betimes this morning
and catch a mess of trout for break-
fast. Not for his own breakfast,
however, but for that of Miss Kitty
Gibbon, who, like himself, had come
to pass a few weeks at the Kear-
sarge House.

" 'Twill please her,*' thought
Harry, " to hear how I left my
comfortable couch for her sake, at
an hour when only farmers are
stirring."

But Miss Gibbon, who had seen
him the evening before making
ready his fishing-tackle, had said
to herself: "I'll be up early, too,
and go with him." And she kept
her word; nay, she was down be-
fore her admirer. And when the
, latter discovered Kitty seated on
the piazza reading Middlemarch,
he of course invited her to accom-
pany him ; which invitation Kitty
accepted, but not until he had
asked her a second time; and then
she closed the book slowly, linger- -
ing a moment over the last line and
exclaiming: "What an interesting
tale this is!" So that Harry was
half tempted to apologize for thus
interrupting her reading.

" The truth is, Miss Gibbon," he
said, as they wended their way to-
ward the stream " the truth is,
I know that you like fresh trout.
For no other human being would I

have risen at such an unearthly
hour."

*' Indeed P' returned Kitty with
an air of perfect indifference. Yet,
accustomed as she was to receiving
attention and to hear flattering-
words, she could not prevent a
tiny rose from blooming on her
pallid cheek when Harry went on
to assure her upon his honor that
this was the truth.

In our opinion Miss Gibbon is
an attractive young lady. But
most people might not agree with
us; and not a few of her rivals
declare it is only her money that
makes her so pleasing to the gen-
tlemen. There is, indeed, a slight
cast in one of her eyes, and her
forehead is somewhat too broad for
a woman's. But then she is gifted
with a melodious voice (a rare gift
among American women) and has
exquisite teeth, which she knows
how to display to the best advan-
tage by a merry laugh practised
before the mirror. Her hair, too,
wonderful to relate, is all her own,
and, despite the care which she be-
stows on her toilet, one glossy ring-
let always manages to escape from
its thraldom and fly hither and
thither. But the best feature Kitty
possesses at least so think we
is her nose. It is a bold Roman
nose, which proclaims her to be a
girl of character ; and we are con-
vinced that, however spoilt she may
be by fortune, there is a solid
groundwork of worth in Kitty
which would reveal itself if the
occasion demanded it.

Her mother, who is a rich widow,
has been living five or six years
abroad, most of the time in Paris,

628

Mabel Willey's Lovers.

and Mrs. Gibbon only came home
this summer because she thought
that a trip across the ocean would
be good for her daughter's health.
Harry Fletcher, Kitty's compan-
ion this June morning, is the son
of a prominent New York banker ;
and as it seems to be one of the
laws of nature that wealth should
attract wealth, we cannot wonder
if he and Miss Gibbon have very
soon become known to each other.
" He will be as good a catch for
you, child, as you will be for him,"
spoke the watchful mother. " And
if you play your cards right we
may be back in Paris before Octo-
ber, bringing Mr. Fletcher along
with us ; and, considering his pros-
pects, he will do almost as well as
a count.''

It would be untrue, however, to
say that there was no real love be-
tween this youthful pair. Money
may, indeed, have first drawn them
together ; but now, after only a
fortnight's acquaintance, we doubt,
if one of them were suddenly to be
stricken with poverty, whe\her pov-
erty would separate them.

"How charming this walk is!"
exclaimed Harry, as he took Kitty's
hand to help her over a fallen tree.
"In Paris such a delightful walk
would not be possible," answered
Kitty.

" Do you really enjoy it ?" said
Harry. " It must seem so differ-
ent from the Champs Elysees and
the Bois de Boulogne."

His companion was silent a mo-
ment, and 'twas not until he re-
peated that the pine woods and
stony fields of New Hampshire
must appear very rugged and un-
pleasant to her that she said :

"Well, but here, sir, I do for
once in my life feel that I am free.
Why, at the fashionable pensionnat
where mother put me I was not

allowed to walk out alone even
with my cousin Arthur."

"Oh! you can't imagine how I
long to see Paris," continued
Harry.

" Well, despite what I have just
said," answered Kitty, " it is a
most fascinating city the queen of
cities; and there is a large colo-
ny of Americans there, who have
made up their minds to die in Paris,
and who look upon their country-
men here as semi-barbarians."

In a few minutes they reached
the brook and Harry cast in his
fly. But no fish rose ; and present-
ly he gave another throw. This
time it was not skilfully done, or
rather it was most skilfully done,
for the fly, as it went circling round
his head, got caught in Kitty's
truant curl, who laughed and said:
"You have hooked a big trout now,
Mr. Fletcher."

" Well, I came purposely to
catch a mess for you," returned
Harry. "But may I crave leave
to keep this one dear fish all for
myself?"

"What do you mean?" laughed
Kitty, as he tried to disentangle
the fly.

"I mean " here his fingers
stopped working and his voice
trembled. " I mean " Kitty, who
understood him well enough, in
another moment gave the happy
response, and Harry was so over-
joyed that he wound up his line
and did not fish any more.

But they did not return imme-
diately to the village ; they felt
drawn nearer to each other in the
lonely woods, with only the trees
and the brook to watch them ; and
so on and on they wandered, until
by and by they emerged from the
forest and saw before them an old
farmhouse with moss-covered roof,
on which the morning sun was

Mabel Willey s Lovers.

629

shining, and round about the home-
stead the stream made well-nigh a
circle a bright, silvery circle, mur-
muring sweet music to those who
dwelt there. The lovers paused a
moment and gazed upon the scene
without speaking. Then present-
ly Kitty said : " I could live in
such a spot all my life."

" So could I," said Harry, turn-
ing his sparkling eyes upon her.
" With you I could live anywhere."

" Let us draw nearer," continued
Kitty, " and speak to the young
woman who is feeding the turkeys
by the door ; and quite a pretty
girl she is," Kitty added in an un-
dertone, as Mabel Willey turned
towards them.

" Yes, if one admires a dark com-
plexion," said Harry.

" And buried among these hills!"
continued Kitty compassionately.
'* But I forgot what I said a mo-
ment ago ; if I could be happy here
with you, dear Harry, why, she
may have a lover too, and not pine
one bit for city life."

The genial way in which Mabel
returned their greeting quite won
Kitty's heart, while Harry inward-
ly confessed that, although he did
not like brunettes, she was the
handsomest one he had ever seen.
And when presently he glanced
down at her bare feet she did not
blush, but quietly remarked :

" I have been gathering lilies,
sir, at the pond, and I had to wade
in after them."

But Harry thought no excuse
was needed ; for Mabel's foot was
as perfectly shaped as her hand a
sculptor might have chosen it for a
model.

" What a sweet home you have !"
observed Kitty. "And the swal-
lows love it, too ; how many there
are skimming over the grass !"

"'Tis not my home," returned

Mabel. " I am here only on a visit
to my grandfather."

"Indeed! Well, may I ask
where your home is ?" continued
Kitty.

" In Illinois. My parents set-
tled there twenty-three years ago,
when they were first married, and
I was born there, and I like it
much better than New Hamp-
shire."

" Do you ? And what part of
Illinois are you from ?"

" Lee County ; and we live on
the bank of a beautiful river called
Rock River, which is full of black
bass and pickerel, and in autumn
'tis covered with mallard and teal.
Oh ! I love Rock River."

"Well, if your home is a more
delightful spot than this it must be
exquisite indeed."

" I never saw a finer beech-tree
than that one yonder," put in Har-
ry. Then turning to his betrothed
and dropping his voice, " Let us
go cut our names upon it, Kitty, to
preserve the memory of this hap-
py day."

" Oh ! do," answered Kitty aloud.
Then, taking Mabel's hand, she add-
ed : " You must know, my dear,
that he and I are just engaged. I
spoke the sweet yes to him as we
were strolling up the brook this
never-to-be-forgotten brook."

" Engaged going to be mar-
ried," said Mabel in a musing tone
and fixing her dark eyes upon Harry,
who wondered what she was think-
ing of while she watched him so
wistfully. Then presently Mabel
went on :

" Yes, do cut your names on the
tree, for you must never forget this
day never; and your names will
be visible upon it many years to
come."

All three now bent their steps
to the beech, where Harry deftly

630

Mabd Wil ley's Lovers.

carved his name and the name of
his betrothed upon the bark.

"Why, how strange!" cried Ma-
bel when he had finished. Then,
taking Kitty by the sleeve, she drew
her to the other side of the tree,
where, lo ! in letters almost obliter-
ated by Time, was. written Harry
Fletcher Mabd Willey I

"Then you have a lover, too, of
the same name as mine," observed
Kitty.

"I a lover ! I have none/'
returned Mabel. "Besides, do you
not perceive that these names have
been here a long time, for the bark
has nearly grown over them ?'

" Well, who were these lovers,
then ? for such no doubt they
were," said Kitty.

" I do not know ; I only discov-
ered the names yesterday. I'll ask
grandpa as soon as he comes back
from the mill."

"Do," said Harry, "for I am
curious to know/'

" And before you return to Illi-
nois/' continued Kitty, "please
come to the Kearsarge House, in
order that I may see you again ;
for where your home is, is far, far
from where ours is going to be."

"We intend to live in Paris,"
said Harry.

"In Paris?" observed Mabel.
" You mean, of course, the Paris
that is in France ?"

" Is there any other ?" said Kit-
ty, inwardly smiling at her simpli-
city.

" Oh ! yes. There is a Paris in
Oregon and another in Texas."

Here the talk ended by Mabel
promising to visit Kitty ere many
days were over.

" I should not have expected to
meet such a fine-looking, well-man-
nered girl in a place like this,"
spoke Miss Gibbon, when she and
Harry were out of Mabel's hearing.

" In America pretty girls are as
plenty as blackberries," answered
Harry.

" Well, we certainly carry off the
palm in Europe,'* added Kitty.
" But this young woman is a pea-
sant."

" A farmer's daughter," said Har-
ry.

" Oh ! we should call her a pea-
sant in France, Harry dear. And
I have some misgivings as to what
mother will say when she hears
that I have invited Mabel to visit
me at the hotel."

" Well, she is dark-complexion-
ed, and I'll swear she is an Italian
baroness," returned Harry, laugh-
ing.

"Oh 1 yes, do. A capital joke!
Why, we know ever so many bar-
onesses abroad. Ma has a large
circle of noble acquaintances."

"Really!"

" Yes. And I know three Ameri-
can girls married to counts. But
there was no love between them
during the courtship not a spark
'twas all pure business from be-
ginning to end, and I am told the
young ladies are now very unhap-

py-"

"Well, our way of courting is
the best," said Harry.

" Judging from my own experi-
ence it undoubtedly is," continued
Kitty> looking tenderly at him.
" The walks we have enjoyed to-
gether have taught me what you
are, and taught you what I am;
and, oh! how fortunate it is that I
came back to America this year."

" Most fortunate for me/' said
Harry.

"And for me, too, dear boy.
But now, to speak seriously about
Mabel ; I am in a quandary. What
shall I do ? Ma will see at a glance
that she is a peasant."

Mrs. Gibbon was highly pleased

Mabel Willeys Lovers.

when her daughter told her of her
engagement to Henry Fletcher,

Jr.

" Console toi, ma fille" she said.
" S'il n a pas de titre, Far gent au
moins ne lui manque pas"

But, as Kitty had feared, she was
not at all pleased when she heard
about Mabel Willey.

" Mais, won Dieu ! C'est une
paysanne /" groaned the widow, who
was wont to speak French to Kitty,
and spoke it well, too " une pay-
sanne /" Then, sinking down in a
rocking-chair, "Mori Dieu!" she
sighed, " in on Dieu! quel scan-,
dale."

Here the matter was let drop,
for Mrs. Gibbon was too delighted
with Kitty's engagement to remain
long out of humor.

Three days later, while the wi-
dow was seated on the piazza, fan-
ning away the mosquitoes and wish-
ing with all her heart that she was
at Biarritz or Trouville, up rattled
a farm- wagon. An old man was
driving, his back pretty well bent
with years, and beside him sat
Mabel.

" Grandpa, I'll not be long,"
said the girl, alighting from the
vehicle, and speaking loud enough
to be overheard by a number of
guests.

" Mon Dieu /" groaned Mrs. Gib-
bon, who guessed who it was.

Now, Mabel did not know Kit-
ty's mother, but it so happened
that it was she whom the girl first
addressed.

" I am come to call on Miss
Gibbon. Can you tell me, madam,
whether she is in ?" inquired Ma-
bel.

" Go ask one of the servants,"
replied the widow, her eyes darting
flashes of anger as she spoke.
Then suddenly a bright thought
struck her ; quick a change came

over her features, and, dropping her
voice, she added just as Mabel was
turning away, " Stop ! I remember
now Miss Gibbon has gone on a
picnic and won't be back till quite
late."

" Oh ! too bad," ejaculated Ma-
bel. " I may never see her again."

In another moment the wagon
drove off and the girl was on her
way to the West.

When Harry returned the follow-
ing week to New York and told
his father of his betrothal to Miss
Gibbon, the heiress, Mr. Fletcher
senior was as pleased as Kitty's
mother had been.

" But now, my son," he said,
" you must not be idle any longer ;
you must come down town and
learn business."

"Business!" exclaimed Harry
with an air of surprise.

" Why, yes. Have I not been
steadily at work in Wall Street
more than twenty years ? During
all that time no holiday have I tak-
en not one, except a fortnight
after your mother's death. Then I
own 1 did pass a short while in the
country, for grief rendered brain
labor out of the question. And
now I am worth a million at the
very least ; and with such an ex-
ample as I have set you would you
lead a drone's life ?"

"Well, but, father, I am quite
satisfied with our fortune; 'tis
large enough, and I I have prom-
ised Miss Gibbon that we should
make our home abroad."

Mr. Fletcher was so taken aback
by these words that he could only
knit his brow ; he could not speak.

Then Harry proceeded : " And,
father, I think you ought to take a
holiday this season. What is the
use of racking your brains for more
money, since you have a million ?
Oh ! I wish you had been with

632

Mabel Willey s Lovers.

me at North Comvay. I had such
pleasant rambles among the hills,
such fine trout-fishing ! And in
one of my walks 'twas the morn-
ing I proposed to Kitty I found
our name carved on a tree." The
youth now described the big beech
and the brook and the old farm-
house ; for it was a never-to-be-for-
gotten morning, and he loved to
tell all he remembered of those
happy hours.

While he was speaking the look
of displeasure which had clouded
his father's face when he began
gradually passed away ; the stern,
matter-of-fact business man grew
pensive ; and when at length Har-
ry came to describe Mabel dark-
eyed, barefooted, graceful Mabel
Willey the attentive listener shad-
ed his eyes with his hand, and Har-
ry could not imagine why his pa-
rent sighed. But the young man
adroitly took advantage of his emo-
tion to again ask if he might not
go live in Paris. "I promised
Miss Gibbon, father, that we would
make our home there. You surely
would not have me break my
word ?"

Mr. Fletcher merely answered :
<; Hush ! speak no more about it.
Go! go!"

Whereupon Harry, now in the
blithest of moods, hurried off to get
his trotting-wagon ; for he had in-
vited Kitty to take a drive in the
Central Park.

At this same hour, while Harry
and his betrothed were enjoying
themselves together, conversing
chiefly about Europe their own
country seemed to hold very little
place in their thoughts Mabel
Willey was engaged in household
duties with her mother.

Mabel was right when she prais- '
ed her Western home : a log-house
standing on a knoll which over-

looked a swift-flowing river; beyond
the river a broad expanse of rolling
prairie, where the grouse were wont
to gather in spring-time, and for
hours long their voices, saying,
" Coo-ooo, coo-ooo, coo-ooo," would
reach Mabel's ear; while ever and
anon a black bass would spring up
out of the flood, marking the spot
where he fell back into the water
by a ring of widening, quivering
ripples. And, oh ! how the girl
loved these sights and sounds.
But most of all did she love the
deer, wno would steal out of the
, forest of a moonlight night in au-
tumn and make incursions into the
corn-field hard by. Nothing had
ever disturbed the harmony of this
sweet spot. Husband and wife
loved each other with true love, and
God had blessed them with six
children, of whom Mabel was the
eldest ; and when you saw Robert
Willey felling a tree or following
the plough you knew where his off-
spring had derived their health and
strength from, while in the mother's
face still lingered traces of the
beauty which young Mabel had in-
herited. But Robert did not per-
ceive that his Mabel was changed :
no, as fair in his eyes was she now
as when he wooed her in the far-
off days cf his youth.

Above the broad fireplace in the
room where the family assembled
of an evening, to chat and make
merry after the labors of the day
were over, were these words, paint-
ed in large letters and taken from
the Book of Proverbs :

" Give me neither beggary nor
riches : lest perhaps being filled, I
should be tempted to deny, and
say: Who is the Lord? or being
compelled by poverty, I should
steal, and forswear the name of my
Gcd."

What a happy hour this evening

Mabel Willey s Lovers.

633

hour was ! Sometimes Mr. Willey
would tell the young ones a story;
and when he began, what a scramble
there was for his knees ! Sometimes
he would look over the columns of
the Prairie Farmer, gleaning there-
from useful hints for his vocation.
While he was thus occupied his
wife would read aloud to the chil-
dren. But she did not select any-
thing from a silly dime novel or
illustrated paper, but generally
something in Washington Irving's
Sketch-Book, or one of Cooper's
tales ; and let us say that the tale
they all liked best was The Pioneers.

" I am glad you enjoyed your
visit to grandpa," spoke Mrs. Wil-
ley one morning, as she rested
awhile at the churn.

"Oh! ever so much," answered
Mabel, who, with sleeves rolled up,
was busy skimming cream. " But
I forgot to tell you, mother, that a
few days before I left him there
came to the house, at a rather early
hour, a young gentleman and lady
from one of the hotels in North
Con way. They had strolled up
Wild-cat Run, which, you know,
winds almost round grandpa's home,
and had become engaged to each
other on the way. I told them it
was quite romantic. The girl was
stylish-looking, but didn't appear to
be strong ; her face was like wax-
work, and her dress was made in
such a fashion that I think she
must have found it hard work to
breathe. But she was exceedingly
polite, and I was quite taken with
her before we parted. The young
gentleman likewise was a very
pleasant fellow, and much better-
looking, too, than she was. I judg-
ed by his hands that he has never
done any work in his life, and his
moustache was twisted and curled
in the most coquettish way imagina-
ble just like this." Here Mabel

put her fingers to her upper lip,
then twirled them round and round
to Mrs. Willey's great amusement.

"But what 1 want most to speak
of," she continued, "is the big
beech-tree." Mabel now proceed-
ed to tell how Harry had carved his
name and Kitty's upon it, and how
she had discovered the names of
Harry Fletcher and Mabel Willey
upon the same tree in letters bare-
ly legible.

"O child!" exclaimed her mo-
ther, when she was done speaking,
"you cannot imagine how vividly
my girlish days come back upon my
memory when you speak of that
old beech. Yes, I can see Harry
Fletcher cutting his name and mine
upon it just as plainly as if it were
yesterday. A handsome fellow was
Harry. He wanted me to be his
wife. I did not dislike him no, in-
deed. We were good friends; we
sart side by side at school ; we pick-
ed huckleberries together. Many
folks thought I should marry him.
But there was another young man
courting me, one who bore the
same name as myself, though no re-
lation; and one day we all three
met, and my lovers agreed that I
should then and there decide which
of them I'd choose. And 'twas
your father, Mabel, who won me ;
nor have I ever for a single mo-
ment regretted my choice. Yet
Harry Fletcher was a brave, gener-
ous fellow, very smart, too, and I
have often wondered what became
of him. All I know is that soon
after I refused him he quitted our
part of the country to seek his for-
tune elsewhere."

" Right, wife, right ! A splendid
fellow!" cried Mr. Willey, entering
the dairy to get a cup of milk.
" Why, I was thinking about him
myself only a few minutes ago while
I was looking at our corn and a

634

Mabel Willey s Lovers.

fine crop it's going to be, a mighty
fine crop. And I wondered whether
Harry, if he is still in the land of
the living, has a farm like ours and
a snug log-house to shelter him.
Many things may happen in the
length of time since he and I part-
ed ; this world has many ups and
downs it's a regular seesaw."

After talking awhile about Har-
ry Fletcher Farmer Willey said :
"Come, wife, let's take a row; and
I'll bring my rod along and catch
a mess of black bass for supper."
Mrs. Willey, who liked to see her
husband play as well as work, glad-
ly assented. They did not fish
much, however, for the skiff was
long and broad and leaked never a
drop ; and the six happy children
went a-rowing too. It did your
eyes good to look at them, and your
ears good, too, to hear them so
healthy and strong and rollicksome
they were; dipping their hands in
the water, sprinkling each other's
faces, singing, laughing ; and final-
ly barefooted Dick, who was ten
years old, wittingly tumbled over-
board and played fish around the
boat the boy could swim like a
fish to the great amusement of his
brothers and sisters.

Three months after this pleasant
excursion on the river Mabel found
herself again in New Hampshire.
The truth is her grandfather,
whose feelings had been much
wrought upon by the visit she had
paid him in summer, could not
bear to be separated any longer
from those whom he loved, and,
moreover, he was of an age when
farm-labor was getting rather irk-
some. Accordingly, he had written
to Mrs. Willey, telling her that he
wished to spend the rest of his days
in Illinois, and begged that he
might have the company of young
Mabel in the long, tiresome journey

to the West. " For she is a bright
girl," he said, " andean take charge
of me and my trunk, and of herself
too."

So Mabel, who, fond as she was
of home, was not averse to seeing a
little of the world, went to fetch
her grandfather ; and now in Oc-
tober we find her passing with
him through the city of New York.

" It's just like a beehive, this
town," spoke Mabel, as she paused
a moment in Broadway near the
Astor House to try and discover
the ticket-office of the Michigan
Southern Railway.

** Such a crowd makes my head
swim," said the old man, who was
leaning on her arm.

" Well, I'll ask somebody where
the ticket-office is," added Mabel.

And she did ask somebody, and
that somebody happened to be no
other than Harry Fletcher, Jr., who
was on his way down town with
his father. Right cordial was the
meeting between them.

"I have often thought of you,"
said Harry.

"Indeed! Well, the morning we
first met was a blissful morning for
you was it not ?" returned Mabel,
with a laughing gleam in her eye.
" Pray, sir, how is Miss Gibbon ?"

" Oh ! extremely well. She is
now in Philadelphia, bidding good-
by to some friends, for we sail
shortly for Europe."

" But you will not really settle
abroad, as you once told me ?" said
Mabel. Then, with a little hesita-
tion, she added : *' Men like you,
sir, ought to live in their own
country."

" You are more eloquent than
you imagine," answered the youth.
" But I have promised Miss Gibbon
that we should make our home in
Paris."

Here Mr. Fletcher senior shook

Mabel Willey' s Lovers.

635

his head, while Mabel's grandpar-
ent observed: "Why, young man,
isn't this country big enough for
you?"

Harry made no response, but,
taking a pretty rosebud from his
buttonhole, he presented it to Ma-
bel, saying: "We may never meet
again, but Miss Gibbon and I will
often speak of you when we are far
away."

Closely during this brief conver-
sation had Harry's father watched
Mabel, and now he took her hand
and pressed it, and the girl wondered
why he gazed upon her with moist-
ened eyes. Then, after showing
her the ticket-office, Mr. Fletcher
went to a flower-stand near by and
bought her a beautiful bouquet
which quite threw into the shade
Harry's rosebud. " Oh ! thanks,
sir," said Mabel, as she accepted
the flowers. " How delicious they
are!"

When presently they parted
Harry said to his father : " Miss
Willey is a very fine girl, isn't she ?
And I'll not let Kitty call her a
peasant any more."

Mr. Fletcher did not seem to
hear this remark ; he appeared like
one absorbed in a reverie. But of
a sudden he burst out: "A peas-
ant! a peasant! By heaven ! there
is not a princess in Europe better
than Mabel Willey."

" Well, Kitty would not call her
a peasant except for her mother,"
continued Harry. "But Mrs. Gib-
bon has filled her head with foolish
notions."

" Such as living in Europe," an-
swered Mr, Fletcher. Then, with
a sigh, he added, " O Harry ! how
you have disappointed me. Why,
I would rather see you wed a girl
like Mabel, even if she were poor,
than have you pass your days in a
foreign land."

"Would you really ?" exclaimed
Harry.

" But, alas !" went on Mr. Fletch-
er, now speaking to himself " alas !
'twas I who urged him to make a
rich match. Yet I have been roll-
ing up money for years and years ;
and now, when I am worth a million,
my only child is going to spend my
fortune among foreigners."

As they pursued their way to
Wall Street, Harry noticed the un-
happy look on his father's face and
again advised him to take a holi-
day. But Mr. Fletcher answered :
" I wish I could. But I have been
so long in the treadmill of business
that now I should not know how to
play if I went away."

And so the millionaire went down
to his office, while the heir to all
his wealth, with a fresh rosebud
sticking in his buttonhole, repaired
to Delmonico's to kill time, as he
expressed it to kill time sipping
sherry and thinking about Paris
and Kitty Gibbon.

But the banker's thoughts were
of Mabel Willey. " She brings me
right back to the dear old days,"
he sighed "the dear old days.
She is the living image of her mo-
ther."

For once in his life Mr. Fletcher
was absent-minded, and the presi-
dent of a trust company, who
came to talk with him upon impor-
tant business, fancied that he did
not evince his usual shrewdness
and penetration. They were still
engaged in earnest conversation
when a piece of news reached them,
a startling piece of news, that made
them both stare and wonder if
their ears told the truth: the Con-
fidence Trust Company had closed
its doors !

But Harry, who heard of it at
Delmonico's, was not startled in
the least ; nay, he rather enjoyed

6 3 6

Mabel Willeys Lovers.

the excitement which quickly fol-
lowed. He was rich; how could
this failure harm him ? Ere long
other failures were announced, and
Wall Street became filled with an
excited crowd so filled ~ that it
was well-nigh impossible to move
about ; crash followed crash, and,
judging by men's faces, you might
have thought the end of the world
was at hand.

Yet Harry calmly edged his way
through the throng, always careful
of the pretty rosebud, over which
he frequently placed his hand for
protection.

But ere this memorable day came
to an end Harry grew serious.

" This is going to prove the
greatest financial crash our country
has known since the Revolution,"
said Mr. Fletcher to him in the
evening ; " and, my son, I may be
utterly ruined."

"And I'll not be able to go to
Paris," said Harry inwardly. u Oh !
what will Kitty say ?"

But it was not so much Miss
Gibbon as Miss Gibbon's mother,
who took to heart the sudden,
unexpected, astonishing change in
Mr. Fletcher's fortune ; for the
banker, who had been entangled
in many speculations, did indeed
lose nearly all he possessed so
little had he left that the widow
made up her mind that her daugh-
ter should not marry his son if she
could prevent it.

A few days after the panic Har-
ry called on his betrothed, who was
now back from Philadelphia. He
meant to tell her the whole sad
truth, and afford her an opportunity
to break off the engagement, if she
wished to do so. In the parlor he
found Mrs. Gibbon, who seemed
to be expecting him (he had writ-
ten Kitty a note to say he was
coming), and the widow's counte-

nance chilled his heart as he en-
tered. Harry began by making a
commonplace remark about the
weather the equinoctial was rag-
ing then went on to speak of the
unhappy change in his father's for-
tune, wondering all the while why
Kitty did not appear.

" We have heard of it," answered
the other, " and needless to tell
what a shock the news gave us.
However, such misfortunes will
happen e'est la vie. And now
tli at you have been so frank with
me, Mr. Fletcher, let me be equally
frank with you, and say that my
daughter and I have had a long,
serious talk on the subject. Miss
Gibbon, you know, has set her
heart upon living abroad indeed,
we wish to be back again by the
end of the month, and "

" And now that I am penniless,"
interrupted Harry, " perhaps you
deem it best that the engage-
ment be broken off."

" I regret to say it is the conclu-
sion we have come to."

Harry, who had feared this would
be the step which Mrs. Gibbon
would urge Kitty to take, never-
theless wished to see the young
lady in person, and so he said :
" But may I not speak with Miss
Gibbon a moment ? I I "

" She has a bad headache and is
confined to her room," interrupted
the widow. " Besides, sir, I am
fully authorized to speak for my
daughter, who, you are aware, is
not yet of age."

" Oh ! but do tell her I am here ;
let me speak only a word to her,'
said Harry in a pleading tone.

" I am sorry that I cannot grant
your request," answered Mrs. Gib-
bon firmly.

With this the interview closed,
and Harry departed in a sorrow-
ful mood indeed.

Mabel Willey s Lovers.

637

For a while the blow quite stun-
ned him. The tears did not flow;
he could only sigh and groan. He
wished he had been born poor, and
that Kitty had not been an heiress.
" For then poverty would not
have separated us; we should have
toiled for our daily bread, and been
as happy as if we had lived on
Fifth Avenue."

The following week he read in a
newspaper the names of Mrs. Gib-
bon and her daughter among the
passengers by the steamship Rus-
sia for Liverpool.

" Well, Harry, let us not despair,"
said Mr. Fletcher a month after
the panic. " Happy days may yet
be in store for us."

And as he spoke his thoughts
turned westward to Rock River
to Mabel Willey.

" And why not?" he asked him-
self, after musing a moment. "Why
not ? Many a man as old as I am has
married a girl as young as Mabel."

" Well, yes, father, I do believe
happy days are in store for us," re-
turned the youth, his countenance
brightening ; for he was beginning
to recover from the blow which his
heart had received (young people
easily recover from such blows).
Besides, he had come to the con-
clusion that all had happened for
the best. Miss Gibbon was not
worthy of him, otherwise, despite
her mother, she would certainly
have managed to communicate
with him ere she sailed. It was
only his money she cared about.
" And, father," he added, " I could
be perfectly content on a farm ;
yes, I know I could, and you have
enough left from the wreck of your
fortune to buy a farm, and we
might live together on it very hap-
pily. Suppose, therefore, we go
West say to Illinois, where Mabel
Willey 's father lives."

" Just what I was thinking of,"
said Mr. Fletcher, with a tender
throbbing of the heart, which
might have changed to a bitter
pang had he known what was pass-
ing through Harry's mind; for Har-
ry, too, had asked himself:

" Why not ? I abominate rich
girls now. Mabel is quite good
enough for me."

Accordingly, to Illinois they
went, and arrived in the most glo-
rious time of the year Indian
summer.

" Why, I do declare ! Can it be
possible? Is this really my old
friend Harry Fletcher ?" cried Mr.
Willey, as he grasped the other's
hand, while Mrs. Willey and Ma-
bel and all the little ones stood in
a gaping circle round them.

" Yes, I am he and nobody else,"
Avas the response, given in a voice
quivering with emotion.

" Well, you are welcome a thou-
sand times welcome!" put in the
wife, a tear glistening in her eye.
"Ay, Harry, it makes us young
again to look at you."

" And here is the image of your-
self in the dear old days," spoke
Mr. Fletcher, turning towards Ma-
bel, who blushed and looked very
pretty, while 1 Harry Fletcher, Jr.
who did not dream of his parent
falling in love whispered to Ma-
bel :

" How romantic this is !"

" Very," answered Mabel. " But
pray, sir, why didn't you bring
Miss Gibbon ? Or perhaps you
are married, and I should say Mrs.
Fletcher?"

" I'll tell all about it by and by,"
said Harry in a low tone. " It is
an exceedingly painful subject. I
am trying to forget it."

Then, after a pause, and drawing
the girl aside, he added :

" 1 may as well tell you now :

638

Mabel Withy's Lovers.

our engagement is at an end- Miss
Gibbon is in Europe."

When Mabel heard this her kind
heart was deeply moved for Harry
as well as for Kitty. Mabel had
no lover, but she had often thought
that if she had one how dearly
she would love him. " And if our
engagement were to be broken off,
I hardly think I should ever smile
again."

"Well, Harry," continued Mr.
Willey, addressing his old friend,
and at the same time sweeping his
hand over the landscape, " is not
this a charming country? Look,
yonder is the prairie; and there is
Rock River isn't it a fine stream ?
And there you see my timber I
have fifty acres of it ; and that is
my corn-field a good fifty acres of
corn ; and there are my cattle ;
and I have no end of chickens and
turkeys ; and I have a good or-
chard. In fact, I want for nothing,
absolutely nothing."

"Well, you ought to be happy,"
answered Mr. Fletcher.

" Happy isn't the word," put in
Mrs. Willey.

" Right, wife," said the farmer.
"I'd not change places with the
richest man in New York. People
talk about the panic. Why, it
hasn't harmed me a bit. My corn
is ripening just as well now as be-
fore the crash ; my land is all paid
for; I owe not a dollar to any-
body; and I really don't know
what worry means."

"No worry!" murmured Mr.
Fletcher, pressing his hand to his
brow. " Alas ! when have I been
free from it ?"

" Well, it is worry and not work
that kills people," went on Mr.
Willey. " So stay out here and
buy a quarter section ; 'twill make
you ten years younger. No life so
happy as a farmer's life."

" The very thing I intend to do,"
said Mr. Fletcher. Here Mabel
clapped her hands, and all the little
ones laughed and clapped their
hands too ; while Mrs. Willey said
to herself: " How very pleasant it
would be if the son of my old lover
were to marry Mabel !"

It was long since Mr. Fletcher
had passed a happier day than this
first day in Illinois; the balmy air,
the entire change of scene, the
gladsome faces around him, but
above all the company of sweet
Mabel, who insisted on showing
him all over the homestead, oblit-
erated from his mind the troubles
and worries he had gone through
and really made him feel many
years younger.

The following week Mrs. Willey
was delighted when she heard
Harry ask her daughter to take a
row on the river* " I have only a
short letter to write," said the
youth, "then I'll be ready. Will
you come ?"

" Suppose we take a row," said
Harry's father to Mabel a few min-
utes later he had not heard Har-
ry's invitation.

"To be sure," replied Mabel.
"But shall we go immediately, sir,
or wait for your son ? He asked
me to go with him as soon as he
had done a little writing."

"Oh ! indeed," said Mr. Fletch-
er ; and now for the first time it
occurred to him that perhaps Harry
might fall under the influence of
this simple yet bewitching maiden.
"Well, if he does," he added in
wardly, " dearly as I feel that
could love her for her mother':
sake, dearly, dearly I'll not stan
in my boy's way."

However, Mr. Fletcher and Ma-
bel did go down to the river with-
out waiting for Harry, who made
his appearance on the bank in less

Mabel Willey' s Lovers.

639

than twenty minutes, waving his
hand and shouting lustily.

But Mr. Fletcher seemed not to
hear his voice ; at least he did not
hear it for a long time so long
that Mabel fancied the old gentle-
man, as she inwardly called him,
must be a little deaf. At length
she made bold to inform him that
his son was calling ; whereupon
Mr. Fletcher looked round and ex-
claimed : " Oh ! ay, to be sure, so
he is." And now the bow of the
skiff was turned slowly shoreward.
But the oars did not move very
briskly ; nay, so sluggishly were
they plied that the boat drifted a
good half-mile below the landing-
place poor Harry following it
along the shore, while Mabel was
tempted more than once to ask her
companion to let her have the
oars.

" Well, well, I have had my day,"
sighed Mr. Fletcher, about a quar-
ter of an hour later, as he sat on a
stump watching with tearful eyes
his son, whose vigorous young arms
were now sending the boat up-
stream as rapidly as he himself had
sent it down with the current.
" No, I must not lament ; Mabel is
worth a dozen city flirts, and I
hope that Harry will fall in love
with her."

" Is it not a beautiful view from
this knoll?" spoke a voice, present-
ly, close behind him ; and, turning,
Mr. Fletcher beheld Mabel's mo-
ther, who had approached him un-
heard over a bed of moss.

" It is indeed !" he replied.
" And the most beautiful object in
the whole landscape is your daugh-
ter."

"Well, Mabel is a jewel, and no
mistake," continued Mrs. Willey.
" And right glad am I that she and
your son are enjoying themselves
together on the river." But even

as she spoke a strange thought
flashed upon the mother, for she
perceived that the eyes of her old
suitor were moistened with tears.

" Can it be possible," she said to
herself, " that he, too, is falling in
love with Mabel ? Well, I hope
not ; for there will be a poor
chance for him while young Harry
is about."

We need scarcely say that for
Harry Fletcher, Jr., this was only
the first of many pleasant excur-
sions on the river with Mabel; and
day by day the recollections of his
former life the dinner-parties, the
operas, the balls he had gone to,
the pretty girls he had danced with
grew dimmer and dimmer in his
mind's eye. More than once, too,
did Mrs. Willey discover Harry's
father watching the happy couple
from the stump on the knoll.

" How strangely things turn out !"
spoke Mr. Fletcher, a fortnight
later, when Mabel's mother once
more approached him over the bed
of moss.

"Perhaps you are thinking of
just what I am thinking," re-
turned Mrs. Willey. " If so, it is
indeed strange, and, I may add, a
most romantic way of taking re-
venge on me ; eh, Harry ?"

" Ah ! little did I dream of this
the day when I proposed to you
and you refused me," continued
Mr. Fletcher, shaking his head.
" It seems only yesterday. Yet
here is a son of mine, with beard
on his chin, as much in love with
your daughter as ever I was with
you."

" And I guess there'll not be any
nay spoken this time," answered
Mrs. Willey.

At these words Mr. Fletcher
buried his face in his hands and
sighed, while the other, who re-
membered the tears which had once

640

Mabel Willeys Lovers.

moistened his eyes as lie sat look-
ing at Harry and Mabel from this
same spot, felt more than ever con-
vinced that her child had two lov-
ers, and wished that she had two
Mabels, in order to be able to give
one to each.

Yes, Harry and Mabel were al-
ready deeply in love, and Mabel,
for whom it was quite a new expe-
rience, trembled every time the
youth met her and he met her
very often between sunrise and sun-
set : at the churn, feeding the poul-
try, gathering chestnuts " For now
I am sure he is going to propose,"
she would say to herself.

At length a morning came when
Harry resolved to put the all-impor-
tant question. Why dally any long-
er? He had made up his mind to
become a farmer ; Mabel would be
just the wife for him; she was not
only handsome but healthy no
headaches, no dyspepsia. If her
hands were not so soft as Miss
Gibbon's, what of it ? They were
industrious, willing hands, and able
to do almost everything except
thrum on a piano.

Accordingly, Harry went in quest
of Mabel, who, pne of the children
told him, had gone to pay a visit
to their neighbor. Whereupon he
took the lane which led to the ad-
joining farm, and had proceeded
about half way when he saw the
girl coming towards him. She did
not walk with her usual elastic
step ; her eyes were cast upon the
ground, nor did she raise them
until he was quite close, and then
Harry perceived that she was very
pale, and seemed to be startled, as
if she had not heard him approach-
ing.

" Dear Mabel, what is the mat-
ter ?" said Harry, taking her hand
as he spoke. " I never saw you
look troubled before. Are you ill?"

In a voice wonderfully firm, con
sidering the poignant anguish she
was suffering, and forcing to her
lips the ghost of a smile, Mabel
answered :

"111? No, indeed, sir! And I
should not have been moving at such
a snail's pace ; I should have been
running, flying, for I bring you
great news news that will ravish
your heart with delight."

" Really ! Well, pray, what is it ?"
said Harry, who felt the hand which
he clasped growing colder.

" Miss Gibbon has arrived," con-
tinued Mabel. " She is at our
neighbor's ; she mistook the road,
and went there instead of coming
to our house ; and I told her to
wait where she was until I found
you and broke the glad tidings
So, Mr. Fletcher, make haste, do,
for Miss Gibbon is longing to meet
you."

Here Mabel, who could not trust
herself to utter another syllable,
tore away from him, leaving Harry
perfectly dazed and bewildered.

But Mabel did not go home. No,
into the woods she plunged, where
no eye might witness the tears which
now rolled down her cheeks. And
it happened that somebody else
was strolling among the trees at
the same time, pensive and musing
over days gone by. Suddenly the
girl found herself face to face with
Mr. Fletcher. In vain she strove
to hide her grief too late ; not ten
paces separated them.

" Why, Mabel, dear, darling Ma-
bel," cried the other, who fancied
that a lover's quarrel had broken
out between herself and Harry,
"what has happened? 'Tis the
first time I have seen anything but
gladness on your sweet face."

As Mr. Fletcher spoke he drew
her affectionately towards him. But
it was several minutes ere she could

Mabel Willey s Lovers.

641

check her sobs sufficiently to an-
swer.

Finally, yielding to his solicita-
tions, Mabel opened out her heart;
she told him the whole truth, and
we may faintly imagine what Mr.
Fletcher's feelings were as she went
on to confess her love for his son,
and the cruel shock which her
heart had received a half-hour
since when she met Miss Gibbon.

" And Miss Gibbon told me, sir,
that she loved Harry as much as
ever; that she had sold all her
diamonds, run away from her mo-
ther, come alone the whole way
from Paris to find him, and that
her mother should never part them
again."

A spell of silence followed Ma-
bel's confession, and during the si-
lence Mr. Fletcher's heart throbbed
violently.

"Well, Mabel," he began present-
ly, and looking her full in the face,
"you have unbosomed yourself to
me, let me now reveal my inmost
feelings to you. I, too, have a
cause for sorrow one which I find
it impossible to overcome. No-
body can remove it except you ;
but you can remove it you may
make me the happiest man in Illi-
nois, if you choose."

" I !" exclaimed Mabel in sur-
prise. " O sir ! I will do any-
thing, anything to make you hap-

py."

"Ay, child, the happiest man in
Illinois," exclaimed Mrs. Willey,
who had caught these last words as
she pushed her way through the
trees, and was determined to back
him up in his suit with all the au-
thority she could command.

"O mother, mother!" cried
Mabel, leaving Mr. Fletcher and
flinging herself in her parent's arms.

" Come, come, child ! Don't take
on so about it," continued Mrs.
VOL. xxvii. 41

Willey. . " I know what the trouble
is. But it can't be helped. Harry
loved Miss Gibbon before he ever
laid eyes on you, and she loved him,
and they were once engaged to be
married ; and now they are engaged
anew not the least doubt about
it, for I have just left them walking
arm-in-arm, cooing together like a
pair of doves. So, Mabel, dry your
tears, and let me declare you would
make me the happiest woman in
the State, if you would accept the
hand of my dear, good friend Hen-
ry Fletcher."

" What ! marry the old gentle-
man ?" whispered Mabel, looking
up in her mother's face; then turn-
ing she gazed furtively on Mr.
Fletcher, who had retired a few
steps, while a smile, a very faint
smile, played on her lips.

" Hush, child !" returned Mr.
Willey in an undertone. "He is
not old; his heart is just like a
boy's." Here Mabel again hid her
face in her mother's bosom, and the
latter began to feel a little vexed,
for she fancied that she heard Ma-
bel laughing.

" Be my wife, Mabel !" exclaimed
Mr. Fletcher, drawing near, "and
then I'll settle here, and Harry will
too, and we will all be happy neigh-
bors. Oh ! speak, dear Mabel,
speak."

" Give me until to-morrow," an-
swered Mabel, with her face still
concealed.

"Surely I will," said Mr. Fletch-
er.

" O child ! be business-like and
arrange the matter at once," urged
Mrs. Willey.

" Not now ; to-morrow," said Ma-
bel " to-morrow." And she ended
her words with a sigh.

With this Mr. Fletcher withdrew,
and mother and daughter went their
way home the mother eloquently

642

'Mabel Willey s Lovers.

pleading the cause of her oM lover,
Mabel patiently, reverently listen-
ing; and when they reached the
log-house, whom should they meet
standing by the porch but Harry.
He was alone, and appeared much
confused as Mabel fastened her
eyes on him poor Mabel ! Then
in broken accents he said : " Ma-
bel, Mabel, can you forgive me?
I"

" Forgive you ! Pray, for what ?"
she exclaimed, interrupting him.
" Did I not tell you I brought glad
news? And I hope that you and
Miss Gibbon will live long and
happily together."

" Oh ! how good, how generous,
how noble you are," said Harry,
who knew full well that Mabel lov-
ed him ; in more ways than one
she had let the dear secret escape
her. *' And fortunate will be the
man who wins you !"

Here the girl stood silent a mo-
ment; a violent struggle was going
on within her. Then, a sunny look
beaming over her face, "Who has
won me," she replied.

"Well spoken, child!" exclaim-
ed Mrs. Willey, clapping her on the
shoulder " well spoken !"

"Why, Harry," added Mabel, "I
am going to be your step-mother."
" Really, truly !" cried a voice
from an upper window. " My
Harry's step-mother!" In another
moment Kitty Gibbon came rush-
ing down the staircase at a break-
neck pace, and half choked Mabel
with her embraces. Her arms
were still clasping Mabel's neck
when the elder Harry appeared on
the scene ; and we may imagine, if
we can, what his feelings were as
Mabel stretched out one of her
hands towards him.

Presently Mr. Willey arrived;
then the grandfather and all the
little ones ; and while they were

rejoicing together a man on horse-
back galloped up.

" Is there a lady here named
Miss Gibbon?" inquired the stran-
ger.

" Yes, I am she," answered Kit-
ty, looking somewhat agitated, for
she could not imagine what the
fellow wanted; all sorts of things
passed through her head.

" Well, I have a telegram for
you," continued the man, handing
her an envelope.

" A telegram ! Why, so it is, and
from Europe, too !" cried Kitty.
Then, tearing it open, she read as
follows :

" Kitty, I forgive you. Will allow you
$5,000 per year. Count de Montjoli
heart-broken. Write at once. God
bless you !"

" Oh ! it is from mamma," she
said, after reading it to herself.
" And now I'll read it aloud. And,
Harry, listen well, for it's jolly.
But let me say before I begin and
I wish mother could hear me you
are worth, dear boy, all the counts
in the world."

Here Kitty read over the tele-
gram, after which followed a gen-
eral round of embraces. All were
indeed happy beyond measure,
Mabel as well as the rest ; and the
girl said to her mother, " You have
chosen a husband for me, and no
doubt chosen for the best." Then,
with a smile, she added : "And I
promise to grow older every day
and catch up to him by and by."

" And you will teach me how to
be a farmer's wife," said Kitty to
Mabel.

"And I'll play boss over you
all," spoke Farmer Willey, spread-
ing forth his brawny arms so as to
cover the whole group.

" Yes, yes," said young Harry,
"and I will write to New York and
tell] others who are crying over

On the Summit of Mount Lafayette, N. H.

643

hard times to follow our example
and come West."

"Do, do!" exclaimed Harry's
father. " Here is health and no
worry, sound sleep by night, and

" Wives to be had without much
wooing," interrupted Mabel, glanc-
ing archly at her future husband.

"Darling girl!" replied Mr.
Fletcher, with tender pathos in his
voice. "This is the blessed end of

an old, old courtship. Ay, Mabel,
the shadow of my days, like Heze-
kiah's, runs backward when I gaze
upon you."

" Well spoken !" exclaimed Mrs.
Willey, with tears of joy glistening
in her eyes "well spoken ! And,
oh ! most sincerely do I thank God
that my old lover has won his Ma-
bel at last,' 7

ON THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT LAFAYETTE, N. H.

THOU rear'st thy graceful head, thy serrate crest,
O noble mountain, o'er the busy vale,
Franconia's seething, motley-crowded dale :
Below, we inly chafe ; on thee, we rest.

The scars that seam thy fir-crowned, rocky breast,
The rifts that rend thy floating, cloud-spun veil,
Tell but of nature's laws the ordered tale
Each change with seal of sovereign might impressed,

If void of man's proud gift, a living soul,

At least thou knowest naught of rebel will,
Of petty passions, pettier aims, that toll

The knell of love and praise his days should fill.

Here rest we, while thine anthems heavenward roll,
And list the voice of God, so sweet, so still.

Ay, rest, poor human soul, but not for long :

That searching voice hath bid thee look below,
Where freshening streams by dusty roadsides flow,
Where sunlit dwellings vales and uplands throng.

It bids thy fretted, fainting heart be strong,
It whispers of a glory passing show,
Of loftier intercommune thou mayst know
Than mountain top, skies' sweep, or forest song.

Above yon hamlet gleams a glittering cross,

A beacon light to show where dwells the Lord.

He calls ! our brethren call ! Can that be loss

Which brings us nearer Him whose life outpoured

Hath power to right all wrongs, lift this poor dross

To heights where thought of man hath ne'er yet soared ?

644 The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

THE PRUSSIAN PERSECUTION EXHIBITED IN ITS
RESULTS.

SEVEN years ago the government
of the new German Empire, pursu-
ing the Protestant traditions of
Prussia, and spurred on to action
by the occult power of Freema-
sonry, began its gigantic attack on
the Catholic Church. It opened
hostilities without the customary
declaration of war, and, in order to
hide the real motives and aims of
the campaign, its crafty rulers pro-
fessed well-meant intentions and a
sincere solicitude for the welfare of
the church, declaring over and over
again that the religious policy they
were inaugurating was exclusively
directed against the Jesuit or ul-
tramontane influence in the church.
Soon, however, and as the govern-
ment gradually unfurled the banner
of persecution, the dark designs of
Freemasonry appeared in their real
light and character. Whilst the
ministers moved heaven and earth
to produce some plausible pretexts
in justification of the announced
legislation, such as the pope's in-
fallibility, the pretended encroach-
ments of the Roman Church on
the domains of the state, the crea-
tion of the Centre, party, etc., the
national liberals in the Landtag
dogmatized on the religion of the
future, the first mission of which
was to bring Christianity into har-
mony with the spirit of the age, or,
as one of their leading organs put
it, " to reconcile the faith of our
forefathers with the reason of their
children." At last, when the legis-
lators had gained the conviction
that the reasons alleged for the
May Laws found neither credence
with Catholics nor favor with hon-

est Protestants, they threw off the
mask, and Infidelity, fully armed
and with colors flying, boldly en-
tered the lists of the Kulturkainpf.
The final aim of the struggle, so
4ong and persistently denied, now
openly acknowledged, was nothing
less than the annihilation of the
Roman Catholic Church, and there-
by of Christianity itself. Whatever
exception Prince Bismarck may
have taken to this sweeping pro-
gramme in favor of his own idea
of a German state church, with the
emperor for its head, appears ir-
relevant before the extraordinary
fact that he placed himself at the
head of the enemies of Christ, and
with their help worked for the de-
struction of his religion. For this
end, and for this end only, did the
German infidels devise and pass the
May Laws. Have they succeeded ?
Will they ever achieve their object ?
To' these questions we unhesitat-
ingly oppose a decided never. As
Catholics we have the promise of
Christ that his church here on
earth will last to the end of the
world ; as witnesses of the persecu-
tion and its results we proclaim
with unspeakable satisfaction that
the attempt to destroy the church
in Germany has completely failed.
Although the body of the church
has been roughly handled, although
it bleeds from a thousand wounds,
and stands mutilated, disfigured, a
most piteous sight, still the church
itself, the Catholic faith, has re-
mained untouched and shineth
forth with increased splendor,
strength, and beauty. Men have
suffered, not their religion.

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

6 4 5

Taking a bird's-eye vie\v of the
present condition of the Catholic
Church in Prussia, we discover an
immense field of desolation on
which a seven years' relentless
war has spread intense misery and
suffering, heaped ruins upon ruins,
and well-nigh destroyed every
monument of Christian faith and
piety. The guides and pastors of
the church are dispersed, the
whole hierarchy is broken up,
hundreds of priests eat the bitter
bread of exile, many more waste their
lives in prison, and greater still is
the number of those for whom the
exercise of priestly functions is ac-
counted a treasonable crime. More
than one million of loyal Prussian
subjects are doomed to live and
die without the blessings of the
church. In more than seven hun-
dred parishes no sacraments can
be received, no Mass be heard, no
Christian burial obtained. New-
born children must be baptized by
lay hands or carried with personal
danger to distant parishes. The
sick and dying are denied the last
sacraments, unless they, too, can be
conveyed to neighboring churches.
All Catholic seminaries, schools,
and educational establishments are
either closed altogether or taken
possession of by the Protestant
government. Convents and mon-
asteries are empty or inhabited by
criminals, their former saintly in-
mates driven out of their homes
and country. Catholic orphanages,
hospitals, reformatories, all charita-
ble institutions are suppressed, and
the church property of dioceses
deprived of their bishops is seques-
trated by the civil power. Catholic
religious instruction in popular and
higher schools, no longer under the
control of the church, is now exclu-
sively taught in the name and by au-
thority of the Prussian government.

This sad work of destruction and
persecution appears sadder still
when viewed in the ghastliness of its
details. By clause i of the law
of May n, 1873, all papal jurisdic-
tion in matters of church disci-
pline was transferred from the pope
to the German ecclesiastical au-
thorities, or, in other words, German
Catholics were < declared cut off
from the visible head of their
church. This law, on the very
face of it, could have no practical
meaning in the nineteenth century,
and therefore remained a dead letter.
Beyond a certain number of penal-
ties inflicted on priests and editors
for publishing papal documents ad-
dressed to German bishops and
priests, or forwarding letters of
excommunication to apostates, no
harm was done to any one by this
law, and diocesan communications
are uninterruptedly carried on by
the pope, not publicly, it is true,
but almost as completely and safe-
ly as if the Holy Father enjoyed
the Prussian government's sanction
for it.

Far more mischievous, down-
right disastrous to the German
hierarchy, became the various laws
concerning the education and ap-
pointment of priests to the ecclesi-
astical office. With regard to the
clause prescribing a state exami-
nation in science for ecclesiastics
over and above the usual examina-
tion in philosophy and theology, its
severity could not hitherto be test-
ed; for, although the official list of
thirty-four examiners is every year
published in the leading newspa-
pers, not one Catholic candidate
has presented himself for examina-
tion. This clause, too, may there-
fore be termed a failure. On the
other hand, the appointing and not
appointing of priests to vacant par-
ishes became fatal to all Prussian

646 The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

bishops. Whenever they proceed-
ed to such appointments without
giving the required notice to their
respective ober-presidents, or if
they failed to comply with the lat-
ter's orders to fill up vacant parish-
es, the bishops were in all cases
prosecuted, fined, or imprisoned.
For a time fines were paid by some
good diocesans, or the bishops' sold
furniture was bought back and re-
stored to their owners ; but when,
from the continued and increased
severity of such prosecutions, it be-
came evident that the well-meant
aid of good Catholics contribut-
ed only to enrich the persecuting
government without removing their
chief pastors' difficulties, perhaps
also on the express wish of the exalt-
ed victims themselves, the generous
practice was discontinued, and the
bishops, some reduced to utter pov-
erty and unable to pay the ever-in-
creasing penalties, were ignomini-
ously dragged into prison. The
Archbishop of Cologne alone was
condemned to pay at very short in-
tervals 120, 150, 3000, 21,000, 88,-
500, in all 112,770 marks. His broth-
er bishops, even those not deposed,
had to suffer similarly high and nu-
merous penalties. What made a
great many of these condemnations
appear excessively hard and unjust
was the bishops' inability to fill up
the vacancies ; for they had no long-
er priests at their disposal, since the
closing of the seminaries made new
ordinations impossible. Thus the
government asked an impossibility
and punished the bishops for not
achieving it. With the exception
of the Prince Bishop of Breslau and
the Bishop of Limburg, who escap-
ed imprisonment by going abroad,
all the Prussian bishops had to go to
jail, some for months, others for
years. As soon as their imprison-
ment was over proceedings for

their " deposition " were instituted
at the royal Tribunal of Ecclesias-
tical Affairs in Berlin. To the offi-
cial summons to lay down their
offices the bishops answered in
substance that, the state not being
a spiritual power capable of invest-
ing them with or depriving them
of their ecclesiastical offices, they
did not consider themselves em-
powered to accede to the govern-
ment's request ; and that as the
church alone i.e., her head, the
pope had endowed them with the
said offices, she alone possessed the
spiritual power to dismiss them.
The answers which priests gave to
the government, when summoned
to lay down their offices as parish
priests, were couched in equally de-
cided language. Thus Dean Leine-
weber, of Heiligenstadt, wrote to
the ober-president that, according
to the principle and teaching of the
Catholic Church, Bishop Martin, al-
though " deposed " by the state, was
still their bishop, and that conse-
quently no priest was released by
this " deposition " from the vow of
obedience by which he is bound to
his bishop; moreover, that a faith-
ful priest is a better and more loy-
al state officer than an unfaithful
priest, and therefore could not in
any way admit that his removal
from office was required by the in-
terest of the state. The govern-
ment, however, paying no heed to
the bishops' refusals to resign, sum-
moned them one after the other be-
fore the Supreme Tribunal of Ec-
clesiastical Affairs. After a short
trial, at which the accused bishops
neither appeared in person nor
were represented by counsel, the
court pronounced sentence of dis-
missal from their offices as Prussian
bishops on the ground that " the
accused had so grossly violated
their duties as servants of the church

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

647

that their remaining in office involv-
ed a serious danger incompatible
with public order." In this way
the Prussian government managed
to get rid of seven bishops viz.,
Archbishop Melchers, of Cologne,
who is supposed to reside in Hol-
land ; Cardinal Ledochowski, Arch-
bishop of Gnesen-Posen, now in
Rome ; the Prince Bishop of Bres-
lau, living in the Austrian part of his
diocese ; Bishop Martin, of Pad-
erborn, now in Belgium^ Bishop
Brinckmann, of Miinster, present
residence unknown ; Bishop Blum,
of Limburg, somewhere with the
Benedictines; Dr. Janiszewski, suf-
fragan Bishop of Posen, in Cra-
cow. The three episcopal sees of
Treves, Fulda, and Mayence being
vacant through the death of their
former occupants, there are now
nine dioceses without visible spirit-
ual administration in Prussia. The
only remaining bishops are those of
Hildesheim, Osnabriick, Ertneland,
and Kulm. For what reason these
church dignitaries are allowed to
remain in office, although they com-
mitted the same transgressions of
the May Laws and are in every
respect in the same position as
their brethren, is indeed difficult to
say; the only reasonable explana-
tion we can venture to offer for this
forbearance is either the govern-
ment's determination to discontinue
the useless persecution, or the em-
peror's unwillingness to consent
to the expulsion of all the Catho-
lic bishops from the country over
which he rules. Even an emperor
may dread the verdict of history.

As was to be expected, the "de-
posed " bishops, although far away
from their flocks, found the neces-
sary means and ways to carry on
the spiritual administration of their
dioceses, either by appointing se-
cret delegates or with the help of

certain priests with whom they
keep up regular communications.
Of course their conduct involved,
in the eyes of the government,
fresh and very grave offences, which
were resented by endless prosecu-
tions not only against the bishops
themselves but all persons, laymen
as well as priests, whom the public
prosecutor suspected of helping
the bishops in the exercise of their
" illegal " episcopal functions.
Summonses to appear again before
the royal tribunal in Berlin were
nailed on the doors of the bishops'
former residences, and in the trials
which ensued the accused were
sentenced in contumaciam to fines
and years of imprisonment. And
as the government could neither
exact the inflicted penalties nor
lay hold of the convicted dignita-
ries, it issued disgraceful writs of
arrest in which the Prussian gen-
darmes were ordered to watch for
the said criminals, and, when ap-
prehended, to deliver them to the
next police station for the execu-
tion of the sentences passed upon
them. The bishops, in their safe
retirement, could afford to smile at
these futile attempts on their liber-
ty, but those persons who remained
within the grasp of the government
had to suffer many hardships for
the support they had lent to their
bishops. Hundreds of priests are
constantly harassed with summons-
es to make depositions concerning
the secret delegate, but, to their
glory be it said, all proved faithful,
ail persistently refused to give the
demanded evidence, declaring their
inability to recognize the authority
of civil courts of justice in purely
ecclesiastical affairs. The only
case in which the prosecution was
successful is that of Dean Kurow-
ski, of Posen, who, on secondary
evidence, was pronounced to be

648 The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

the secret delegate of Cardinal
Ledochowski, and sentenced to two
years and four months' imprison-
ment. Released in October, 1877,
he received his dismissal from of-
fice in the beginning of the present
year. Connected with the illegal
exercise of episcopal functions was
the persecution of the Rev. Dr.
Kantecki, editor of a Polish news-
paper, who sat six months in prison
without trial simply because he re-
fused to turn king's evidence ; arid
that of Fathers Herold and Pudenz,
of Heiligenstadt, who were kept in
jail for more than one year for not
revealing the name of the secret
delegate.

Another deplorable consequence
of the law concerning the educa-
tion and appointment to ecclesias-
tical offices is the closing of all
priests' seminaries, which took place
almost immediately after the pro-
mulgation of that law in 1873, in
consequence of the refusal of the
authorities to admit the delegates
of the government as inspectors of
these purely ecclesiastical institu-
tions. Since then not one priest
has received ordination in Prussia.
That is not, however, a great hard-
ship, as no new priests can, under
the present circumstances, be ap-
pointed in Prussia, and a great
many Prussian young men are con-
stantly ordained abroad who will
one day return to their country.
On the other hand, the number of
vacant parishes increases rapidly
every day. At the present moment
there are in Prussia about 700 pa-
rishes deprived of priests viz., in
the archdiocese of Cologne, 121 ;
in the diocese of Treves, 153; Pa-
.derborn, 68 ; Miinster, 70 ; Limburg,
33; Fulda, 30; Hildesheim, 22;
Osnabriick, 23; Kulm, 14; Erme-'
land, 13; Breslau, about 100 ; Po-
sen, about 100 ; in the principality

of Hohenzollern, 19, to which must
be added more than 100 curacies.

Of the exiled secular priests of
Prussia about three hundred found
a field for their labors in Bavaria;
the others went chiefly to Belgium,
Austria, Italy, England, and Ameri-
ca. As the religious orders were
expelled from the whole German
Empire, their members had to settle
outside of Germany ; they emigrat-
ed either to America, or went as
missionaries among the heathens,
or transferred their establishments
to Belgium, England, etc.

The number of Prussian Catho-
lics deprived of church ministra-
tions now amounts to one million
and a half. If these wish to hear
Mass on Sundays or receive the
sacraments, they must attend the
services in churches of their neigh-
borhood, and sometimes walk as
far as ten and fifteen miles. In a
great many places, and now in
nearly every widowed parish, so-
called lay services have been ar-
ranged by the parishioners, at which
one of them reads the prayers of
Mass, and, if not forbidden by the
local police, a sermon as well. In
the afternoon they sing Vespers
and hymns in the same manner.
At first it was feared that even this
poor comfort would be taken away
from the desolate parishes, for in
many places the conductors of lay
worship were prosecuted and heavi-
ly fined for exercising illegal func-
tions in church ; but later on both
the officials and the judges took a
more lenient view of these cases
and abstained from interfering
with them. Now and then, how-
ever, the forsaken parishes have the
unexpected joy of hearing Mass in
their own churches. In every dio-
cese, especially in that of Posen,
banished or newly-ordained priests
travel in disguise through the

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

649

country, baptizing, hearing con-
fessions, giving the last sacraments
to the dying, and saying Mass in
every deserted church they can
reach. Notwithstanding the great-
est vigilance by day and by night,
the police seldom succeed in ar-
resting one of these faithful shep-
herds, for the parishioners exercise
a strict watch over the police and
give their pastors timely warning
of the enemy's approach. When
found out the itinerant priests in-
variably undergo a severe punish-
ment of two or three years' impri-
sonment, followed by banishment
from their country. How loyal to
these priests not only the Catho-
lic but even the Protestant and
Jewish population is may be seen
from the following case, taken out
of many. From Schwerin-on-the-
Wartha, diocese of Posen, Father
Logan, whom the government had
exiled several years ago, managed
for a whole year to administer a
parish in the neighborhood, and to
carry the consolations of his ministry
wherever they were required. Dur-
ing that time he kept a well-attended
shop in the little town, and travel-
led about in the neighborhood ap-
parently as a cattle-driver, in reali-
ty as a good shepherd of souls. At
last discovered and tried, he was
committed to prison for thirteen
months. Forty-six such priests,
mostly newly ordained, are said to
administer the vacant parishes of
this much-troubled diocese, in
which meritorious work they are
successfully assisted by the great
landowners, who provide them with
food and shelter, and, when wanted,
with safe hiding-places. Several of
them have lately been discover-
ed and thrown into prison. Great-
ly and unnecessarily increased was
the number of vacant parishes by
the arbitrary decision of some

ober-presidents, that junior priests,
after the death of their elders,
should abstain, under pain of ex-
pulsion, from all parochial work,
even from saying Mass. In vacant
parishes the dead themselves fell
under the application of the law,
for Dr. Falk decreed that founded
Masses cannot be said in such pa-
rishes, but must stand over until
the vacancies are filled up with
legally-appointed priests.

According to one of the May
Laws, a parish which lias stood va-
cant for one year possesses the
right of electing a new priest.
This law was evidently passed with
a view of destroying the authority
of priests as well as bishops ; in fact,
it was a bait thrown out to Catho-
lics to join the state church. But
Catholics at once understood the
malign intention, and spurned it, to
the amazement and discomfiture of
the persecuting party, which had
built its brightest hopes on the
working of that law. Not one
vacant parish in the whole king-
dom of Prussia has as yet been
found willing to elect a new pastor.
AVhenever the Landrath convened
an election meeting for that pur-
pose, the invitation was either not
responded to at all, or, if for pru-
dence' sake the electors appeared
at the meeting, it was decidedly
refused with ihe declaration that
the parishioners had no power to
elect their own priests, and that they
would never acknowledge a pastor
who was not sent to them by their
bishop. Such being the firm atti-
tude of all Prussian parishes to-
wards that particular law, how could
the government flatter itself with
the hope that its own nominees
would be received and acknow-
ledged by the faithful ? And yet
Dr. Falk, disregarding all previous
experience, went on imposing state

650

The Prussian Persecution exliibited in its Results.

priests on protesting parishes
wherever he found an opportunity
for it, to the great injury of the
faithless priests themselves, who
were excommunicated, to the par-
ishes that rejected them, and to
government, which made itself only
the more odious. By this time,
however, the ministry must see
their mistake, for, in spite of the
many enticements and premiums
offered to priests of doubtful char-
acter and doctrine, the government
during the interval of three years
has not been able to gather more
than twenty-one apostates round its
state-church banner. Twenty-one
out of ten thousand ! With the
exception of one, all these misguid-
ed men belong to the provinces of
Silesia and Posen. Here is a com-
plete list of them : Mr. Miicke in
Gross Strelitz ; Kolany in Murzy-
no ; Nowacki in Obornik ; Lizack
in Schrotz ; Kubezak in Xionz;
Brenk in Kosten ; Kick in Kahme ;
Gutzmer in Gratz ; Wurtz in Gra-
bia; Moercke in Podwitz ; Golembi-
owsky in Plusnitz ; Sterbain Lesch-
nitz ; Pischel in Girlachsdorf ;
Kenty in Boronow ; Griinastle in
Cosel ; Sabotta in Kettch ; Czer-
winski in Zirke ; Biichs in Gross
Rudno ; Rymarowicz (Posen); and
Glattfelder in Balg (Baden).

Besides these state priests who
profess to remain faithful to Rome,
the Prussian government introduc-
ed two apostates in vacant parishes,
one of whom is the Old Catholic
pastor, Struckberg, presented by
the Protestant Baron von Dyherrn
to the fat living of Oberherzogs-
waldau in Silesia, and the other
the notorious Suszynski, the mar-
ried state-priest of Mogilno, who
enjoys the emoluments of his sine-
cure comfortably at Konigsberg.
In all these state parishes the faith-
ful refuse to entertain any com-

munication, social or religious,
with the intruders, and fulfil their
religious duties in other churches.
As to the congregations of these
state priests, they principally con-
sist of a few bad Catholics or gov-
ernment officials, such as burgo-
masters, policemen, etc. ; in some
even Protestants and Jews attend,
and several count no other mem-
bers than the clergyman's house-
keepers.

As the sect of Old Catholics
must be looked upon as forming
part of Prince Bismarck's intended
state church, it may fittingly be
mentioned in connection with the
state parishes. None of the 26
Kulturkampf laws issued in Prus-
sia and the German Empire since
1871 has been more abused, more
arbitrarily and unjustly applied by
the government, than the so-called
Old Catholic law, which grants to
Old Catholic communities the joint
use of Catholic parish churches
and cemeteries, and the joint pos-
session of the Catholic Church pro-
perty, wherever a considerable
number of these sectarians exist.
How ober-presidents apply that
law and determine the meaning of
the word "considerable" may be
seen by the two cases of Brauns-
berg and Konigsberg, where in the
one case about 20 and in the other
about 40 Old Catholics formed, in
the governor's estimation, a suffi-
cient number to allow the applica-
tion of the law, and to rob as many
as 10,000 Catholics in one instance
of their churches and property.
The ober-president's partiality and
self-contradicting conduct receiv-
ed a further illustration by the
treatment of the Catholics of Ho-
henstein, who, although numbering
1,500, were refused permission to
build a church in the town because
the number 1,500 was not consid-

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

ered " considerable " in the mean-
ing of the law. The thousand
Catholics of Willenberg who peti-
tioned the government for the same
purpose received a similar answer.
Thanks to this unjust application
of the law, the Old Catholics ob-
tained hitherto possession of 13
beautiful Catholic churches viz.,
in Witten (10,000 Catholics to 76
Old Catholics) ; in Breslau the Cor-
pus Christi Church (20,000 Catho-
lics to a few hundred Old Catho-
lics) ; in Neisse the Church of the
Cross ; in Hirschberg St. Ann's
Church (3,000 Catholics to 250 Old
Catholics); in Konigsberg ; in Wies-
baden (15,000 Catholics to 250 Old
Catholics); in Bochum (10,000 Ca-
tholics to about 200 Old Catholics) ;
in Cologne St. Gereon's Church
(10,000 Catholics to 87 Old Catho-
lics) ; in Crefeld St. Stephen's ; in
Boppard the Carmelite Church
(5,000 Catholics to 45 Old Catho-
lics) ; in Coblentz the Jesuit Church ;
in Bonn the Gymnasium Church ;
and quite recently the parish church
of Gottesberg in Silesia. In nearly
all these churches the Old Catho-
lics made their first entrance with
the help of the police, the doors
being forced open with hammer
and crow-bar. Since they fell into
Old Catholic hands most of them
stand empty. On Easter Sunday
about 20 to 30 worshippers attend-
ed in the robbed church in Wies-
baden ; in several places grass is
growing on the pavement surround-
ing the churches, and in others
mushrooms are springing up freely
at the very foot of the altars.
There can be no doubt that the
sect is already declining. Were
it not for the aid in money and
other advantages which its mem-
bers receive from the Prussian
government, it would probably by
this time have shared the fate of

Rougcanism. According to the
report read at the fourth Old Ca-
tholic synod at Bonn, in May, 1877,
there were at that time 35 Old
Catholic communities in Prussia,
counting in all 6,510 people with
civil independence ; in Baden there
were 44 communities, in Bavaria
31, in Hesse 5, in Oldenburg 2, in
Wiirtemberg i. The total number
of adherents, women and children
included, amounted in Prussia to
20,524, in Baden to 17,203, in Ba-
varia to 10,100, in Hesse to 1,042,
in Oldenburg to 240, in Wiirtem-
berg to 223 in all 49,342 out of a
population of 14 millions. The
number of Old Catholic priests in
the whole German Empire is now
56. In the course of last year four
of them and a good many laymen
from Wiesbaden and Dortmund re^
tracted their error and returned to
the mother church ; others be-
came Protestants.

Although passed in May, 1875,
the law ordering the dissolution of
Catholic religious congregations has
not yet been fully carried into exe-
cution, not out of regard for the
establishments themselves, but be-
cause the state interest required a
departure from the rule. The last
term granted to Catholic sisters
engaged in education expires on
the ist of October next. Their
expulsion is causing the deepest
grief among all classes of German
Catholics, for the good sisters have,
by their noble and self-sacrificing
exertions, so endeared themselves
to the hearts of the people that
they are looked upon as what
they really are the greatest bene-
factors of the people, without whose
help the moral and religious train-
ing of the young will remain defec-
tive. More than all do the poor
and unhappy feel their departure,
for it was chiefly on orphanages

652

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

and other charitable institutions
that the expelled nuns exercised
their salutary influence. Now that
these establishments no longer
stand under the direction of those
ministering angels, who work only
for the love of God and man, the
respective parishes have to grant
salaries to their successors, for
which the poor as well as the rich
are compelled to contribute. In a
great many towns, however, they
cannot be replaced at all, not only
for want of means but also for
want of the competent persons, and
about 10,000 orphans of the poor
are left destitute by the expulsion
of the nuns. No wonder, then, if
under such circumstances the part-
ing scenes were everywhere heart-
rending; not only sobbing children
thronged round their foster-mothers
in uncontrollable grief, but -the in-
habitants, burgomasters, and magis-
trates came to express their thanks
for the eminent services they had
rendered to their parishes, and
their deep regret at seeing them
driven out of home and country
their own beloved benefactresses.
No exact statistics regarding the
number of expelled nuns have as
yet been published, nor is it possi-
ble to say what has become of
them all. It is, however, computed
that about 500 houses have been
broken up, which must have includ-
ed at least between two and three
thousand inmates. The Ursulines
of Dorsten transferred their estab-
lishment to Holland, where forty pu-
pils followed them on the very day
of their expulsion. The house of
Posen went to Cracow ; those of
Cologne, Aix-la-Chapelle, Duder-
stadt, Kitzlar, etc., emigrated
partly to North America, partly to
neighboring countries. The Sis-
ters of Our Lady, whose convents
had been established more than

200 years in Essen and Coesfeld,
went 250 strong across the Atlan-
tic, and the School Sisters either
returned to their families or left off
their religious habits and contin-
ued their calling as lay teachers.
The names of the other congrega-
tions that had to leave this year
are chiefly the following: The Eng-
lish Ladies (Fulda and Mayence),
the Franciscans (Frankfort, Erfurt,
Treves, Fulda, Aix-la-Chapelle,
Bonn, Oberwesel, Emmerich), the
Sisters of Mercy conducting orpha-
nages (Posen, Breslau, Lauban,
Myslowitz, Steinfeld, Bromberg,
Peplin, Diisseldorf, Crefeld, Bonn,
Dortmund, Berncastle, Malmedy,
Lannerz, Berge-Borbeck, Mayen,
Rheinberg, Paderborn, Schroda, Dii-
ren, Bitburg, Neuss, Neustadt, Osna-
briick, Salzkotten), the Sisters of
St. Charles (Boppard, Oberglogau,
etc.), St. Vincent de Paul (Deutz,
Nippes, Ehrenfeld), the Daughters
of the Holy Cross, and the Poor
Sisters of Christ. Those Sisters of
Mercy who exclusively devote
themselves to hospital work have
been allowed to remain ; their
exact number was a short time ago

5.763.

Of all the lav/s enacted since
1871 against the Catholic Church
in Prussia, none will be attended
with more injurious effects than
the law regulating school supervi-
sion and religious instruction in
popular schools. Not content with
having removed nearly all ecclesi-
astical district and local school in-
spectors, and appointed Protestants
and " liberal " Catholics in their
place, the government has also for-
bidden the priests to teach the
Catholic religion anywhere except
in church out of school hours. In
a decree issued by Dr. Falk in
March, 1876, the right of parents to
bring up their children in accord-

The Prussian Persecution exJubitcd in its Results. 653

ance with their religious principles
is virtually denied, at all events
practically destroyed, for it places
the whole teaching and supervision
of Catholic religious instruction
under the supreme control of the
Protestant government, and thus
arbitrarily cancels clause 24 of the
Prussian constitution, which guar-
antees to recognized religious so-
cieties the right of conducting re-
ligious instruction either through
their priests or laymen invested
with the missio canonica. By virtue
of this ministerial ordinance the
government, feeling its hands
strengthened and unshackled, pro-
ceeds to all kinds of arbitrary and
unjustifiable changes in matters of
religious teaching. It sets aside
Catholic catechisms and reading-
books hitherto used in schools with*
ecclesiastical approbation, and re-
places them by works more in har-
mony with the spirit of the age; it
commissions schoolmasters (now
already about 1,000) to teach the
Catholic religion only in the name
and by order of the civil power,
threatening them with prosecution
if they ask for or accept the missio
canonica from church authorities ;
it either dissolves Catholic schools
or amalgamates them with Protes-
tant institutions under the name
of simul tan-schools, all of which
stand under exclusively Protestant
direction; it appoints Protestant
and Jewish teachers to purely Ca-
tholic schools ; it compels, as was
recently done in Crefeld, Catholic
children to attend Protestant school
prayers ; it limits the hearing of
Mass to two days in the week, and
strictly forbids Catholic teachers to
exhort their pupils to a greater fre-
quency of the Sacraments of Pen-
ance and Holy Communion ; in
one word, it uses all possible means
to Protestantize Catholic children

in popular schools. Priests and
parents, school boards and parish-
es, have sought redress of this bit-
ter grievance in innumerable peti-
tions and protests addressed from
all parts of the country to the em-
peror, the ministers, to both houses
of Parliament, demanding in the
name of liberty, of justice, of the
constitution, of natural and human
rights, that the teaching of their
religion should again be declared
free and placed under the only
rightful authority, that of the
church ; but neither the prayers of
distressed parents nor the powerful
agitation got up by the leading Ca-
tholic representatives proved of
any avail, Dr. Falk invariably re-
jecting all petitions on the ground
that the grievances complained of
did not exist an assertion which
the minister, if he had ventured to
do so, could not have reconciled
with the truth of facts. As minis-
ters and national liberals alike ex-
pect the realization of their plans
from the destructive school policy
rather than from any of the other
May laws, the Prussian government
feels the less disposed to make con-
cessions on this question, as it ena-
bles them to administer the poison
of infidelity to the rising genera-
tion in a quiet and imperceptible
but systematic and effective man-
ner. Catholics have therefore noth-
ing to hope from the present rulers
of Prussia towards an equitable
settlement of the religious question,
as party interest, and not justice, is
the moving principle of the May
legislators. If the faith of the next
generation is to be saved, it must
be done by the parents themselves;
if they take the religious instruc-
tion in their own hands, if by vigi-
lance and self-devotion they detect,
counteract, and destroy the evil in-
fluence of heterodox school-teach-

654

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

ing, no power on earth will be able
to interfere with their children's
faith; but if they neglect this
solemn duty, which now devolves
upon them with a fearful responsi-
bility, they will have to bear the
guilt of their children's apostasy.
Happily there is little or no ground
for such apprehensions, now that
bishops, priests, and laity have all
so manfully withstood the storm
and so far passed unscathed through
the crucible of the persecution.
Persevering in their course of loyal
attachment to the church, Catholic
parents of all classes of society look
after their children's faith and
teach them catechism at home, in
which excellent work they are ef-
fectually assisted by the advice and
practical help of numerous socie-
ties instituted for that purpose all
over Prussia.

Whilst Catholics heartily rejoice
at the failure of their enemies' en-
deavors to destroy their church in
Germany, they deeply feel the enor-
mous losses and sufferings which the
application of the May Laws has so
wantonly inflicted on so many
thousands of their innocent co-reli-
gionists. Apart from the innumera-
ble convictions of bishops, priests,
and laymen for so-called May-law
transgressions, Prince Bismarck
alone instituted more than 7,000
prosecutions for alleged offences
against his person. In his eager-
ness to silence opposition he spar-
ed neither sex nor age, neither
office nor rank, proceeding with
equal animosity against statesmen
and artisans, distinguished writers
and poor peasants, washerwomen
and children. The sums paid in
fines and the time spent in prison
for Kulturkampf offences are said
to be enormous; our readers may
form an idea of the magnitude of
the penal results of the persecution

by the perusal of the following
statistics : Within the first four
months of 1877 Prussian courts of
justice pronounced sentences of
imprisonment amounting to 55
years, n months, and 6 days, and
fines to the amount of 27,843 marks.
The victims were 241 priests, 210
laymen, and 136 editors of news-
papers. Imprisonment of 12 years,
8 months, and 14 days was decreed
for offences against the emperor,
and 8 years. 4 months, 7 days for
68 Bismarck offences. Besides
these penalties, the police made 55
arrests, 74 domiciliary visits, and 56
dissolutions of unions and assem-
blies. A compositor of a Mayence
paper, father of eight children, was
sentenced to three months' im-
prisonment for having used a dis-
' respectful expression towards his
majesty whilst in a state of intoxi-
cation; a doctor had to spend a
whole year in a fortress for a simi-
lar offence ; a rag and bone gatherer
got five and a half months, and a
poor servant-girl of nineteen years
of age one month's imprisonment.

A few more instances, taken at
random from the masses of Kultur-
&z;//// convictions, will further ex-
emplify the nature of the offences
and the penalties with which they
were visited. Bishop Brinckmann
received one year's imprisonment,
Vicar-General Giese two years, Fa-
ther Fievez three months, Father
Haversath four weeks, for alleged
embezzlement of diocesan money ;
in reality for preventing certain
church funds from falling into the
hands of the government, which had
no claim whatever to them. In
Miinster 2,500 heads of families
were fined for not sending their
children to school on Corpus Chris-
ti day. The successive editors of
the Kuryer Poznanski, the Ger-
mania, and the Frankfort Zeitung

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

have for several years past gone to
prison, some for publishing papal
and episcopal documents, others
for offending the emperor, Prince
Bismarck, and other members of
the administration. Father Isbert,
of Namborn, Treves, spent 903 days
in the prison of Saarbrlicken for
"illegally" saying Mass, hearing
confessions, etc. In April, 1876, the
priests of the diocese of Posen had
to pay 163,463 marks for similar
offences. Father Simon was sen-
tenced to seven months' imprison-
ment because he removed the sacred
Host from the church of the Gir-
lachsdorf the day before state
priest Fischers installation. Fa-
thers Bruns of Geldern and Kroll
of Adekerke were prosecuted and
punished for refusing absolution to
two penitents. A French priest acci-
dentally staying in Hanover was con-
demned to a fine of 4,800 marks
for saying Mass in a private cha-
pel. Dean Leineweber, of Heiligen-
stadt, went to prison for 18 months
for granting dispensations; Father
Nawrocki two years for secretly ad-
ministrating the parish of Goszieszy.
Besides endless prosecutions, hun-
dreds of the inhabitants of Marpin-
gen had to pay fines for granting
hospitality to pilgrims.

But the Catholic clergy had to
suffer for not acknowledging the
May Laws as well as for transgress-
ing them. By the so-called Bread-
basket Law, intended to starve the
priests into submission, many thou-
sands lost their income and had
to bear great misery, especially in
poor parishes, where church offer-
ings usually consist of farthings.
In the diocese of Fulda, for in-
stance, the average income of a
great number of parish priests fluc-
tuated between twelve and twenty
pounds a year. In other districts
they fared in so far better as their par-

ishioners indemnified them for the
loss of their state emoluments and
homes by voluntary contribulionsor
gifts in kind, such asmeat, bread, fire-
wood, etc. This help, if lastingly
established, might have considera-
bly alleviated the existing distress ;
but unfortunately the Prussian gov-
ernment forbade public offerings
and collections for the relief of
priests in distress, on the ground
that such illegal remunerations en-
couraged resistance to the state laws.
This harsh, not to say inhuman,
proceeding, however, only harmed
its victims for a time ; for very soon
the inventive spirit of the faithful
found out other means of relief,
over which the most watchful offi-
cials could obtain no control. In
addition to secret parish sub-
ventions the priests now receive re-
gular assistance from the Paulinus
Verein, which charitable associa-
tion collects contributions not only
in Germany but also from foreign
countries, among which England
especially has distinguished itself.

Destructive as the Kulturkampf
has been to the outward organiza-
tion of the church and the happi-
ness and worldly interest of the
people, its consequences have in
many other respects proved an im-
mense blessing to the Catholic
Church in Germany. Instead of
having been destroyed or weaken-
ed, as her enemies hoped, she has,
on the contrary, become stronger
and more powerful in her influence
over the masses, more respected by
her adversaries, better understood
by Protestant Christians, better
loved and obeyed by her own chil-
dren. Lukewarm Catholics, for-
merly almost ashamed of professing
their religion in public, now no
longer shrink from manifesting their
loyal attachment to the church ;
nay, more, they stand up in her de-

656 The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

fence, and edify others by the regu-
lar fulfilment of their religious du-
ties. The devout crowds that fill
the churches on Sundays and all fes-
tive occasions ; the enormous in-
crease of regular communicants ;
the frequent processions from
widowed dioceses to cathedrals of
other dioceses for the reception
of the Sacrament of Confirmation ;
the deep and universal grief shown
by the people at the death of Pope
Pius IX. and their cordial rejoicing
at the election of his successor ; the
numerous addresses of loyalty sent
on every possible occasion to the
banished bishops by millions of the
faithful; the touching attachment
of the masses to their pastors all
these and a great many more signi-
ficant manifestations afford ample
proof that the Catholic Church has
gained, and not lost, by the Kultur-
kampf. And it may not be exag-
geration to say that never at any
time did the religious sentiment
among German Catholics shine
forth so brightly, their piety so fer-
vently, their spirit of self-sacrifice
so strongly, their love for their
church so unboundedly, as now
after seven years of relentless per-
secution. Giving to the state what
belongs to the state, but fearlessly
obeying the church in all matters
that regard their eternal salvation,
the German Catholics, bishops,
priests, and people, stand firm and
unshaken in their resolution to re-
main true to God and his church,
and to lose wealth, freedom, life
itself, rather than give up one par-
ticle of their faith.

Nor are the beneficial conse-
quences of the persecution limited
to a revival in religion ; they are
also felt, with almost equal power,
in the political and literary life of
the Catholic portion of the Ger-
man nation. Purified, ennobled,

raised from a state of political ser-
vility to a sense of self-dignity, the
persecuted German Catholics feel
their love of freedom rekindled,
their sunken courage revived, and a
hitherto unknown power the pow-
er of outraged honesty and truth
growing and spreading among
them, and defending their inaliena-
ble rights with energy and success,
in society, in parliament, in the
press, and in general literature,
wherever religious and political lib-
erty and independence are wont to
assert themselves. The Catholics
of Prussia now constitute a politi-
cal body second only in importance
to the national liberals, whose in-
fluence in the country is rapidly
declining. If the wishes for a re-
turn to a religious policy, as ex-
pressed by the emperor shortly
after the late attempt on his life,
should be carried out by his minis-
ters, we may live to see Prince Bis-
marck courting the help cf the Ca-
tholic Church to save that same
state which resolved upon and work-
ed for her destruction. How val-
uable the support of the Catholic
party would be to the perplexed
German government in these criti-
cal times is sufficiently shown by
the number of its representatives
in the various parliaments : in the
Reichstag the Catholic Centre party
counts 98 members ; in the Bava-
rian Chamber of Deputies it com-
mands the majority ; in Baden,
where only one Catholic sat in par-
liament before the year 1870, there
are now 13 Catholic deputies.
The best illustration of the growth
of the Catholic party in Germany
was furnished at the last elections,
when, in spite of the arbitrary dis-
section of Catholic voting districts,
Catholic members were returned
with overwhelming majorities wher-
ever a sufficient number of consti-

The Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

6 57

tuents made such elections possi-
ble. The same success attended
the elections of municipal officers,
but unfortunately to no purpose, as
the Prussian government, contrary
to right and justice, annulled all
elections of Catholic burgomasters
and appointed its own creatures to
the vacant posts.

Another creation of the Kultur-
kampf for which we cannot be too
thankful is the German Catholic
press, which for its tone, skill, in-
fluence, and general success stands
unrivalled by any press in the
world. Beyond a few more or less
obscure provincial papers, Germa-
ny possessed no Catholic press or-
ganization before the year 1870;
now nearly 200 of these spirited
children of the persecution flourish
in the German Empire. Foremost
among all appears the Germania,
of world-wide reputation, which ex-
pounds and defends the political
programme of the Catholic party
with such statesmanlike ability that
Prince Bismarck himself, in one of
his parliamentary speeches, was
fain to acknowledge the superior
character and excellence of the
paper. Worthy associates of the
Berlin central organ of Catholic
publicity are the great provincial
daily papers, such as the Deutsche
Reichszeitung in Bonn, the Kol-
nische Volkszeitung in Cologne,
the Westphalian Merkur, and last,
not least, the smaller provincial
and local papers, all of which, in
the involuntary absence of the
chief pastors of the church, teach
and guide the people in the paths
of religion as well as in those of
public life. The influence of the
Catholic press over the people was
felt in two ways : in the first place,
it succeeded in preserving and con-
solidating among them that spirit
of union, order, and loyalty of
VOL. xxvii. 42

which the bishops and priests had
given such admirable examples;
and in the second place it pre-
vented, by its wise admonitions,
the exasperated people from aban-
doning the policy of passive resist-
ance as recommended by the bi-
shops, so that, in the midst of in-
cessant, almost unbearable provo-
cations, the Catholic population of
Prussia has not been found guilty
of one single act of rebellion or
open resistance to the state power.
The difference of the effects
which the May-law legislation has
had on the Catholic and the Pro-
testant inhabitants of Prussia must
strike every one. Whilst to the for-
mer the Kulturkampf has been a
school of improvement, of moral
and religious regeneration, the lat-
ter have derived none but deplora-
ble results from it ; witness the
general lawlessness, the frightful in-
crease of crime, the sunken state
of morality, and the all but com-
plete extinction of Christianity
which now prevails among the Pro-
testant people. According to the
Nord Allgemeine Zeitung, Prince Bis-
marck's non-official organ, not a
day passes in Prussia without mur-
der and manslaughter, and the
demoralization of the lower classes
has reached such a depth that there
is no longer any security for life
and property, that the son murders
his father, that the intoxicated fa-
ther stabs his son, and that the
servant kills his master on the slight-
est provocation. School-boys have-
become regular frequenters of pub-
lic-houses ; they fight duels in love
affairs, commit suicide for the most
trifling causes, and help to fill the
overcrowded prisons. Since 1874
the number of prisoners has in-
creased by nearly two hundred per
cent. To mention a few instances
only, in 1872 the town of Frank-

658

TJie Prussian Persecution exhibited in its Results.

fort-on-the-Main had 1,072 con-
victs; in the present year it has
5,323. In the province of East
Prussia more crimes were commit-
ted in 1875 than in the 20 preced-
ing years together. Sacrileges,
theft, murder, suicide, immoralities
are the crimes of most frequent
occurrence in Protestant Prussia.
In the one small province of
Schleswig-Holstein not less than
212 suicides were recorded in the
year 1874; and in the city of Ber-
lin in 1875 there were 284 (213
men and 71 women) cases, be-
sides 38 corpses found in the Spree.
In one month of the year 1876 the
army counted 26 suicides i.e., one-
fifth of the whole mortality. An-
other offence, formerly little known
in Prussia, but now spreading in
an extraordinary manner, is the
wholesale evasion of the obliga-
tory military service. According
to official returns the number of
young men who evaded that duty
by going abroad increased within
the period of 1862 to 1872 from
1,648 to 10,069. Last year it was
about twice the latter number. We
may here add that Catholic priests
are now also obliged to serve in
the army as private soldiers. It is
a remarkable fact, perhaps only a
coincidence, but at all events one
of the fruits of Bismarck's anti-
church policy, that socialism has
grown in Prussia in proportion as
crimes have multiplied. In the
year 1871 the socialists had only
two members in Parliament ; now
they have 13, representing two mil-
lions of adherents, who support 45
socialist newspapers. The party
has not reached its maturity yet ; but
if the Prussian government, disre-
garding the disapproving vote of the
Reichstag, should proceed against it
with violent repressive police mea-
sures, it is sure to grow rapidly

into a dangerous power that may
one day shake the new German
Empire to its very foundation.

Prince Bismarck did not intend
to injure the Protestant Church by
his May legislation, but, whether
intended or not, it is now an unde-
niable fact that the two great results
of that legislation are the growth
of socialism and the accelerated
extinction of Christianity in the
German Protestant Church. When
preachers of the Gospel are allowed
to declare from the pulpit that to
them the Bible is nothing but Jew-
ish literature, that our Lord Jesus
Christ was a mere man, that the
idea of a Trinity, sacraments, mira-
cles, etc., are human inventions,
can it surprise any one if socialists
go further still, and in numerously-
attended meetings openly deny the
existence of God and eternal life ?
Enabled by the May Laws to utter
any blasphemies they like, the Ger-
man infidels carry on their anti-
Christian propaganda on a very ex-
tensive scale, and succeed in draw-
ing hundreds of thousands of Pro-
testants out of the established
church. They alone make use
of the so-called Alt-Catholic law,
which gives freedom to leave a
church without joining another,
and which was passed for the pur-
pose of inducing Catholics to fol-
low the lead of the Alt-Catholic
Bishop Reinkens. This ostenta-
tious secession from the Protestant
Church, however, is not its greatest
loss ; far more disastrous to its ex-
istence is that wholesale defection
which takes place quietly, without
people thinking it worth while to
go out of the church. They sim-
ply abstain from frequenting places
of worship, and refuse all ministra-
tions from their clergymen for
themselves and their children. Dur-
ing the last three months of 1874

Sonnet.

659

that is to say, in the year following
the promulgation of the May Laws
16,631 Protestant children remain-
ed unbaptized, and 8,346 Protes-
tant couples refused to be married
in church. In the year 1875 Ber-
lin alone had 9,964 civil marriages
without church blessing, and 15,000
children who received no baptism.
In Konigsberg the number of civil
marriages not accompanied by any
church ceremony was 36 per cent.,
in Dantzic 47 per cent., in Breslau
53 per cent., in Stettin 68 per cent.
In Berlin 70,000 Protestants reject
their church altogether. There
only 1 8 per cent, of the whole Pro-

testant population go to church ;
in Worms 6 per cent., in Mayence
5 per cent., in Giessen 5 per cent.,
in Darmstadt 3 per cent., in Chem-
nitz 3 per cent., and in some other
places of Saxony only i per cent.
In short, the Protestant Church in
Germany is irretrievably lost. Thus
it has come to pass, under God's
providence, that the blow which
Prince Bismarck aimed at the Ca-
tholic Church glided off from the
Rocfc of Peter, and fell with deadly
effect on the Protestant Church, of
which he counts himself a stanch
adherent.

SONNET.

THE MORAL LAW, AND THE UTILITARIAN PHILOSOPHY.

THAT law which cynic-sophists desecrate,

Creation deft, they boast of mortal hand ;

Custom's weak nurseling; or, by sea and land,

A tyrant's edict fencing doubtful state,

Is older than the brazen books of Fate ;

A bondage unto liberty ; a grand

And circumscribing harmony, unplanned,

But from the breasts of all things good and great

Where'er the flame of thought and feeling played.

Issuing divine, a universal birth,

Before the first-born zephyr sang its ode,

Before pines grew on mountains of the north,

Before the greater light, or less, had flowed

O'er the glad bosom of the new-shaped earth

66o

The Religion of Humanity"

"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY/'*

THE strangest and saddest com-
mentary upon that dreary religious
sentimentality known as positivism,
or the Religion of Humanity, was
the infatuation of Auguste Comte
and John Stuart Mill with regard
to two very commonplace worsen
whom these men, one the founder
and the other the ablest exponent
of the religion, foolishly loved and
worshipped in life, and actually
deified after death. Guizot says
that Comte was crazy, but Mill was
confessedly a man of rare logical
acumen, thoroughly-trained intel-
lectual powers, and with no trace
of mental alienation. One does
not know whether to laugh at or to
pity the maudlin sentimentalism of
his love for his wife, the idolatrous
honors he paid to her portrait and
bust, and the painful conflict of his
soul, halting between a frantic wish
to believe in the presence and inti-
mations of her disembodied spirit,
and the necessity of rejecting, ac-
cording to his theory, all hope or
belief in the hereafter. There is
something at once ludicrous and
shocking in this, the only religious
sentiment that such a mind as
Mill's would admit the worship of
a woman's memory as the full sat-
isfaction and highest reach of re-
ligion. The worship of woman irre-
sistibly suggests the crowning of the
Goddess of Reason by the French
Revolutionists; and we trust our
reflection will not be misconstrued
when we say that woman holds her

*i. Gottheit, Freiheit und Unsterblichkeit.
Von L. A. Feuerbach. Leipzig.

2. The Essence of Christianity. Idem. Trans-
lated by George Eliot. London.

3. The Religion of Humanity. By O. B. Fro-
thinsham. New York.

true and rightful position only in
the Catholic Church. The tole-
rance of divorce in Protestantism is
an injury to the sex, and when we
glance at woman's relations to most
of the philosophico-moral systems
that have been the outgrowth of
the religious rebellion of the six-
teenth century, we see how wise
and tender the church has ever
been in her treatment of the weak-
er vessel. St. Paul has laid down
for all time the true idea of woman
in her religious relations, and every
attempt to change those conditions
has resulted in failure and shame.

The Religion of Humanity is one
of those vague terms which logic
rejects with scorn. The phrase
has a certain hazy beauty for hazy
minds ; but its gross spirit means
the deification of man, the bound-
less extent of his natural powers, a
worse than Pelagian confidence in
his own moral strength, and the
natural, social, and civil equality of
woman. In our own country the
system has not revealed all its de-
formity, nor are its principles ap-
parently very familiar even to its
advocates; but all its hideousness
is laid bare in the writings of the
German Feuerbach, and it is sad
to think that Mrs. Lewes (George
Eliot) devotes her uncommon pow-
ers to the exposition of its distinc-
tive doctrinal phase namely, that
all religion is a diseased state of
our consciousness, and its exercise
through any form or in any sphere
gives us neither present comfort
nor future hope.

A primal instinct and yearning
of the human heart tends toward
an object of infinite blessedness

"T/ie Religion of Hwnanity"

66 1

and beauty. Descartes inferred
from our knowledge and love of
Infinite and Absolute Being, in
which all glory, perfection, mercy,
and power co-exist, that such a
Being really does exist ; and this fa-
mous proof of the existence of God
has never been shown to be false
or unwarranted, though some phi-
losophers have held that it is not
strictly a demonstration. Our read-
ers know how cogently and elo-
quently Dr. Brownson expatiates
upon that beautiful formula, Ens
creat exist entias. GOD IS. Every
affirmation and reality announces
that glorious and all-sufficient Be-
ing. Nothing less than himself can
satisfy our immortal longings and
aspirations. The very difficulties
that enshroud our ideas of the Su-
preme Being seem to be only " dark
with excess of light." Nor has
this truth, on which man's feet have
been stayed since the creation, ever
been shaken. Dr. Newman, using
Lamennais' argument from univer-
sal authority, but without falling
into Lamennais' mistake of its
being the only argument, challen-
ges the world to explain away the
universal consent of mankind to
the divine existence. Cicero only
echoes Plato when he says that
there never was a nation, no matter
how barbarous, that had not some
idea of the existence of God. Tal-
leyrand used to say : " There is some-
body that has more intellect than
Napoleon and more wit than Vol-
taire, and that somebody is man-
kind." The great heart of the
world leaps to its Creator, and the
testimony of individual experience
in all ages but repeats the saying
of St. Augustine : " Thou hast
made us for thyself, O Lord ! and
our hearts are restless until they
rest in thee."

If we compare this noble and sub-

lime creed, " I believe in God the
Father Almighty," with the hollow
metaphysical and humanitarian be-
liefs of our unhappy age, we at
once recognize the profound truth
and beauty of many of the utter-
ances of the ancient Fathers upon
the subject of religion. Their sim-
ple and antique majesty of thought
and phrase is like a statue of
Michael Angelo's alongside of a
bizarre specimen of fashionable
ceramics. St. Clement of Alexan-
dria holds that there is only one
religion, and the great argument of
St. Augustine's City of God is the
essential unity of the divine cultus,
coming from Adam, through the
patriarchs, the prophets, fully re-
vealed in Christ the Son of God,
and destined to endure for ever.
All theology germinates from the
invocation of the three divine Per-
sons. When we bless ourselves we
worship God, with the worship of
unending ages, from everlasting to
everlasting. The church condemn-
ed the proposition that all the vir-
tues of the pagan philosophers were
vices. Christ, the God-Man, is the
object of religion, and, as thus pre-
sented, he fulfils all the yearnings
and hopes spoken of by the humani-
tarians, who, in making the human
race at once the subject and object
of worship, fail to see that Ca-
tholicity gratifies man beyond his
wildest dreams of exalted manhood
and infinite progress ; for humanity
cannot be raised higher than it has
been raised by the Eternal Son of
God, who, clothed with our glori-
fied humanity, which he will never
lay aside, " sitteth at the right
hand of the Majesty on high."

It seems an unworthy concession
to a very weak school of scepticism
for Max Miiller, in the May number
of the Contemporary Review, to pro-
pound the queries, What is re-

662

11 The Religion of Humanity"

ligion ? Have we any religion ?
and, after giving a long and flatter-
ing notice of every fool that says in
his heart there is no God, to inform
us graciously that there is a term
for God in every language with
which he is acquainted. The logi-
cal vice of nearly all non-Catholic
scientific men here and in Europe
at the present day is an ignorant
and unwarranted obtrusion of their
crude theories upon the subjects of
religion. They have no perception
of the exquisite sense and apposite-
ness of the old saying, Ne sutor ul-
tra crepidam. A satirical friend, af-
ter listening to Proudhon's theories
about the creation, remarked to him:
"What a pity God had not the
benefit of your suggestions when he
made the world!" and such was
the hebetude of the infidel that he
rejoined: "In that event creation
would have been infinitely better."
Huxley, who is pronounced a
scientific charlatan even in those
studies upon the invertebrata to
which he has devoted twenty-five
years, has the blasphemous audaci-
ty to call his Creator " a pedantic
drill-sergeant "; and Tyndall refers
to his God as an "atom-manufac-
turer. " Max Mitller has far greater
reverence, but his latest utterances
convict him hopelessly of pantheism,
which is about the absurdest form
of "religion" that any unfortunate
man can adopt.

It is a curious exemplification
of the state of religious thought in
England when such a man as Miil-
ler is selected to deliver a course
of lectures upon theology. His
only qualification is his philologi-
cal learning, of which Scaliger, the
greatest of modern philologists,
said its value in theology has been
very much over-rated. To such an
extent does Mtiller carry his lin-
guistic fanaticism that he derives

all reason and all truth from lan-
guage. He settles a controversy
by appealing to the root of a word.
The most cursory study of etymo-
logy suffices to show that it is in
the main a vague guess-work ; and
the words we employ to express
the subtlest operations of the intel-
lect are so many metaphors or ima-
ges drawn from sensible objects.
The word religion may be derived
from three distinct roots, relegere, to
read back, to retrace ; or religerc, to
collect ; or religare, to bind together;
and an enthusiastic etymologist,
warming with the subject, would
run us back to Babel. Who would
suppose that the word goose, for
example, which, on the " bow-wow "
theory of language, must have ori-
ginated with an old farmer driving
his poultry to market, is traceable
directly to the Sanscrit, through the
Teutonic, Gothic, Latin, and Greek,
and enjoys a proud pedigree of
Aryan etymology ? Like all mo-
dern specialists, Miiller drives his
philological hobby through all theo-
logical science. He has done a
very great injury to religious
thought by his constant prating
about the essential oneness of all
creeds, and his studied purpose to
represent Christianity as only a
modification of the great " world-
creeds," with a very decidedly ex-
pressed preference for the Vedas
over the Gospels and for Zoroaster
over St. John the Evangelist.

If Protestantism continues to dis-
integrate as rapidly in the next de-
cade as it has in the last two, our
theological professors may skip all
the tracts at present devoted to the
refutation of the principles and
consequences of the Reformation.
The older controversial works are
already antiquated, and the theolo-
gical lore of thirty years ago is no
longer available. Yet it is very

" The Religion of Humanity'

doubtful if any solid advantage can
be gained by the study of modern
philosophy. The Holy Ghost, ever
ruling the mind of the church,
brought about the definition of
Papal Infallibility at the most op-
portune period of the world's his-
tory. The only salvation for the
human intellect is the dogmatic
authority of the church, and the
clearer this is shown and enforced
the better for the world. The day
of tedious Christian controversy is
gone for ever. Amicable discus-
sions upon controverted points of
doctrine are no longer possible.
The field has been narrowed down.
The contest now is conducted upon
the primal bases of the primitive
truths God or Satan, heaven or
hell. " Under which king, Bezo-
nian ? Speak or die!" When the
admired and acknowledged " leaders
of modern thought" are come to
such a pass as to ask if life is worth
living? is there a hell? is not man
the beginning and end of himself?
was not Christ sublimely self-de-
ceived ? does not matter contain
the promise and potency of all life,
and is not immortality a splendid
dream ? it is manifestly useless la-
bor for a Catholic theologian to pore
for years over the question of An-
glican Orders or the Donation of
Constantine.

Our objection to the prolonged
study of philosophy must be under-
stood not of Catholic philosophy,
which is the handmaid of revealed
truth, but of those degrading sys-
tems that the materialistic mind of
the age is constantly spawning.
The facilities of the printing-press,
and the habit of writing philosophi-
cal articles and systems in the com-
mon languages, have familiarized
the world with a vast amount of
error. One advantage of the learn-
ed tongues lay in their preventing

many people from obtaining the
little learning which is proverbially
a dangerous thing. In our day we
not only have technical treatises
on science, philosophy, and theo-
logy, but popular hand-books which
aim at the greatest simplicity and
directness. Materialists give illus-
trated lectures to unscientific peo-
ple, and labor strenuously to ac-
commodate their ideas even to
the unformed mind of childhood.
The newspapers teem with all sorts
of crude theories, and no effort is
spared to disseminate the most out-
rageous fallacies. When Diderot
and D'Alembert started the Ency-
clopedic there were protests and
remonstrances from the church and
from scientific bodies ; but few per-
sons could afford to purchase the
huge tomes, as compared with the
multitudes that now can buy for a
few cents a dangerous publication at
any news-stand. The New York
Daily Graphic, not content with
printing a likeness of Miiller, gave
also long extracts from the article
to which we have adverted ; and
nothing is commoner than a so-call-
ed philosophical essay even in our
lightest magazines. With the help
of a learned and often unintelligible
phraseology the impression is left
that a mighty mind, after many
mental throes, has given birth to a
wonderful truth or profound re-
flection destined to influence mo-
dern thought and lead eventually
to the widest-reaching social re-
sults. The only remedy for such
a delusion is to impress readers
with a modest consciousness of
their own ability to penetrate the
sibyllic meaning, which, if they
fail to do, is very likely without any
meaning at all. By this manly and
rational process it is surprising
how quickly one sees through ab-
surdities, and catches a glimpse of

664

"The Religion of Humanity"

the ass' ears under the lion's skin.
Our present study of the Religion
of Humanity will illustrate this
idea (not in our own case, of
course). Let us take up a few of
the most famous dicta of humani-
tarianism. Note the obscurity of
the language, which in many cases
is intentional. In Eckermann's
Conversations with Goethe, who may
be regarded as the first arch-priest
of positivism, the sage of Weimar
expressly remarks that philosophi-
cal writers contemporary with him
had told him that when they were
most perplexed and confused, that
was the very time when they coura-
geously wrote on ! This is enough
to make a man give up metaphy-
sics for the rest of his days.

" My theory," says Feuerbach,
"may be condensed into two words
nature and man. The cause of
existence is not God a vague, mys-
terious, and indefinite term but
nature. The being in which na-
ture becomes conscious of itself is
man. It follows that there is no
God that is to say, no abstract be-
ing, distinct from nature and man,
which disposes of the destinies of
the universe and mankind at its
discretion ; but this negation is but
the consequence of the cognition
of God's identity with the essence of
jiature and man."

What does Feuerbach mean by
jnature ? Something distinct from
man, evidently, for he continually
separates them. Ah ! man is the
Ibeing in which nature becomes
.conscious of what ? Then na-
ture, God, and man. are said to be
identical in essence. But if God
;is only an abstract term, how can
an abstraction enter into a con-
scious essence, and how does it fol-
low that afcer all there is no God ?
Oh ! you mistake. This negation
( (of what ?) is a consequence of a .

cognition, etc. Now, all tins stuff
amounts to nothing but low, base
materialism. There is not a parti-
cle of reasoning, fancy, or poetic
beauty in the entire book from
which this extract, which is clear
by contrast with others, is taken.
Yet George Eliot, who is trumpet-
ed through the world as a glorious
prophetess of humanity, deemed it
worth her patient toil to translate
this bathos into English. In the
foregoing extract are used at ran-
dom words of deep and pregnant
import, the meaning of which has
been fixed by the sharp and sub-
tle but eminently truthful and
honest minds of Catholic philoso-
phy and theology. These words
are vilely misused by reputed phi-
losophers, until there is no clear-
ness or exactitude of statement
in half the philosophical trea-
tises that one takes up to read,
mie church herself, in her dogma-
tic infallibility, has defined for all
time the meanings of certain ex-
pressions which she has made
touchstones of the faith tessera
jidei. The devil was the first to
equivocate, and his children have
always followed his example. The
term " nature " has an exact philo-
sophical meaning which Feuerbach
knew, and his school know. Es-
sence, existence, cognition, and
cause are words that have to be
weighed with the nicest care when
used in a philosophical disquisi-
tion. If these writers are sincere
they should speak their meaning
plainly, and not darken counsel
with vain words. The plain Eng-
lish of the extract is this : " There
is no God in the sense of creator
or judge of man. Man is his own
God. We cannot know that any-
thing exists outside of our own
consciousness." Even this is ob-
scure, because there is darkness

"The Religion of Humanity."

665

upon the face of these abysmal
depths of unbelief, over which the
Spirit of God never moved.

The Religion of Humanity, in
contradiction to the very con-
sciousness and irresistible instincts
and traditions of the human race,
thus assumes that there is no God
but man, out-Mohammeding Mo-
hammed, who admitted that there
is one God, and contented himself
with the humbler title of prophet.
It stands alone in its horrible de-
formity. It is a leper from which
all other creeds shrink. It has at-
tempted to prove its identity with
many of the old pagan beliefs, but,
notwithstanding a cumbrous and
learned exposition of mythology,
no such identification could be
proved. There are some gibing
comments upon the gods in Lucian,
and Juvenal at times hints slyly at
the amours of Olympic Jove ; but
there is no student of mythology
but knows the depth of the reli-
gious sentiment in the vast masses
of the Greek and Roman states.
The worship of the earth, sea, and
skies was idealized. It may be
boldly asserted that ancient histo-
ry does not present any traces of the
gross materialism of modern times.
./Eschylus repeatedly declares that
there was a power superior to
Jove himself, and the researches of
Niebuhr have established the vir-
tual monotheism of Greece and
Rome. Despite the multitude of
gods, there was the Deus Optimus
Maxtmus, clearly spoken of by Tul-
ly, and not obscurely intimated in
nearly every relic of ancient litera-
ture and art. The attempt to trace
the Religion of Humanity back to
the beginnings of the human race
proved a complete failure. Man
never worshipped himself as the
Supreme God. There was a broad
distinction made between the he-

roes or the emperors to whom di-
vine honors were decreed and the
gods themselves. These are but
the commonplaces of the history
of religion ; but the attempt show-
ed a consciousness of weakness on
the part of this wretched school of
unbelief. Euripides himself would
have upbraided them :

artidra, uaivd ^aivd dspno-

"Etspa
Ka.ua.

Every effort that has been made
to find a purely natural and human
cause for religion has failed. The
wide study of religion which mo-
dern scepticism has unweariedly
pursued always results in perplex-
ing it the more. Volney went to
Palestine to disprove the ancient
prophecies, and his book shows
their literal and Startling fulfilment.
Fichte used to open his lectures
upon God with the blasphemous
remark, " Gentlemen, to-day let us
construct the Supreme Being," but
all attempts at such construction
have only brought out more clearly
the immemorial belief of his crea-
tures in his existence. The per-
manency of the original traditions
of the human family is so remarka-
ble a phenomenon, in view of the
perishableness of merely human re-
cords, that the most sceptical minds
have been struck with fear and
amazement. It is like the living
proof of the Psalmist's words : " If I
go up into heaven, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morn-
ing, and flee to the outermost ends
of the earth, thou art there!"
Even the pantheism of Brahminism
is something entirely distinct from
the confusion and chaos of the Re-
ligion of Humanity.

Strauss, in his last book, The Old

Hecuba.

666

" The Religion of Humanity"

and the New Faith, asks if the mo-
dern world is as religious as the
ancient world was, and he appears
to derive satisfaction from his con-
clusion that there is a vast falling
off in religion. But as he does not
deign to define what he means by
religion, we are left in the dark.
One loses patience with the per-
verse stupidity of the British and
American public, that have always
their ears erect for what Strauss
will say, and sceptics will compla-
cently assure you that there are
arguments in Strauss that have left
Christianity in a deplorable plight ;
whereas the fact is, Strauss' Life
of Christ is familiarly cited in the
schools of Germany as an illustra-
tion of the futility of an argument
against well-authenticated human
testimony. Whately wrote a book
to prove that such a person as Na-
poleon Bonaparte never existed,
and Strauss wrote a book to prove
that Christ never existed, both with
equal success.

The true animus of Comte,
Strauss, Renan, and the other heads
of this school is demoniac hatred
of Christ. Why are they for ever
attacking him, if, as they claim, all
religions are preparative of the
advent of this Religion of Humanity?
Why can they go into hysterics of
admiration over Socrates, Voltaire,
and Shakspere, yet foam with fury
at the name of Jesus ? They will
not even credit our Saviour with
effecting the slightest moral good
in the world, but refer to his bless-
ed religion as a darkness and blight
on the human intellect. Surely no
true measure for the elevation of
humanity would throw aside Chris-
tianity. But it is clear that these
men have no true love for man.
It is only their insufferable pride
that will not bend the knee be-
fore Christ, or bend it in mockery

like Renan and the author of Ecce
Homo. They cry out, " Son of Da-
vid, what have we to do with you ?"
and their cry is that of lost souls.
All the infidel literature about
Christ that has appeared so abun-
dantly in the past score of years
bears traces of this humanitarian
spirit. They fain would make out
Christ to be a mere man, but they
are in this quandary : that he had no
" humanitarian " notions. He came
to do the will of his Father. He
said nothing about the Sublime Hu-
manity, the greatness and glory of
this world, the god-like intellect of
man, the progress of vast ideas, the
universal diffusion of knowledge,
the infinite progressiveness of the
species, the force of cosmic influ-
ences, and the gorgeous future that
will dawn for woman. Therefore,
worse than paganism, the Religion
of Humanity will not erect a statue
to him.

Comte, desirous of giving hier-
archical form to positivism, invent-
ed a worship and a calendar in
which were commemorated three
hundred and sixty-five "eminent
servitors of humanity " in place of
the saints of the Catholic Church.
He began with Moses and ended
with himself. Among the saints
were Bichat, Condillac, Gutenberg,
and Frederick II. of Prussia. He
also invented a public service, a
hymnal, and a certain form of wor-
shipping the Sublime Humanity, by
which he probably meant himself.
He himself adored the Sublime Hu-
manity as embodied and idealized
in a very commonplace lady. Gui-
zot says of him that he made re-
peated attempts to commit suicide,
and in his review of positivism
seems to think the insanity of its
founder a sufficient refutation of
his strange opinions. He admits,
however, that long before Comte's

" The Religion of Humanity'

667

death his religion had made consid-
erable progress in France and in
England, where it was enthusiasti-
cally embraced by two men who,
one would suppose, would be the
last to adopt a fantastic creed J.
S. Mill and Win. Hartpole Lecky,
the historian of rationalism.

Toning down the sublimities of
the irrepressible Comte, and not
deigning to admit his hierarchy or
his saints which, to say the truth,
smacked too much of Catholicity
the positivists of England and
America contented themselves with
a denial of all supernatural religion,
and announced with a flourish of
trumpets the infinite perfectibility
of the human race, the glory of
humanity, the cosmic emotion which
is the deepest religious feeling of
humanity, and the superiority of
aggregate immortality to a private
or personal existence after death.
Man, very much in the abstract,
was exalted to the throne of the
Deity. All this blatant puffing of
modern progress, development, and
evolution is kept up by these man-
worshippers. The spirit is the spirit
of pride. But it must in justice be
said of Mr. Frothingham that he is
not so enthusiastic in the cause of
humanity as he might be. His book
on the subject is quite tame when
contrasted, say, with Comte's Wo-
man and Priest. He does not gush
enough, and he has not the irrev-
erent boldness of his master, Theo-
dore Parker. Mr. Frothingham is
not by any means an emotional
man, and this is fatal to his hu-
manitarian progress. Nor is he a
deeply-read man even in his own
theology, though, to be sure, no sane
man would blame him for that
defect.

The doctrine of the infinite pro-
gressiveness of man is another of
those high-sounding phrases that

no logic will tolerate. There can
be no internal progress in religion.
All the scientific discoveries that
may be made to the end of time
will not have the slightest influ-
ence upon one jot or one tittle of
revealed truth. Nor will they
have any essential or related power
over the truths of natural theology,
or what is generally known as such.
The relations of man to God, the
coming of Christ, the establishment
and conservation of his church, are
truths and facts that can never be
changed. Heaven and earth shall
pass away, but the word of God shall
not pass. This is why the church
is so calm when all Protestantism
is in a ferment about science.
The two spheres of truth, divine
and human, supernatural and na-
tural, can never collide. Man
may progress in many things, but
religion, the Everlasting Yea, as
Carlyle calls it, cannot from its
very nature change, transform, ad-
vance, increase, or diminish. The
humanitarians long for the day
when there will be no sects and
no religious differences. Then the
best plan is for all the sects to enter
the Catholic Church. They want
a religion for man, and surely that
religion is the best which God
himself made for man.

There is a great deal of specious-
ness in this cry of progress, culture,
and modern enlightenment, and
even Catholics are deceived by the
spirit of pride, for man from the
beginning loved to consider him-
self a god knowing good from evil.
Humanitarian isra gains adherents
in Catholic countries who would
roar with laughter at the idea of
turning Protestants. France never
forgets those delusive words, liber-
ty, fraternity, and equality, and this
religion of humanity has blazoned
them over the world- The restless-

668

The Religion of Humanity'' 1

ness under church government, the
rational submission which the faith
exacts, the lessons of mortification,
and the stern portrayal of man
which Christianity presents are all
influences that tend to the progress
of humanitarianism. No man likes
to hear the dread truth regarding
his slavery to the devil, the neces-
sity of grace, the duty of confess-
ing, and his unutterable weakness.
It is these that are the unpalatable
truths which spoil the teaching of
the Ideal Man, as they call our Sa-
viour. Comte would not suffer
him to be enrolled among his saints,
perhaps for the reason that St.
Frederick the Great of Prussia
used to refer to our Lord as L'ln-
fame. If there is one truth most
saliently brought out in the Gospel,
it is that without Christ we can do
nothing, and this would never suit
the apostles of the infinite progres-
siveness of the human race.

This latter absurdity, most ridi-
culous when applied to religion, is
not a whit more reasonable as ap-
plied to science. There must be a
limit. The human mind is not in-
finite. No doubt we shall continue
our improvements in machinery.
There can be no vast progress
made in literature or art. It seems
from the* history of the race that
our powers are limited, and, though
we boast of o.ur great mechanical
improvements, Washington Irving
said that he would not be surprised
if they yet unearthed a locomotive
engine from the ruins of Persepo-
lis. Infinite progress would seem
to be only a figment of the brain
of a poetic humanitarian. It is
well known that Don Quixote,
who certainly gave himself up to
redressing the wrongs of humanity,
was peculiarly eloquent upon the
charms and perfections of Dulci-
nea; though the honest old knight,

crackbrained though he was, would
have crossed himself devoutly at
the idea of Dulcinea being a di-
vinity in any other sense than that
familiar to true lovers.

The motives for moral action
presented by the humanitarian the-
ory are very noble but, alas ! very
impracticable. While we entirely
dissent from the opinion of Bentham
and Paley, that selfishness is the
guiding principle of our actions an
opinion which is at once an insult
and a falsehood still the vast ma-
jority of mankind cannot be influ-
enced by the very airy and sublime
notions of our philosophers. Even
natural goodness appears to be
prompted by heavenly intimations
and aids. Gratia supponit naturam.
Of course a good work, to merit
salvation, must be attended with
grace from its origin to its consum-
mation. But our humanitarians
will not even promise us happiness
hereafter, and we know ho\v slim
are the chances for happiness in this
world. This great humanity for
which we must labor is only an ab-
straction. No doubt a man may
have a real and pure love for his
fellow-man on merely speculative
grounds or through natural kind-
ness of heart ; for have we not a
Bergh for the brutes ? All of us,
however, feel how vague and impo-
tent such a feeling must be or is
likely to become. Christ unites
love of our neighbor with love of
God, its reason and cause, and
there is a world of sweet philosophy
in this precept on which depend the
law and the prophets. It is the. only
motive that has been found fruitful
in any age. Charity is a Christian
growth. There was not one hos-
pital in pagan Athens or Rome,
though there were numerous cote-
ries of eminent philosophers.

The Religion of Humanity"

669

From whatever side we view this
strange " religion," its hollowness
and absurdity become apparent.
Its genesis in a morbid mind cloud-
ed at times with insanity, and its
elaboration in other morally unbal-
anced intellects, awaken at the out-
set doubts of its coherency. The
vagueness of its formulas wearies
and confounds the critic. It has
no philosophical structure, and, we
are afraid, no theological results.
Its literature is marked with weak
sentiment and an effusive love and
praise of mere naturalism we were
going to say mere animalism
which cannot hold any mind that
has a perception of the true dignity
and exaltation of human nature as
created by God and redeemed by
his only Son. So far as we are
aware, it has exerted no appreciable
influence upon the morality of the
world, and its failure to commend
itself generally to the humanity it
so loudly praises would indicate
that men perceive its intrinsic weak-
icss and ineptitudes.

We know that many Protestants
condemn and detest this creed as
heartily as does the church, which
in simple and noble language con-
demned it in the very first session of
the Vatican Council. But we can-
not help thinking that. Protestant-
ism has had much to do in bringing
the monster to birth. It is the logi-
cal evolution of Protestant right of
private judgment, of personal inde-
pendence of the doctrinal authority
of the church, and of unwise toler-
ance of all sorts of mischievous reli-
gious vagaries. Stripped of all dis-
guises and forced to speak in true
tones, this deified man of the Reli-
gion of Humanity is the Antichrist,
setting himself up as God and
claiming to be God. It is the apothe-
osis of man, who renews the folly of
building a tower of pride in which

he may secure himself against the
wrath of the Eternal. But before
the face of His wrath who can
abide ? It will not do to speak of
the Omniscient as the Unknowable
or the Unknowing.

The worst feature of this placi-
tum is that it is militant and ag-
gressive. Comte, as we have said,
established a regular system of wor-
ship, and what passes under the
more respectable name of Unitari-
anism is really formulated positiv-
ism. We should care little for it,
did it openly profess its origin and
purpose, but it works under a false
name and has no scruples about
deceiving the confiding and un-
wary. The Boston Index would be
highly indignant if asked to defend
Comte's calendar of saints and to
explain the culte of the Sublime
Humanity; and George Eliot pla-
ces in the mouth of Daniel Deronda
the most exquisite praise and ap-
preciation of the Hebrew creed.
Comte says that the day advances
when we shall worship no being in-
ferior to man ; and as no man is
very much disposed to think an-
other greater than himself, especi-
ally under the religious teachings
which we have analyzed, each of
us will act practically upon Satan's
declaration to Eve, " You shall be
as God."

There is no doubt that as the
doctrinal authority of Protestant-
ism fades away year by year, this
pronounced individualism will more
boldly assert itself. The gospel of
vulgar and intense selfishness will
triumph, and the worst phases of
paganism will return. St. Paul
complains of the heathens that they
were without affection, and this was
because of their creed. The spirit
of modern infidelity hates and de-
spises the poor, the ignorant, and,
like the Spartans of old, would soon

6;o

Sonnet.

dispose of the sick, the lame, and
the blind. Herbert Spencer luckily
is no philosopher, though he labors
hard to synthetizehumanitarianism.
Should this monstrous parody on
religion ever take clear and scien-
tific form, all traces of faith and
chanty in Protestantism will disap-
pear. Fetichism itself would be
better than this horrible worship
and deification of selfishness. If a
man believes in anything outside
of himself as something diviner
and better than he, there is hope
for him ; but woe to him and to his
neighbor when he enthrones him-
self upon an altar and worships his
humanity. It is to be hoped that
much of the excessive laudation of
ourselves in these days springs
from no deeper source than an
overweening opinion of our abili-
ties. It may be only vanity. It
may not be spiritual and intellec-
tual pride. This question we leave

to the reflection of our readers, with
a concluding remark that all ex-
altation of the merely natural
powers of the human intellect is
attended with extreme danger to
moral sanity. The man who has
cast off the yoke of the church, the
traditions of his race, and the hon-
est ? suggestions of his conscience
has already joined the ranks of the
arch-deceiver who first flattered us
with hopes of divinity, and now
tempts us with unbounded visions
of the enlightenment of the world,
social progress, the political ame-
lioration of the human race, the
downfall of all tyranny in church
and state, and the splendid advent
of the coming man ; but he only
lures us to that awful destruction
which hurled him from heaven be-
cause of the usurping thought,
"I will become like unto the Most
High."

SONNET.

UNCONSCIOUS FACULTIES.

SAY, do the mighty winds in silence sweep

The crystal breadth of ocean's quivering plane ?

The unmeasured forests, quickening in their sleep.

Breathe they no sound, or breathe that sound in vain ?

Say, can our compass small of ear and brain

With Nature's boundless concords measure keep ?

Not so ! Her lyre, we know, hath tones too deep,

Too high, for man to hear, or to sustain.

Nor doubt that likewise in this soul of ours

Functions and faculties there work alway

Below the level of our conscious powers ;

And chords whose music were there aught to wake

Its echoes 'mid that inner world would shake

To dust our tenement of mortal clay.

Pearl.

671

PEARL

BY KATHLEEN o'MEARA, AUTHOR OF " IZA'S STORY," " A SALON IN THE LAST DAYS OF THE EMPIRE," " ARE

YOU MY WIFE? ' ETC.

CHAPTER I.

THE REDACRES.

THE Redacres were at home on
Saturday evening at home in the
pleasant, simple way that used to be
the fashion in Paris some twenty,
or even ten, years ago. They
lived in an entresol in the Fau-
bourg St. Honore and their friends
flocked to them in troops regularly
every Saturday, crowding the spa-
cious, old-fashioned salon, where
there was always a cordial welcome
to be had, cheerful conversation, ex-
cellent tea, and a blazing hearth
when the weather was cold. It was
bitterly cold on this January evening
when I beg to introduce you to the
Redacre family. The head of the
house, Colonel Redacre, was a re-
tired cavalry officer, who had lost
his left leg at Balaklava ; Mrs. Red-
acre had been a beautiful, and was
still a lovely, woman ; there were
two sons who were at Eton, and
two daughters, both at home, Pearl
and Polly.

The colonel had spent ten years
in India, and his wife had become
so acclimatized to those burning
skies that she could not bear the
climate of England on leaving them.
She was, indeed, a chronic invalid,
and this was why they lived abroad.
At least, Colonel Redacre always
gave his wife's health as a reason
for not living in England, and took
no small share of credit to himself
for making this sacrifice of person-
al choice to his duty as a husband.
"When old friends, who knew how
strong were his English predilec-
tions, pitied him for having to re-
side in France, he would heave a

sigh, and, looking towards his wife
reclining on her cushions, say :
"Yes, yes; but she's worth it,
bless her!" And nothing was pret-
tier than the smile with which Mrs.
Redacre would thank him for this
remark when it was made in her
hearing, as it generally was.

It was past nine, and there were
a good many people in the salon.
Some of the ladies were in full even-
ing dress, having turned in for an
hour before going to some larger
assembly; but the greater number
were in plain morning dresses.
There was a whist-table in a far
corner of the large, square room,
and the players were deep in their
game, the partners being Mrs.
Monteagle and the Comte de Ker-
bec, the Comtesse de Kerbec and
Mr. Kingspring.

Polly Redacre was singing, ac-
companied by her sister Pearl.
Polly was a beauty. The most fasti-
dious critic could not have found a
fault in her face : the lines and the
coloring were alike perfect. And
yet, when you had paid this inevi-
table tribute of admiration to the
chiselled features and brilliant com-
plexion, to the harmonious grace of
her movements, your eyes turned to
Pearl's face and lingered there, rivet- >
ed by some more potent spell than
mere beauty. You never dreamed
of analyzing Pearl's face; you en-
joyed it, and you said involuntarily,
" What a sweet girl ! I should like
to talk to her. What a spirit there is
in her eyes ! what fun in those
dimples !" And your own face

6;2

Pearl.

broke into sympathetic smiles.
There was a close family likeness
between the sisters ; both were ra-
ther above the medium height, and
both were very fair. Polly's eyes
were deep blue, almond-shaped, and
black-fringed. Pearl's were brown,
bright and limpid as a Scotch peb-
ble ; as to their shape, you never
gave that a thought ; you only saw
that, whether the light in them was
soft, mischievous, or merry, they
were good to look at.
The song was over.
" Mme. la Baronne Leopold,
Mile. Blanche, et M. le Capi-
taine Leopold !" called out the ser-
vant. Pearl and Polly flew to
greet Blanche, who was Polly's bo-
som-friend, and the three girls be-
took themselves to a private corner
of their own, and were soon deep in
confidential talk. Mme. Leopold got
out her tapestry, and began stitch-
ing away by the shaded lamp near
Mrs. Redacre's sofa; and Leon, af-
ter doubling himself in two before
the ladies of the house three sep-
arate times, fell in with a group
of gentlemen on the hearth-rug.
Presently Mme. Leopold looked up
from her floss silks and called
out to the young girls :

" Have we interrupted the music,
mesdemoiselles ? I implore of you
to go on with it ! My son will be
in despair if you don't; he perfect-
ly adores music. I hope you will
induce him to sing a duet with you
that one from Fra Diavolo that
goes so well with your voice, Pearl.
Do make him sing it, dear child,
I pray you!"

Thus adjured, Pearl drifted away
to capture the reluctant and, so far,
unconscious songster, who again
doubled himself in two, and vowed
that he was a miserable singer, but
at the orders of ces demoiselles.
" Are we not to see Leopold this

evening?" inquired Col. Redacre
in his loud military tones.

" Can I say ? He is so busy. He
keeps me hard at work, too ; I write
twenty letters a day for him, and
still he can't get through all his
correspondence. One must have
real patriotism to serve one's
country in France, my dear colo-
nel."

" Humph ! It is easy enough to
serve it when one can stay at home
and keep one's legs," grunted the
colonel. " I should not mind writ-
ing five hundred letters a day if I
could get my leg back."

" Ah ! but you are a hero,"
smiled Mme. Leopold.

Presently, throwing aside her
tapestry, she sallied over to the
card-table, and, laying her hand on
Mrs. Monteagle's shoulder, "Will
your game soon be done, chere
madame ?" she said. " I want to
have a little chat with you, and it
is so difficult for me to get to you
in the day ! M. Leopold, since he u
in the Chamber, works me to death.
Not that I complain of it. I ai
proud to be of use to him ; but it
is a life of sacrifice." And the pa-
triot's wife sighed.

" My dear baronne, if there be
thing I resent it is having my gam<
of whist interfered with," burst oul
Mme. de Kerbec before Mrs. Mont-
eagle could answer. " How is Mi
Monteagle to give her full atten-
tion to the game, if you stand then
watching the minutes till it
over ?" And the irate whist-playei
turned down her hand and looked
indignantly at the intruder.

Mme. Leopold fled with a pretty
pretence of terror ; and Mrs. Mont-
eagle, whose attention had been
disturbed by the interruption, after
nervously surveying a wretched set
of cards, threw a low trump on
her partner's ace.

Pearl.

673

M. de Kerbec uttered a meek
" Oh !" of expostulation.

" I feel for you, Jack I do in-
deed," said Mme. de Kerbec. " The
idea of having a partner that trumps
one's ace the second round !"

" Dear me ! I thought it was the
third round," said Mrs. Montea-
gle ; " that was why I risked my
little trump."

" Then you deserved to lose
your little trump !" said Mme. de
Kerbec. " You should have trump-
ed high if you trumped at all; third
in hand always plays high !"

" Ma chere amie," put in meekly
M. de Kerbec, " one plays as one
can ; my partner may not have,.
any high trumps."

" Good heavens ! count," scream-
ed his wife, " the idea of your ex-
posing your partner's hand in this
way !"

" Ma chere amie, I am not ex-
posing it; I merely suggest that "

" Hold your tongue, count !
What business have you to sug-
gest ? What sort of whist is this ?
I thought whist meant husli ; and
you have done nothing but chatter
ever since we sat down."

When Mme. de Kerbec address-
ed her husband as " count," those
who knew M. de Kerbec felt for
him; when she called him "Jack"
they congratulated him. His real
name was Jacques ; but though she
had been married to him for thirty
years, and lived nearly all that
time in France, his wife had never
modified her hard English ring of
the soft French name, hammering
it out with three 's at the end.

" It sounds so uncommonly like
whack" Col. Redacre used to say,
" that I feel for poor Kerbec, as if
I saw the stick coming down on
him."

He jocosely called Mme. de Ker-
bec " Captain Jack " one day, and
VOL. xxvii. 43

the name stuck to her, as appro-
priate nicknames sometimes will.
And yet Captain Jack was very kind
to her husband, letting no one bully
him but herself.

Her partner this evening, Mr.
Kingspring, was an excellent player,
but he had his temper so well in
hand that no one suffered from this
superiority. If his partner had
trumped his ace on the first round,
he would have received the stab
with a lovely smile ; but when he
succeeded in trumping his adver-
sary's ace, or some such indelicate
feat, he had a way of quietly chuck-
ling that was very offensive to Capt.
Jack. To-night, however, they be-
ing partners, she beamed on him.

"Ha! ha! This time \ve looked
out," said M. de Kerbec. "When
monsieur leads trumps we know
that means mischief."

"What do you mean by making
such remarks ?" demanded Mme.
de Kerbec. "Will you hold your

tongue and attend to the game?

Go on, partner; very well played.

Oh ! it is my turn."

The game went on in silence for

a couple of rounds.

"Humph!" muttered Mme. de

Kerbec, putting the ten of clubs

on Mrs. Monteagle's deuce ; M.

de Kerbec threw the knave, and

Mr. Kingspring took it with his

queen. Mrs. Monteagle looked

aghast.

"Why, count," she said, "I

made sure you had either ace or

king. I led from nothing."

" Really, Mrs. Monteagle, you

are past praying for !" exclaimed

Mme. de Kerbec indignantly.

"I was certain my partner had

the ace," pleaded the culprit.

" How could he have it when I

took the very first trick with it?"
"So you did, ma chere amie,"

said the count, " and I quite for-

6/4

Pearl.

got it, or I should have played my
king; but I thought monsieur had
the ace, and would have come down
on me with it."

"You thought, forsooth ! What
business had you to think at all ?
You know the rule third in hand;
you should have stuck to the rule
and taken the consequences."

" Ma chere amie, you sometimes
remind me that it is part of genius
to know when to break rules."

"Don't throw my words in my
face, count. And don't argue
with me about whist. I have been
playing whist with you these thirty
years, and everybody knows I am a
belter player than you!"

"Shall 1 bring you sometea now?"
said Pearl, advancing to the whist-
table and cutting short the little
discussion between the count and
Capt. Jack.

" I shall be most thankful for a
cup, my dear," said that lady in an
aggrieved tone ; " but not strong.
I "can't have my night's rest spoil-
ed for anybody. Jack, you know
how I like my tea; just go and get
me a cup, if it's not too much
trouble."

The obedient Jack flew to obey.

The large room was now very
full ; there were a few groups of
splendid ladies in diamonds and
shining silks and a great many
gentlemen in uniform that gave
quite a brilliant air to the uncere-
monious gathering. Polly Redacre
was a picture to look at as she
moved about in her white muslin,
her bright gold hair shining more
effectively than any coronet of jew-
els, and her cheeks flushed with
pleasurable excitement to the
brightest rose tint. She knew she
was by far the loveliest object in
the room, and she took great plea-
sure in the thought. And who
shall blame her ? Pearl certainly

did not. Indeed, Pearl had a great
deal to answer for in the way she
ministered to her sister's vanity ; for
she was ten times as vain of Polly's
beauty as Polly herself was. Col.
Redacre was talking very loudly,
while his right hand expostulated
with Balaklava, his wooden leg,
so called in memory of the field
where he lost the original. Every
change in the weather affected Ba-
laklava painfully ; for the colonel
declared that his wooden limb had
more sensibility in it than all the
rest of his body combined. To-
night the sudden frost that had
set in was shooting fifty razors a
minute in and out of it. He was
confiding this detail to M. cle Ker-
bec's sympathizing ear in his very
loudest tones when a voice called
out :

"Jack, is this tea sweetened?"

"Certainly, ma chere amie ; that
is I really don't know, now I
remember. Mile. Pearl prepared
it, and I have no doubt it is well
sweetened."

" You have no doubt ! I dare
say not. You care very little
about what interests me, count.
Pray don't trouble yourself about
it now." And Jack retreated, meek
and snubbed.

" The selfishness of men !" said
Mme. de Kerbec, as she helped her-
self from the bowl Pearl held out
" the selfishness of men ! He
knows if there is a thing I detest it
is tasting my tea without the su-
gar."

While the tea-serving was going
on Leon Leopold stood with his
back to the wall and watched the
pretty tea-table with its glistening
silver and porcelain, and graceful
cup-bearers hurrying to and fro ;
he never dreamed of lending more
than a moral assistance to the lat-
ter, as an Englishman in his place

Pearl.

675

would have done. Blanche was
intimate as a sister with Pearl and
Polly Redacre ; but Leon seldom
showed himself on a Saturday eve-
ning. He was on the most distant
terms of acquaintanceship with the
ladies of the family, with whom he
was always as silent as a sphinx.
No wonder Polly voted him a muff.
But Pearl declared her belief that
Leon had plenty of fun in him, if
one only could get at it. He was
very good-looking, rather striking,
indeed, in appearance; not tall
but finely proportioned, with a blue
shaven chin and a short black mous-
tache, and solemn, coal-black eyes
that had a way of looking at you,
Pearl said, as if to see whether you
or he should look longest without
laughing. Colonel Redacre thought
highly of him, and said he had the
making of a first-rate soldier in
him; but Pearl declared this was
because Leon listened so attentive-
ly to the description of the Bala-
kiava charge every time her father
related it, which was pretty nearly
every time he met Leon.

" And that song we were to have
had from your son ?" said Mrs.
Monteagle, taking her tea-cup to a
seat near Mme. Leopold. " I have
a poor opinion of a young man who
can sing and won't sing; either he
is shy, which means that he is a
goose, or he wants to make a fuss
over it, which means that he is a
coxcomb."

" My dear boy, you must exe-
cute yourself after that!" exclaimed
his mother, laughing.

" I but await the orders of ces
demoiselles," protested Leon, start-
ing from his position against the
wall and doubling himself in two
before Pearl. He went straight to
the piano, and soon the room was
echoing to the lament of the dis-
consolate lover to his Eleonore.

Leon had a fine voice, fairly culti-
vated, and, if he had not sung ex-
actly as if he had been a wooden
man, it would have been very plea-
sant to listen to him ; but Pearl
said it was just like accompanying
an automaton.

" How well they suit !" observed
Mme. Leopold in a sotto voce, as
she glanced towards the piano y
where Leon's black head showed
above Pearl's fair face and danc-
ing brown eyes. Mrs. Monteagle-
knew at once why she had beem
convened to a little chat by Leon's,
mother.

" Yes ; they make a good effect
as contrasts."

" And both are so musical ! My
son has a passion for music."

" If he has all his passions under
as good control as he seems to have
this one, he is a model young man
indeed, a model man for any age,"
said Mrs. Monteagle with a little
grunt that was peculiar to her. To^
judge of Mrs. Monteagle's charac-
ter from seeing her at whist would
have been a grievous mistake; you
would have supposed she had not:
the spirit of a mouse, whereas she
had, on the contrary, a very high'
spirit, and held her own everywhere-
and against all comers except at
cards, and above all when Mme. de-
Kerbec was playing. She laughed
at Mme. de Kerbec everywhere ex--
cept at the whist-table, and there
she was completely cowed by hen

"I suppose I am not a witness,
to be trusted," remarked Mme.
Leopold ; " but I can testify that he
is a model man. He is certainly a
model son, and a good son is gene-
rally good in every other relation.''

" That depends. He loves you,
so it costs him nothing to be good
to you. We are all of us good ta
those we love."

" And why should he not i6ve his

6;6

Pearl.

wife? Is there any reason why he
should not love her?"

" Not that I know of; but I did
not know he had a wife."

" Ah ! but I have got one for him.
Chere madame, that is why I want-
ed to have a little chat with you. I
have found a perfect wife for my
son, and I want you to arrange it.
Do you not guess ?"

Yes, Mrs. Monteagle did; and
involuntarily her eyes wandered to
the piano, where Pearl was striving
earnestly, but in. vain, to draw out
by her passionate accompaniment
some responsive spark from the
dark face that was solemnly ap-
pealing to his Eleonore, her own
face meanwhile flushed with the
effort and the music; perhaps also
by her endeavors to keep those
dimples under control, for they
seemed actually bursting with sup-
pressed laughter.

u How lovely she is !" said Mrs.
Monteagle, instead of answering
the eager mother.

" She is a most sweet girl, and
would, I feel sure, make a perfect
wife for my Leon."

" And you are equally sure that
he would make her a perfect hus-
band?"

" Chere madame ! can you look
at him and doubt it ?"

"Is he so very much in love
with her?"

Mme. Leopold gave an imper-
ceptible start, and put her hand-
kerchief to her mouth with a little
cough ; but the pantomime was lost
on her companion, who was watch-
ing Pearl and observing mentally,
" She is not in love with him, at
any rate." The brown eyes were
sending forth sparks of merriment,
and looked as if they were on the
point of exploding outright with
fun.

" My son is the very soul of

honor," Mme. Leopold went on to
explain. " Before doing anything
that could in the faintest degree
compromise Mile. Pearl, it was
necessary for me to arrange all the
essentials ; and, as an old and val-
ued friend of the family, I thought
you would be, of all others, the
person to help me in this. Let us,
therefore, come to the point at once
in all simplicity. What is her

" Her dot! Good gracious ! how
should I know ?"

" Not, perhaps, the exact sum, but
you surely must know a-peu-pres,
intimate as you are."

" I have not the remotest idea
on the subject. I never heard that
she had a dot at all. Now you
mention it, I should think it highly
probable she had not. But if your
son be really attached to her,
that"

" Bonti divine! No dot! A
man of Col. Redacre's position not
give his daughter a dot ! You are
surely not serious?"

" Indeed I am. " He has two
sons to provide for, and in Eng-
land the sons come first ; the
daughters are provided for by their
husbands. Your son being an
only son and so well off, it does
not"

" But his sons will have a car-
rilre ; and besides there is an es-
tate that is to come to the eldest,
I understand. Then there is the
mother's fortune to be divided
amongst the younger children.
Surely the girls' dot will come out
of that?"

" You seem to be much better
informed about the family affairs
than I am," said Mrs. Monteagle.
" I know nothing about Mrs. Red-
acre's fortune ; but, now you men-
tion it, I dare say it will be divid-
ed amongst the younger ones. In

Pearl.

677

any case I should think your son
ran no risk in trusting all that in
Col. Redacre's hands."

" There can be no question o
risk. I know my duty to my son
better than to let him run any risk
on such a point as that. It must
be all clearly and distinctly under-
stood before he is committed in
any way."

"It seems to me he is committed
very extensively, if he has fallen in
love," said Mrs. Monteagle. "You
should not have thrown him in
Pearl's way, if you were not pre-
pared for his running risks."

" Qiielle est done romanesque /"
exclaimed Mine. Leopold, putting
her handkerchief to her mouth, as
if she were exploding with laugh-
ter; but Mrs. Monteagle could
see that she was not laughing at
all.

" What is it that you wish me to
do in the affair ?" she inquired. " Do
you want me to sound Pearl and
find out whether she returns your
son's affection ?"

"Grand Dieu ! that would be
madness. I would not breathe a
word that could disturb the dear
child's peace of mind until we find
out what the exact figure of her
dot is. Surely you can help me to
do this."

" What odd people you French
are! Ha! ha! ha!" And Mrs.
Monteagle fell back in her chair
and had her laugh out, in spite of
Mme. Leopold's agonizing pressure
of the hand and imploring eyes at
her to be quiet.

" Col. Redacre would think I
had taken leave of my senses if I
were to go and catechise him about
his money affairs," said the incor-
rigible confidante when she had
sufficiently recovered herself.

" But through the family lawyer
you might do it. Chere amie,"

pleaded the mother, "could you
not ask him ?"

" He would tell me to mind my
own business. Besides, I don't
know the man's name, or where he
lives, or anything about him."

" But you could easily find out.
How do families do in England in
such cases ? How do the parents
find out about the young people's
fortune before they ask for them
in marriage?"

" They don't find out, and they
don't ask; the young people man-
age their own affairs first, and leave
the parents to fight over settle-
ments afterwards."

" And if it turns out there is
nothing to settle on either side ?
Suppose the young folk have be-
come engaged without any money
between them ?"

"That is their affair; they must
get out of it as well as they can."

"And the young lady's name is
compromised, and if she loves the
man she breaks her heart and dies !
Very sensible and very pretty in-
deed !"

"Tut! tut! They don't die off
so easily as all that, pretty dears !
Every girl I know has had her little
romance before she marries ; and
all the better for it. It takes the
nonsense out of a girl to be crossed
in love."

" How shocking !" cried Mme.
Leopold, lifting up her hands.
"With us a young girl goes to the
altar with the virgin bloom of her
heart untouched."

" Pish ! Don't talk such stuff to
me, my dear lady," said Mrs.
Monteagle with a contemptuous
grunt. " Virgin bloom, forsooth !
You marry your daughters before
they are out of the nursery, while
they are ignorant babies that have
had no time to develop either mind
or heart or character. And what

6;8

Pearl.

comes of it half the time ? When
one sees the way you French peo-
ple arrange your marriages, the
wonder is that you are not ten
times worse than you are ten
times worse !"

There was plenty of noise in the
room, and, what between Polly's
performance on the piano and the
general buzz of voices all round,
there was little danger of the pri-
vate conference being overheard ;
still, Mme. Leopold cast nervous
glances on either side while Mrs.
Monteagle thus denounced the evil
courses of the French people.

" Then you decline to be my
intermediary in this matter ?" said
the disappointed mother, lowering
her voice to the most confidential
tone.

" I decline to commit an imperti-
nence that would lead to my being
shown to the door and very pro-
perly; but I shall be most happy to
convey the offer of your son's hand
to my young friend Pearl, if you
and he honor me with the mis-
sion."

"Thank you, dear madame ; you
are very kind. I must consult
first "

"M. le Baron Leopold!" call-
ed out the servant. Mme. Leo-
pold started, and with a discreet
pressure of the hand moved away
and joined the group gathered
round Mrs. Redacre's sofa.

" Who expected to see you ap-
pear this evening, legislator? I
thought you were at headquarters
governing the country," said Col.
Redacre, propelling reluctant Bala-
klava to meet the deputy.

" I have just come from the Inte-
rieur, where we have been holding
a little private council," said M.
Leopold, a fine, solid sort of man,
whom you might fire jokes at for
an hour with impunity, so well

encased was he in good-natured
self-approval.

Everybody was glad when he ap-
peared, for the deputy was delight-
ed to see everybody, was always in
good temper, and always had some
bit of pleasant news news, that is,
that he considered pleasant. In
person he was the very opposite of
his son Leon ; very stout, and tall
in proportion, florid in complexion,
a shining bald head, and bland,
fussy manners. This evening he
looked big with some mighty intel-
ligence.

" What news ? Are we to have
war or not?" asked Mr. King-
spring, who with several others
crowded round the deputy.

"I myself think we are," he re-
plied; "but I have been talking
with Canrobert, and he thinks it
will blow off."

" Quel malheur /" said a. voice
from behind him. It was Leon's.

" Ah ! you soldiers call it a mis-
fortune when you miss the chance
of having your heads blown off."

"Or our legs, which is much
worse," growled Col. Redacre ;
" when a man is shot at all he
ought to be shot outright."

"My dear Hugh!" protested
Mrs. Redacre from her sofa.

"And so Canrobert thinks it will
blow over ?" said Leon, who was
another man now that he felt him-
self safe amongst his fellow-men.
"That is hard on us, after calling
us back from Marseilles just as we
were going to embark. We made
certain there was war in the wind
when the order came to return.
The colonel will be horribly disap-
pointed ; he was sure to get his
command if war had been declar-
ed."

" Well, my opinion is that it will
be declared," said the baron ; " so
cheer up and hope for the best."

Pearl.

679

"If you go to war I don't see
how we are to keep out of it," said
Col. Redacre.

" That would be most unfortu-
nate," said M. de Kerbec. "I
should have to leave France."

" Why so ? You are not a na-
turalized Englishman, are you?"
said M. Leopold.

" Not exactly ; but our property
is in England ; and besides, my wife
hates living there. But of course
I could not consider that ; a man
must overrule his wife and take
her interests in hand, even against
her will, when his judgment dic-
tates. I invariably do so."

" You poor creature !" thought
Col. Redacre. "But I don't cqn-
template our going to war with
France," he added aloud ; " we
should take sides with her against
Austria that is to say, if Prussia
joined her "

"Which she won't," said M.
Leopold emphatically* " I have
just been saying so to one of the
ministers I won't name him, be-
cause what he said to rae was con-
fidential"

" And what did he say ?" in-
quired M. de Kerbec.

"He said I don't mind repeat-
ing it, as I have not mentioned
names he said that it was impos-
sible at this stage of affairs to say
what England or Prussia would or
would not do."

" I could have said as much my-
self," said Col. Redacre ; " one need
not be a minister of state to say
that."

" He said a great deal more than
that, though," said the deputy.
" He told me several facts connect-
ed with the state of the army and
the condition of the troops that
threw a great light on future proba-
bilities. He seems to think our ar-
senal, and artillery, and all that are

in a much more flourishing condi-
tion than either Austria's or Prus-
sia's, and he has not the smallest
doubt as to the issue if we go to war.
His facts and figures were, indeed,
perfectly conclusive to my mind."

" It was the Minister of War,
then," said Col. Redacre. " Come,
now, baron, don't be playing the
diplomat with us already. You
are not at the Foreign Office yet."

" My dear friend, I beg of you
don't let this go beyond ourselves !'
said M. Leopold, his bland features
assuming an expression of fussy
concern. "You know I speak out
here as amongst friends whose dis-
cretion I can trust."

"Who the deuce, now, should we
go and denounce you to?" said his
host. " What else did la guerre
say ?"

" You must not ask me ; I really
must not say any more," said M.
Leopold. " The emperor is very
anxious, it appears ; he has not
slept for three night?."

"No more have I," said the col-
onel; "but that was Balaklava's
fault," and he tapped angrily on
the offending limb. " If these arm-
chair soldiers had a touch of the
frost in a wooden leg, they would
not be in such a hurry to go to
war."

" It would be much worse if you
were in England ; the damp would
kill you," said M. de Kerbec, mean-
ing to be consolatory.

"You are greatly mistaken; it
would do nothing of the sort,"
snarled the colonel. " The climate
of England agreed with me perfect-
ly; I never enjoyed a day's perfect
health since I left it. You don't
suppose it is for my pleasure that I
live out of my own country ? It is
on account of my wife's health ; she
could not bear the damp."

"No more could Balaklava,

68o

Pearl.

papa," said Pear], slipping her
hand into his arm and looking
archly into her father's face.

"You minx! How dare you
contradict me ?" said the colonel,
scowling down on the saucy brown
eyes. " You know very well if it was
not for your mother's sake I would
not stay an hour in this country."

"Mon cher colonel /" protested
three Frenchmen in chorus.

" Oh ! you are very good fellows,
you French, and your climate is
not so bad, and Paris is a pleasant
enough place; but there is no place
like one's own country." And the
exile heaved a sigh that would have
melted a stone.

"England is the most delightful
place in the world to live in when
one has an estate and a good rent-
roll," said Mr. Kingspring ; " but
under other circumstances it is not
so pleasant."

" When one is hard up, you mean.
I don't know the place that is
pleasant under those circumstan-
ces." And the colonel almost groan-
ed this time.

" Yourproperty is in Devonshire,
is it not?" inquired M. de Kerbec,
who liked to show off his know-
ledge of English country geography.

" It is in the moon, sir," replied
Colonel Redacre. " I have a worthy
cousin who has a property in Devon-
shire which it is generally suppos-
ed he means to leave to me, which
in fact he must leave to me; but
unless he leaves something more
than the estate as it stands it will
be of precious little use, I suspect.
A fancy 'place, sir, a fine, picturesque
old place, but brings in nothing and
takes a deal of keeping up."

" He is a very old man, the dean,
is he not ?" said M. de Kerbec.

" He is nothing of the sort. Ami
an old man ? He is five years older
than I am a most worthy, excel-

lent man. I wish him a long life ;
I have no murderous thoughts con-
cerning him. His fortune would
be a boon to a family man like my-
self; but one gets used to dragging
the devil by the tail."

" I hope the devil gets used to it,
too," said M. Leopold. " If he
doesn't, the poor wretch must find
it very uncomfortable."

"The wonder is that he has any
tail left, considering how half the
world is engaged in pulling at it."

The colonel laughed, and so did
everybody else. The deputy's little
joke proved rather a relief. Colo-
nel Redacre had a way of airing
his pecuniary grievances in public
that was sometimes embarrassing to
people; it was difficult to know
what to say. French people es-
pecially were at a non-plus on these
occasions; but they mostly set
down the colonel's grumbling to
the evil behavior of Balaklava. If
Balaklava was making him misera-
ble, then there was no pleasure to be
got out of life. When a man had
only one leg he should at least
have had ten thousand a year as a
set-off to the accident ; this would
enable him to travel about in the
wake of the sun with his house-
hold gods around him. He could
not do this with three thousand a
year not as an English gentleman
understands travelling.

You have already discovered that
Pearl's father was the last man to
mislead any one intentionally as to
her fortune. If Mme. Leopold or
anybody else assumed that she
was to have a large fortune because
the colonel lived like a gentleman,
that was no fault of his ; it was absurd
and unreasonable to imagine that he
could do otherwise. Nobody expect-
ed a man to pinch and screw for
the sake of saving dots for his
daughters out of an income that

Pearl.

68 1

was barely sufficient for his wants.
Least of all did the daughters ex-
pect it. They preferred infinitely
that their father should give them a
carriage and a couple of riding
horses than economize for the sake

of leaving or giving them a fortune
on their marriage. Besides, there
was Broom Hollow and the dean's
money, which they were safe to in-
herit some day.

CHAPTER II.

MRS. MONTEAGLE.

" HEAVEN knows I wish Darrell
a long life and a happy one," said
Colonel Redacre, heaving a sigh
from the bottom of his heart ; " but
when one sees how he suffers from
this terrible rheumatism, one can't
help feeling that death would be
a blessed release to him, poor
fellow!"

" It is dreadful ! I wonder if he
has ever tried homoeopathy ?" said
Mrs. Redacre.

" Not he ! He is too out-and-
out a conservative to go in for any
of those new-fangled systems," re-
plied the colonel.

" That is so foolish ! I really
think I will write and urge him to
call in a homceopathist."

" It would not be of the slightest
use," said her husband.

" My dear Hugh ! How can you
say that when you know that my
father's life was prolonged ten
years by homoeopathy ? You know
Dr. New rescued him, one may say,
out of his coffin that time."

u I mean there would be no use
in your writing to Darrell about it.
He would laugh at you."

" I don't mintf his laughing, if. I
could persuade him to try it. He
has always been civil to me, and I
have not written to him for an age.
I will write to him this very day."

"You will do nothing of the
sort," snapped the colonel; " he is
quite old enough to manage his own
affairs and look after his own
health."

" My dear Hugh, a man never
knows how to manage himself,"
protested Mrs. Redacre gently.
" You all want a woman to do that
for you ; and it seems to me the
dean is a particularly helpless
creature. He does absolutely noth-
ing for his rheumatism, and if it
goes on as he describes it it may
go to his heart one of these days
and carry him off in an instant."

" Do as you like ; you always get
your own way," said the colonel.
"My opinion is you had better not
meddle with Darrell's concerns; if
he gives in to you, and if the rheu-
matism goes to the heart, people
will say it was homoeopathy that
killed him."

*' Let them say what they like.
The rheumatism is much more likely
to kill him if it is left to itself. If
he goes on in this agony without
something being done to relieve
him, he can't hold out many
months, I feel certain."

"Do as you like, do as you like,"
said the colonel.

" Now, don't say that, my dear
Hugh. You know how I hate you
to give in to me in that way. I
won't write, if it annoys you."

"Why the deuce should it annoy
me? You don't suppose I wish
him dead ? Heaven knows I want
the money. It is becoming impossi-
ble to make ends meet on our pres-
ent income, and things grow worse
and worse in this infernal country,
where the rent is perpetually being

632

Pearl.

raised, and where a tradesman
can't send in a bill without announc-
ing that tout est augmente, monsieur,
as an excuse for swelling his items.
I don't know where it is to end I
don't, indeed."

" We have no debts, at any rate,
thank Heaven !" said Mrs. Red-
acre.

" No," assented her husband ;
"I would rather live on beefsteaks
and beer than swindle a tradesman.
All the same it is hard work, this
screwing one's wants within one's
income ; and poor Darrell, if the
Almighty called him away, could
not leave his money to anybody
harder up for it than myself."

Mrs. Redacre made no comment,
but went on sorting her wools,
while her husband turned over the
pages of the newspaper with an ill-
humored jerk and an occasional
grunt. She was puzzled and pain-
ed. Could it be possible that his
reluctance to let her write to the
dean sprang from any unworthy
motive ?- he who was so emphatic
in declaring in season and out of
season that he devoutly wished his
cousin to outlive him, that it was
only on account of his children he
cared for the inheritance, his pres-
ent income sufficing for his own
wants; and as to ambitions, he had
none.

Every now and then within the
last few years Col. Redacre had
thrown out hints of some remote
but possible catastrophe overtak-
ing them all ; he never said anything
definite, but in a vague, moody way
would remark that there was no
saying what straits they might not
be one day reduced to, and that it
was well to look the danger in the
face, so as not to be taken altogether
by surprise if a catastrophe occur-
red. When he first took to saying
this sort of thing Mrs. Redacre was

very miserable, and conjured up all
kinds of dreadful spectres to explain
the mysterious words. She first
thought he gambled ; but after
watching him for a time as a cat
watches a bird, she gave that up
and took to suspecting him of bet-
ting on the turf; but this, too, prov-
ed itself a chimera. Then she began
to suspect him of having made
some bad investments and being
in terror of a sudden collapse; but
this was in its turn dispelled by a
conversation with their man of bus-
iness, who assured her that Col.
Redacre's money or rather his
wife's, for he had, so to speak, none
of his own was safe beyond the
reach of speculating schemers.
When everything was tried and
found non-proven Pearl set down the
gloomy forebodings to Balaklava.

" You may be sure, mamma, it is
all the east wind or some turn in the
weather nothing else. I have no-
ticed that we never hear of the
4 catastrophe ' except when Bala-
klava is worrying papa." And Mrs.
Redacre was thankful to believe
that this was really the word of the
riddle.

Mrs. Monteagle lived on the
floor above the Redacres. She re-
ceived on no particular evening,
but she was at home every evening
in general, seldom going out any-
where except to her old friends' on
the entresol. Pearl and Polly were
up and down all day long with her,
and she declared they hardly ever
came near her. *

" Why should you, my dears ? A
tiresome old woman what should
you young things have to say to her ?
But I am very glad whenever you
have time to pop in for five minutes.
Not that I care much about seeing
anybody. One gets selfish as one
grows old ; one cares for nobody.
And really, living amongst these

Pearl.

683

French people, it is no wonder.
What a set they are, to be sure !
And what a government ! Good
gracious ! when I remember how it
used to be when I came to Paris
first. We had a court then, and
real nobles attended it. They
were not much to look at, I must
say; you never saw such toilettes
in your life as they used to wear
coming to make their court to Mme.
d'Angouleme, <ind the Duchesse
de Berri, and all of them. But it
was much pleasantcr. People got
themselves up like guys, but no-
body minded that, and they had
not to ruin themselves in fine
clothes. I remember one evening

the Duchesse de R presented

herself in a dyed pea-green gown
with dirty feathers and lace that
was the color of strong tea. I felt
ashamed for her, poor thing! I did
indeed; but, goodness me ! nobody
saw it, I believe, but myself; the
Duchesse d'Angouleme received her
as if she had been dressed like the
Queen of Saba. They knew how
to receive, those princesses not
like this little woman you have at
the Tuileries now. But it won't
last, my dear. Things are going
from bad to worse, I hear. People
fancy that because I don't go dans
le uwnde, as they call it, I know
nothing about what is going on.
Ha ! ha !" And the old lady shook
her finger at some invisible contra-
dictor. " I can tell you I know a
great deal more than any of you.
I hear many things that I keep to
myself; but I can tell you things
are looking very badly indeed. I
suppose you are going to the ball
at the Tuileries to-morrow night,
all of you ?"

" Polly and I have our dresses
ready," said Pearl ; " but I am
afraid papa won't be well enough
to come with us."

" What's amiss with him ? Ba-
laklava troublesome ?"

" Yes, dreadfully. I wonder if
Mme. Leopold is going ? I dare
say she would take us, if papa asked
her."

" He mustn't, though ; he mustn't
do that, my dear," said Mrs. Mont-
eagle very emphatically ; and then,
seeing Pearl's brown eyes widening
in wonder, she added. " It would
never do to have you sallying in
after Blanche, my dear; three
young girls in a group are sure
to interfere with each other. It
wouldn't do at all."

"What a funny idea !" And Pearl
laughed merrily.

" And besides, the Leopolds are
such out - and - out Bonapartists
your father would not care to have
you appear under their flag," con-
tinued the old lady ; " not that he
thinks as much of that as he ought
to do, I'm sorry to say. We" Eng-
lish get into very loose ways when
we live abroad ; going to the theatre
on Sunday, and going to these
pinchbeck people at the Tuileries,
and doing all sorts of improper
things. It is very naughty of us
it is indeed ; for we ought to know
better. As to those French people,
one never expects anything from
them ; there is no truth in them ;
they all tell lies, every one of them
they do indeed, my dear."

" If we can't go with Mme. Leo-
pold I don't see whom we can go
with," said Pearl musingly. <k Pol-
ly will be awfully disappointed.
There was to be a cotillon ; it is in
honor of the little archduchess.
She can't wait for \htpetitLundi,
and the empress said she should
have the cotillon to-night. Polly
would have looked so lovely in her
new dress !"

" Where do you expect to go in
the next world, you vain minx!"

684

Pearl.

said Mrs. Monteagle. " You are a
great deal too conceited about
Polly."

Pearl laughed.

" Is there to be anybody at this
ball to-morrow that she is particu-
larly anxious not to disappoint?"
inquired the old lady, looking hard
at Pearl.

" No ; she doesn't care a straw
for one of them. I wonder if she
ever will ? I can't imagine Polly in
love." And Pearl laughed gently
to herself.

" More's the pity. I don't like
a girl who goes flirting on her way,
making every man she meets fall
in love with her, and riot caring a
straw for one of them. I suppose
she means to marry for money, or
rank, or something of that sort."

"O dear Mrs. Monteagle! how
could you say such a thing of Pol-
ly ?" said Pearl. " She is incapable
of marrying for anything but love !"

" Then, you silly puss, what did
you mean by saying that she could
not fall in love ?"

"I meant well, I don't know
exactly. Only there is nobody go-
ing to-morrow that she is the least
in love with."

" And you ? Is there to be any
one you are not cruel to ? Come,
tell me all about them like a good
child."

Pearl tossed back her sunny head
and laughed.

"As if anybody would look at
me when Polly is there !"

" Nonsense ! that is a matter of
taste. If I were a young man I
know what would be my taste,"
said Mrs. Monteagle; "and I
shrewdly suspect there is a certain
young gentleman who is of the
same opinion." She looked steadi-
ly at Pearl as she said this, and,
raising a finger, shook it at the
laughing, astonished face. Pearl

looked as unconscious as a baby at
first, but as the finger continued its
slow, significant shake she grew a
little confused, then she blushed,
first slightly, but the pink tint
rapidly deepened to scarlet and
spread all over her face and neck.

" Ha ! you naughty puss. I knew
I should find you out," said Mrs.
Monteagle with a mischievous
laugh. " I know all about it, and,
since you care for. him, it is all
right. I think he is a good fellow,
although I confess I should have
preferred your marrying an Eng-
lishman ; however, since you are
in love with one another, one must
make the best of it."

" Dear Mrs. Monteagle, what do
you mean ?" said Pearl, who had
now recovered her self-possession,
and was looking mystified and cu-
rious, but not the least guilty.

" I know all about it, my dear.
I tell you I know more about most
things than people imagine. I have
been watching this little game qui-
etly in my corner while you and
M. Leon were singing and playing
at your piano."

" M. Leon ? Capt. Leopold ?"

" Capt. Leopold, of the Third
Hussars, officier de la Legion d'Hon-
neur, and heir to the title of baron.
I don't begrudge him any of his
glories, my dear ; I only wish there
were ten times more. I suppose
he will be very well off; not that
you care about that."

" No, indeed, I don't !" cried
Pearl. " Why should I ?"

" Nonsense, child, nonsense ! All
the same I like to hear you say it.
Nowadays you young girls are so
worldly-minded you only think of
what a husband can give you. It
is dreadful it is indeed ; as to
these French, it is positively fright-
ful to think of the way they go
about it just as if they were buy-

Pearl.

685

ing a horse or hiring a house.
But your Frenchman will, I am
sure, prove an exception. Of
course he is supposed not to have
said a word to you himself; but
you don't expect me to believe
that "

"Indeed, dear Mrs. Monteagle,
I give you my solemn word of
honor " broke in Pearl.

" Ah ! yes, my dear. Words of
honor in a case like this are made
to be broken ; but has his mother
spoken to you that is to say, to
your father yet ?"

" Dear Mrs. Monteagle, I don't
know what you are talking about
I don't indeed ! M. Leon has
never opened his lips to me on
such a subject, and I feel sure he
hasn't to papa either."

" Well, perhaps not ; you young
people have a way of understand-
ing each other without much talk-
ing. I know all about it ; I was
young once myself, though you
may not believe it. I know that in
my time a young man could tell a
girl he adored her without putting
it in so many words."

" I dare say they can do so now-
adays, too," said Pearl ; " but I
know that M. Leon never told me,
in words or in any other way, that
he adored me."

" Tut ! tut ! Then he made his
sister say it for him ; these French
people have peculiar ways I know.
I dare say the little French girl
did it."

" Blanche ? She declares that
Leon adores only two things, fight-
ing and jam. * Set him before the
enemy or before a pot de confiture
and he is the happiest of men !'
That is what Blanche says of him."

" Good gracious ! what a charac-
ter for any girl to give her brother.
She had a motive in it, my dear
depend upon it she had a motive.

She wanted to stand in your way,
to prevent the marriage. I always
thought she was a sly minx ; they
all are, those French girls, though
they look as if butter would not
melt in their mouths."

Pearl was going to enter an in-
dignant protest against this attack
on her friend, but she was prevent-
ed by the arrival of visitors. Mme.
de Kerbec and Mme. Leopold en-
tered together.

Pearl started up from her seat
of honor on the sofa beside Mrs.
Monteagle, and as Mme. Leopold
came forward, profusely affectionate,
to embrace her, she blushed scarlet.

" Chere petite!" said the fond
mother, playfully stroking the warm
red cheek, of which Pearl for very
rage with herself could have scratch-
ed the skin off. It was tantamount
to confessing herself in love with
Leon to blush up and look so con-
fused the moment his mother ap-
peared. Mme. Leopold and Mr?.
Monteagle evidently thought so,
too, for they laughed significantly
at one another as they shook hands
and glanced at Pearl.

Mme. de Kerbec wondered what
the little joke was about. She was
not in the intimacy of Mme. Leo-
pold, because, as she put it, the
deputy and his wife were not de
notre monde. They were of the court
set, and Mme, de Kerbec was of
the faubourg; so, at least, she said,
and as nobody of the other set had
the entree of the faubourg, nobody
contradicted her.

"How is every one chez vous, in on
enfant your dear mother and
your excellent father? I suppose
we shall meet him with you both
to-morrow evening?" said Mme.
Leopold.

" I hope so, madame ; but papa
is not very well. . . ." Pearl began
to explain.

686

Pearl.

" No ; and very likely he will
ask you to" interrupted Mrs.
Monteagle; but Pearl made such
imploring eyes at her and gave her
hand such a terrible squeeze that
the old lady did not finish the
sentence, but turned off the subject
by exclaiming on the splendor of
Mme. de Kerbec's dress.

" You talk of the extravagance
of the Tuileries set ; but if we are
to judge your old faubourg by
you, countess, you are a great deal
worse. Good gracious! what a
superb costume, to be sure. In
my young days one never saw such
things, except it might be at court;
and even there, poor old Queen
Charlotte and Queen Adelaide
never were much to speak of in
the way of elegance ; and as to the
people here at the Tuileries in
those days "

When Mrs. Monteagle was thus
fairly embarked Pearl seized the
opportunity to slip away.

" What a sweet girl she is !" said
Mme. Leopold as the door closed
on the slight young figure.

" She is charming," assented
Mme. de Kerbec; " but Polly's
bea'uty throws her quite into the
shade."

Both the French lady and Mrs.
Monteagle exclaimed at this. "I
think her face more sympathetic
and her manner infinitely more
so!" said Mme. Leopold.

"No comparison!" chimed in
Mrs. Monteagle; " and she has three
times the brains of Polly."

" One does not want much brains
with such an amount of beauty,"
said Mme. de Kerbec. " Polly is
sure to marry much better. Men
don't care for clever wives ; they
are jealous of them."

" That may be the case with
Englishmen, but I protest in the
name of my own countrymen," said

Mme. Leopold. " I never knew a
Frenchman yet who objected to his
wife having brains."

" Very likely not," said Mrs.
Monteagle ; " provided she has
money, I don't suppose a French-
man would object to anything, even
to her being a lunatic."

" You are severe, chere madame,"
said Mme. Leopold, looking hurt.

" Mrs. Monteagle suspects every
Frenchman of marrying for money,"
said Mme. de Kerbec. This was a
tender point with her, for everybody,
of course, knew that M. de Kerbec
had married her for her money,
and that she had married hint for
his title.

"I can only judge by what I see,"
said Mrs. Monteagle ; " and I see
that the first and last and only
thing that they ask, or rather that
their family asks, about a young
lady is, * How much money has
she ?' "

"You do us an injustice there ;
that may be the first question, be-
cause it is after all the essential
one, but it is not the last," said
Mme. Leopold. " And I can as-
sure you our young men of the
present day follow very much the
English fashion in marrying; they
like to marry themselves, and they
often feel a great, a very decided
sympathy for their fiancte before
the family interferes at all. My
son always said he would marry
himself a Fanglaise"

" I am glad to hear it, madame,
and I hope you will let him have
his way," said Mme. de Kerbec.

" Certainly ; my dearest wish is
to see him happy," replied Mme.
Leopold, and she looked at Mrs.
Monteagle. It was immediately
borne in on Mme. de Kerbec that
there was a marriage in the air be-
tween Leon and Pearl, and that
Mme. Leopold was here to discuss

Pearl.

687

the matter with Mrs. Mont eagle,
and, being a kind woman, she nat-
urally felt at once a deep interest
in the match.

" I suppose Col. Redacre will
give very handsome fortunes to
both his daughters," she remarked ;
v ' but I think that arrangement
very unjust. Pearl should have it
all; Polly has beauty enough to
make a queen's dower."

" For my part, I would rather
have Pearl without a penny than
Polly with the two dots together,"
said Mrs. Monteagle with a little
angry grunt.

" Their mother was an heiress,
so there will be plenty for all the
children," Mme. de Kerbec went
on ; " and then Dean Darrell is
enormously wealthy, and his money
all comes to the Redacres. To be
sure he may live twenty years yet."
" I did not know they had such
great expectations," said Mme.
Leopold, her interest kindling as
she listened to these details. " Who
is this M. Darrell ?"

" He is a cousin of Col. Redacre's,

and holds the property which
comes to the Redacres at his death.
It is not much to speak of, I be-
lieve ; but the Dean is very rich,
and will leave them all his money.
He is Pearl's godfather, too, and
they say he will leave a very large
sum to her."

" She deserves it ; she is a most
angelic girl. I never saw any girl
I admired so much," said Mme.
Leopold, waxing enthusiastic as
Pearl's merits were thus unfolded
to her. " You know what I feel
about her, chere madame," she add-
ed, addressing Mrs. Monteagle.

Other visitors came in, but Mme.
Leopold contrived when saying
au revoir to whisper to Mrs. Mont-
eagle a request that she would, at
her earliest convenience, speak to
Col. Redacre upon the subject
" near our hearts."

"And M. Leon's heart?" said
Mrs. Monteagle once more before
committing herself.

" Chere madame ! why will you
doubt my dear boy ?" said the mo-
ther -with a smile.

TO BE CONTINUED.

688

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

VOLTAIRE AND HIS PANEGYRISTS.

VOLTAIRE has to this day,
among a certain class of people,
the unenviable privilege of sharing
with his great friend and patron
the devil a popularity which he
richly deserves. He belongs to
that race of scoffers and liars that
has never been wanting in the
world since the arch-deceiver was
allowed entrance into it, and will
never be wanting as long as he sees
in it anything bearing the image of
God which he may hope to destroy,
any truth which he may contradict,
any beauty which he may defile,
any goodness which he may turn
into evil. Celsus, Porphyry, Jam-
blichus, Julian the Apostate, Luther,
were of that race ; and if Voltaire
be inferior to most of these in ge-
nius, he has nevertheless done the
work of their common master as
zealously, and certainly as success-
fully, as any of his predecessors.
Give, then, the devil his due, and
let the philosopher of Ferney have
the admiration of his votaries.
Let him inhale in long draughts
the incense which they offer him.
It is not the rich perfumes of Ara-
bia that they burn upon his altars.
The god of the Revolution would
have very little relish for anything
sweet and pure. He delights in
filth, and filth they serve him in
abundance. From every cess-pool
and garbage-plot, from every loath-
some swamp and poisonous marsh,
from every infected spot, a thick
cloud laden with nauseous odors
and death rises up to his nostrils.
Surely the god must be satisfied.
What else has he sought during
his long career from his boyhood
to his old age? To what did he

devote his wonderful activity but
to create those very sinks of moral
degradation which send back to
him from their unclean depths the
impure homage which they are fit
to give ? Voltaire deserves a sta-
tue ; let him have it. Why should
the French government hesitate to
comply with the desires of the Com-
mune in this regard? What more
worthy hands can they find for the
purpose than those stained by the
blood of so many innocent victims ?
Why should not one who thirsted
during his whole life for the de-
struction of what is most sacred
suffer the well-merited punishment
of having a monument raised in his
behalf by cut-throats to perpetuate
his ignominy? A statue to Vol-
taire ? Yes ; and in Paris, too.
Only choose the right place, and
let it be emblematical of the lewd-
ness with whrch the works of that
infamous man reek. The fitting
spot is* that where all the sewers of
the great city empty themselves in-
to the Seine.

The idol of the French Commune
is not without his admirers on this
side of the Atlantic. One of our
leading journals, speaking of the
demonstration that took place on
the 3oth of May in the French
capital in honor of Voltaire, gave
us the following eulogistic and edi-
fying editorial, which we quote as a
fair specimen of the cant that is
now and then reproduced in this
country from the French radical
papers of the most advanced
school :

" France, it is said, celebrated in a
characteristic way the memory of one of
her great men, one of the makers of the

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

689

great Revolution. Voltaire did France
more service than any twenty generals,
but did it by strictly intellectual me-
thods ; by operation on the national
mind ; by exposure of the shams, pre-
tences, villanies, and oppressions of the
system of organized wrong that those
exposures did so much to undermine
and destroy. He created in great part
that public opinion, that common judg-
ment of the nation, in the presence of
which it was impossible that the ancient
regime should continue to exist beyond
the day when the power to end it fell in-
to the hands of the representatives of the
people. As his influence was felt by its
intellectual results, it is characteristic
and just that his memory should be cele-
brated, not by monuments or other pre-
servations of a great man's name, but by
the dissemination of a printed volume
of his own best thoughts, so distributed
that a copy may be given to every
Frenchman. By this method honor is
done to Voltaire and good is done to the
people ; for the world is very mach as
yet in the condition in which he criti-
cised it, and his keen, sound judgments
on liberty, on the rights of the people
and persons, on the church, on law, on
government, on freedom of the press,
may yet continue his influence with
great advantage to society " (New York
Herald, May 31).

It would be difficult to condense
into a short page a greater number
of false assertions, of wrong appre-
ciations and misleading suggestions.
" Mentons ; il en r ester a ton jours
quelque chose" the favorite motto of
Voltaire, continues to inspire his
disciples all over the world. It is
the idiosyncrasy by which the
members of the family are recog-
nized. The result of these often-
repeated falsehoods is, in France,
to keep the people in a chronic
state of dissatisfaction periodically
finding vent in those violent up-
heavings of society which have
more than once during the last
hundred years brought that beauti-
ful country to the verge of ruin ;
and though, in other places where
they are rehearsed, they may not
VOL. xxvii. 44

produce the same fatal effects, they
serve, nevertheless, to make dupes
of the ignorant who are unable to
judge for themselves of the truth
or falsity of assertions stated with
such unhesitating boldness and as-
surance that the most glaring er-
rors are accepted by them as arti-
cles of faith ; they are an insult to
the conscience not only of Catho-
lics bat of all those who still pro-
fess to retain the least vestige of
Christianity ; they are a gross cal-
umny thrown in the face of France
herself, who, by the voice of her
most illustrious children and by
a vast, majority, protests against
the idea that Voltaire is one of
her great or representative men.
"Lately," says a French writer
(the Correspondent, May 25), " the
radicals conceived the purpose of
showing to Europe the genius of
France, personified in the image of
Voltaire. A lying symbol, assur-
edly. For if it be the glory of
France that they intended to repre-
sent, there are in our history twen-
ty reputations nobler, wider, purer
which would contend with our
rivals for the admiration of the
world. Voltaire possessed only
one feeble spark of the French
genius ; but, thank God, the flame
has been more powerful and shone
with a deeper and brighter lustre,
it ascended to greater heights, with
St. Bernard, Pascal, Bossuet, Cor-
neille, Racine, Moliere, Mirabeau,
Chateaubriand, Lamartine ; and as
to the other qualities that are cha-
racteristic of the French people,
France would disavow them had
they their type and model in Vol-
taire; and, in fact, how could she
recognize in him that generosity
which is foremost amongst the gifts
of her race, her warm heart, her
heroic soul, her chivalrous valor,
her Christian beneficence, her love

ego

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

for the weak and the oppressed,
her loyalty, her passion for great
ideas rind great actions ? How
could she sacrifice to the genius of
Voltaire all that she had of French
genius in those times of Charle-
magne, of Godfrey de Bouillon, of
St. Louis, of Joan of Arc, of Riche-
lieu, of Louis XIV., when those
who were her chief ornaments by
their brilliant virtues so little
resembled Voltaire ? To pretend
that a nation which has deserved
to be called by Shakspere 'the
soldier of God '; a nation that has
given to religion so many saints
and heroes, so many doctors and
martyrs ; a nation that has raised
by its thought and art so many
monuments to Catholicity ; a nation
that can cite so many names dear
to the church from St. Jerome,
Pope Sylvester, Peter the Hermit
and Suger, to St. Francis of Sales,
De Berulle, Fenelon, Massillon, and
Lacordaire to pretend that such a
nation ought and desires to have
its personification in Voltaire is a
mockery."

Bold indeed is the man who
dares associate the idea of great-
ness with the name of Voltaire
in presence of the evidence we
have to the contrary, and which
cannot be ignored by any one who
has the slightest acquaintance with
the literature of the last century.
He uses words at random and cares
very little about their true signifi-
cation, or he unduly presumes on
the ignorance of others. We find
in Voltaire no element that consti-
tutes the great man. He lacks
those qualities of the heart which
ennoble their possessor and sur-
round him with a halo of serene
splendor even in the lowliest sta-
tion; his private life from begin-
ning to end is there to show us
all the meanness of his character.

He had no civic virtue; he denied
his country and despised the peo-
ple. As a philosopher he has dis-
covered no truth, elucidated none,
contributed nothing to the advance-
ment of knowledge. What he did
was to direct all his efforts to ob-
scure by sophistry and revile by
sarcasms those truths of which
mankind was in time-honored pos-
session. He has no claim to the
reputation of a great poet; all
critics worthy of the name, even
those of the age in which he lived,
are at one in assigning to him an
inferior rank in this regard. Vol-
taire tried his hand in every de-
partment, in literature, in the na-
tural sciences, in philosophy, in
politics, in history, in theology, and
has only succeeded in giving proofs
of his ignorance of the subjects he
attempted to treat or of his medio-
crity. "Voltaire," says W. Schle-
gel {Dramatic Literature, lect. xix.),
" wished to shine in every depart-
ment ; a restless vanity permitted
him not to be satisfied with the
pursuit of perfection in any single
walk of literature; and, from the
variety of subjects in which his
mind was employed, it was impos-
sible for him to avoid shallovvness
and immaturity of ideas. . . . He
made use of poetry as a means to
accomplish ends foreign and ex-
trinsical to it ; and this has often
polluted the artistic purity of his
compositions."

We often read in the lives of holy
personages that, in their very in-
fancy, they gave signs of their fu-
ture greatness and sanctity. As to
Voltaire, he manifested in his early
youth a degree of perverseness
which foreshadowed but too well
what he subsequently proved to be.
The precocity of his mind showed
itself by his precocious unbelief.
Every one knows the prediction

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

which his impious sneers at reli-
gion elicited from Father Le Jay
when at the college of Louis-le-
Grand a prediction which was so
truly realized afterwards: "Wretch,"
said the father to him, "you will
one day be the standard-bearer of
infidelity in France." Expelled
several times from his father's
house for improper conduct, he
pursues his career in the world,
which he fills with the scandals of
his life. His disgraceful intrigues
in politics and in love, his dishon-
esty in business matters, his greed
of money, his writings breathing
lust and revolt, fixed upon him the
attention of the police, and more
than once brought him to the Bas-
tille and sent him into exile. He
had no heart ; he proved it by the
contempt he entertained for his
nearest relations. He felt no shame
in destroying the reputation of his
mother; from allusions he makes
in a letter addressed to Richelieu,
and in other passages of his works,
he throws suspicions upon the legi-
timacy of his birth. Voltaire at
rst signed his name " Arouet " ;
but soon this family name disgust-
ed him, as he himself avows, and
he rejected it for that of Voltaire.
To discard the name of one's own
family is certainly no sign of a good
son. He was no better citizen.
The French having been beaten at
Rossbach by the King of Prussia,
Frederick II., Voltaire, who kept a
correspondence with that prince,
ridiculed his countrymen, and
heaped upo.n them the most inju-
rious epithets. He wishes a Prus-
sian officer to come and take a
certain city of France. He writes
to the King of Prussia : " Look
upon me as the most devoted sub-
ject that you have, for I have no
other, and wish to have no other,
master but yourself. It is to my

own sovereign that I write." The
vile and crouching sycophant goes
so far as to call Frederick " a
god" and "the son of God." Is
it not incredible and the height of
impudence that men who call them-
selves Frenchmen should urge
their country to decree national
honors to be paid to this idolatrous
worshipper of Prussia, and that
after the disasters of 1871 ? These
men deserve the scorn of the whole
world. Not satisfied with having
turned Prussian, the ambition of
Voltaire was to become Russian,
and for this purpose he disowned
France. In a letter of the iSth of
October, 1771, to the Empress of
Russia, Catherine II., after having
called the French who had gone to
the assistance of Poland fools and
boors, he adds : " It is the Tartars
who are civilized, and the French
have become Scythians. Please to*
observe, madame, that I am not
Welsh (that is, French) ; I am a-
Swiss, and, if I were younger, I"
would become Russian." And
Russian he soon became in spite
of his old age, and Catherine could'
send him her felicitations on his-
being already " so good a Rus-
sian." We shall not transcribe the
words of sacrilegious adulation
which he addressed to his idol, to
a woman stained with the blood of
her husband and living in adul'
tery. " To make of the flatterer of
Frederick II., the adulator of Ca-
therine II., the adorer of Mine, de
Pompadour, a republican citizen,
would be a difficult task. But to*
make a patriot of the man who
applauded the victory of Rossbach,.
who saw without pity the blood of
France flow, who defiled the repu-
tation of Joan of Arc with the
loathsome profanation that we
know, and who aspired to the hap-
piness * to, die: a. Prussian,', would,

692

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

be a want of respect for France
and of pride for the republic. In
presence of the victors of Metz
and of Sedan, in presence of Al-
sace-Lorraine, France would be-
tray herself and the republic would
disown France, were the one with
the help of the other to erect the
image of Voltaire as that of our
wounded country, which stands
waiting and hoping " (Correspon-
dani).

We must never be astonished
at anything from such a cour-
tier of Fortune as Voltaire was.
The most irascible of poets is the
most flexible servant of the reign-
ing powers. If, to use an expres-
sion of Diderot, he bore a grudge
to every pedestal placed in the
path of his literary glory, no one
more grovellingly than he kissed
the dust before every statue of
success raised to command men or
to impose upon them. He deserts
to the King of Prussia after the

defeat of De Rohan, he kisses the
blood-stained hand of that other
Lady Macbeth seated on the throne
of Russia; he will do more : he will
lower the purple of Richelieu be-
fore that of the ignoble Dubois, to
whom the Revolution alone could
give notoriety. Young, he had not
the dignity which talent imparts ;

old, he had not that of his gray
hairs. His pretty prose and his
small, prurient madrigals will be
scattered freely in the antecham-
ber of every courtesan who has
.usurped for the time being the
rightful place of the queens of
France. It is to a Marquise de
Prie, mistress of the heart and of
the politics of the Duke of Bour-
bon, or to a Mine, de Pompadour,
that he offers his mean and impure
adulations. Mme. de Pompadour,
metamorphosed into an Agnes So-
.rel, is -still but a mortal; Mme. du

Barry will be a divinity in this
distich of the octogenarian of Fer-
ney :

u C'est assez aux mortals d'adorer votre image,
L'original etait fait pour les Dieux."

So much for the irreproachable
citizen who reviled his country, re-
joiced at her misfortunes, and sold
himself to her enemies ; so much
for the model republican who fawn-
ed on despots and courted the
good graces of the most abandoned
characters, provided they stood
around a throne. But what of
Voltaire, the great democrat, the
devoted friend of the people ?
Those who wish to enlighten the
working classes by the dissemina-
tion among them of a printed vol-
ume of Voltaire's own best thoughts
have taken care, of course, to ex-
clude from the precious popular
volume, destined to perpetuate the
great mans influence in France, such
passages as these, which clearly
show his sentiments on the sub-
ject. He writes to a friend :

" I believe that we do not understand
each other on the question of the people,
who, according to you, deserve to be
instructed. I understand by people the
populace, or those who are forced to
gain their livelihood by the labor of their
hands. I doubt whether that class of
citizens will ever have the leisure or the
capacity required for instruction. It ap-
pears to me essential that there should
be ' ignorant boors.' When the vulgar
begin to reason, all is lost. The absurd
insolence of those who tell you that you
must think like your tailor and your
washerwoman should not be tolerated.
As to the canaille, it will never be any-
thing else but the canaille. I have no-
thing to do with it."

And again : "The canaille whom
every yoke fits is not worth enlight-
ening." That hatred for the poor,
the laboring classes, the people, is a
satanic trait characteristic of Vol-
taire. Were the principles which
he sought to establish to obtain in

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

693

the world, we would soon see the
worst times of paganism return,
when the vast majority of men
were slaves under unfeeling mas-
ters. From this abject condition
Christianity rescued the human
race. It is Christianity that can
still make the people free ; it is
Christianity that saves it now,
in spite of the efforts made
to exclude Christ's influence from
the face of the earth and substitute
for it that of Freemasonry, social-
ism, and radicalism, which would
willingly replace the worship of the
Redeemer by that of a Voltaire or
a Mazzini. Were it possible to
abolish the Christian religion in
the world, the earth would at once
become a den of wild beasts tear-
ing one another to pieces. Wit-
ness the French Revolution. It is
Christ who said : " Come to me,
all you that labor and are burden-
ed, and I will refresh you"; it is
Christ who ennobled labor by em-
bracing a life of toil ; it is Christ
who taught the poor that poverty
is no disgrace, but rather an honor,
ever since the King of Kings sanc-
tified it and glorified it in his own
person ; it is Christ who gave us
the true signification of sufferings,
and revealed to us "their chastening
and purifying influence when they
are borne with resignation. But
it is Christ also who taught the rich
to be charitable to those not possess-
ed of the goods of this world, and
to consider themselves but as God's
stewards in favor of the needy.
In the acceptance of those princi-
ples is to be found the solution of
the social problems which become
more and more entangled in pro-
portion as society withdraws itself
from the light of the Gospel.
" Jesus has wept and Voltaire has
smiled," said Victor Hugo at the
celebration of the 2oth of May,

" and from those divine tears and
that human smile the sweetness of
our civilization was the result,"
and the crowd applauded. Foolish
and blasphemous words ! To as-
sociate Christ and his reviler in
the same mission for the regenera-
tion of the human race ! Voltaire
never smiled he grinned, and in
his infernal sneer he embraced
those for whom Jesus especially
came and wept, suffered and died.
But the tactics of the evil one are
always the same and are followed
by his disciples, to draw men into
his snares by creating illusions
around them.

The age of Voltaire had no phi-
losophy. Its great voice was si-
lent, and was heard no more until
it resounded again in the first part
of this century in De Maistre and
De Bonald. The generation of
Malebranche, Descartes, and Bos-
suet had passed away, and was
succeeded by a sect of sophists
headed by Voltaire, whom they
nicknamed the " Philosopher of
Ferney." The eighteenth century
was the reign, not of philosophy,
but of philosophism, which consist-
ed in an abuse of reason directed
to the demolition, by means of sar-
casm and ridicule, by the corrup-
tion of morals and by falsehood, of
the religion of Christ and of all the
principles upon which human so-
ciety is based. The pretended
Reformation had given the signal ;
in weakening the foundations of
faith and the respect for spiritual
authority it opened the door to
every error, to revolt, and to all
corruptions. Germany began, Eng-
land followed, and from England
came out that spirit of incre-
dulity and atheism which would
have plunged Europe into all the
agonies of dissolution, and made it
a prey to renewed barbarism, had

694

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

not the terrific thunder-peals of the
French Revolution awakened it on
the brink of the abyss and warned
men to turn their eyes towards
God and his church. Rousseau
gives us in his Bmile a faithful
picture of those mad dreamers, pos-
sessed by .the genius of evil, who
in his time proudly called them-
selves philosophers :

" Turn away from those who, under
pretext of explaining nature, sow in the
hearts of men subversive doctrines, and
whose apparent scepticism is a hundred
times more affirmative and dogmatic
than the decided tone of their adversa-
ries. Under the haughty pretence that
they alone are enlightened, true, and
sincere, they impose upon us their
peremptory decisions, and pretend to
give us for the true principles of things
the unintelligible systems which their
imagination has built. Besides over-
throwing, destroying, and trampling upon
everything that men revere, they take
away from the afflicted the last consola-
tion in their miseries, from the powerful
and the rich the only check of their pas-
sions; they snatch from the depth of the
human heart remorse for crime, the hope
which supports virtue, and still boast
of being the benefactors of mankind.
Never, do they say, is truth injurious to
men. I believe as they do, and it is, in
my opinion, a strong proof that what
they teach is not the truth."

Of all those who, at that period,
took part in the infernal struggle
against Christianity, Voltaire was
the recognized chief and leader.
He and Rousseau are the two men
who did most to undermine the
foundations of religion, to extend
the reign of unbelief, and destroy
the bulwarks that protect order
and the family ; the former by his
inexhaustible fund of. impious rail-
lery that scoffed at everything, and
the latter by an affectation of sickly
sentimentality that paved the way
but too well for the atrocities by
which the last years of that dis-
graceful century were polluted.

The eighteenth century is appro-
priately called the Siecle de Voltaire j
it will be its eternal shame. For
Voltaire, notwithstanding his spark-
ling wit and a few happy produc-
tions in literature, will remain eter-
nally the type of a mean charac-
ter, of a corrupt intellect and per-
verted reason. It is the conclusion
to which men will necessarily arrive
who wish to draw their knowledge
of Voltaire from another source
than that of an ignorant fanaticism,
and who, not satisfied with vague
sounds floating in the air, will take
the trouble to study his life and his
works. Not long ago the illustri-
ous Bishop of Orleans, from his
senator's seat, instructed the radi-
cals of his country on this sub-
ject, and his method is sure. It
would be more in the interest of
truth to re-echo his voice on our
shores than to spread amongst us -
those groundless and erroneous ap-
preciations issuing from disordered
brains maddened by passion. He
cited to them the judgments of
men whom their party chiefly con-
sults, to whom they defer, whom*
they admire and revere most, as
Rousseau, Marat, Beranger, Victor
Hugo, Louis Blanc, Sainte-Beuve,
and Renan. He" placed before their
eyes the very writings of Voltaire ;
and thus, by testimony that com-
manded their confidence, he taught
them what Voltaire was worth as a
democrat, a citizen, a patriot, and
even as a philosopher. We have
no space to give quotations from
those writers ; but we cannot re-
sist the temptation to place before
our readers a few lines written by
Victor Hugo himself; when he had
not as yet lent his unquestionable
genius to the vagaries of modern
radicalism. They tell us what the
distinguished poet then thought of
the man whom he now extols to

Voltaire and his Panegyrists.

695

the skies and dares to put on a
level with Christ. He speaks of
that filthy production of Voltaire's
pen, The Maid of Orleans, and warn s
purity and innocence to beware of
the poison contained in that infa-
mous book : " An old book is
there, a romance of the last cen-
tury ! A work of ignominy ! Vol-
taire then reigned, that monkey of
genius, sent on a mission to man
by the devil himself. O eighteenth
century, impious and chastised,
society without God, struck by
God's hand ! world-blind for
Christ, which Satan illumines !
Shame on thy writers in the face
of nations ! The reflection of thy
crimes is in their renown! Be-
ware, O child ! in whose tender
heart no tainted breath has as yet
been felt. O daughter of Eve !
Poor young mind ! Voltaire the ser-
pent, Doubt, and Irony is in a corner
of thy blessed sanctuary; with his
eye of fire he spies thee and laughs.
Tremble ! This false sage has caus-
ed the ruin of many an angel.
That demon, that black kite, poun-
ces upon pious hearts and crushes
them. Oftentimes have I seen
under his cruel claws the feathers
fall one by one from white wings
made to rise and take flight to-
wards heaven " (Rayons et Ombres).
Voltaire was not a great thinker,
not a great poet, not a great his-
torian, not a great novelist, and not
a great manager or man of action.
Of his twenty-eight or thirty drama-
tic pieces scarcely one rises to the
highest line of dramatic art ; his
comedies, like his epics, are no lon-
ger read ; his histories are sprightly
and entertaining, but not authentic;
and his essays, both in prose and
verse, with perhaps the single ex-
ception of his historical disquisi-
tions, have ceased to instruct. This
is the judgment about the man

which we find recorded in the
American Cyclopedia, and we have
no doubt of its correctness. If ^e
seek, then, for the secret of his suc-
cess, we must turn not to his lighter
compositions, as has been advised,
but to the corruption of the age in
which lie lived. Voltaire found
around him a society in a state of
disorganization produced by the
orgies of the Regency, and the
spirit of incredulity which had in-
vaded the whole of Europe. He
seized upon those materials which
he used against Christianity. He
wished to destroy it. His intention
was not doubtful ; it had been
clearly revealed by his Mahomet, a
tragedy given to the public in 1741.
The piece had no success at first,
or rather people were frightened by
it. Christianity was too openly at-
tacked in it not to revolt public
opinion, which was as yet profound-
ly Christian. It was withdrawn
after three representations ; but, re-
sumed ten years later, it was re-
ceived with enthusiasm. It is at
that date and with that the eigh-
teenth century properly begins. In
1751 all was changed. Religion,
morals, taste, national honor, mili-
tary glory were soon to disappear
from the soil of France. Fleury
had ceased to live, and voluptuous-
ness had seated a Pompadour upon
the throne ; flattery erected altars
in her honor, whilst a philosophy,
the enemy of God and of the laws,
placed itself under the protection
of that worthy patroness. It was
not difficult to see already looming
on the horizon the horrors of 1793.
Voltaire, undoubtedly, was one of
the makers of the great Revolution
" that grand conflict which," as
Schlegel says, " must be looked
upon in no other light than as a re-
ligious war; for a formal separation,
not only from the church, but from

6 9 6

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virign.

all Christianity, a total abolition of
the Christian religion, was an object
of this Revolution." It is no won-
der, then, that all revolutionists
have made an idol of Voltaire, who
played so prominent a part in
bringing it about. It is still Vol-
taire the enemy of Christianity
whom they celebrate. This they
openly avow. One of the organs
of the party, the JBien Public, de-
clared that it was not the centen-
ary of Voltaire the man of letters
that they intended to celebrate, but
that of him who had said " cra-
sons rinfdme " (Let us crush the
wretch). The Droits de VHomme
also wrote : " Voltaire iiad no re-
spect for things established ; he
dared look Christ in the face ; he
insulted him. This is the reason

why we have chosen Voltaire to pay
him our respects." It is his hatred
for the religion of Christ which they
wish to propagate. The volume
containing Voltaire's best thoughts,
ordered to be printed and distrib-
uted among the people, tells us that
" everything which is related of
Jesus is worthy of a pack of fools ";
that " miracles are ridiculous and
the work of charlatans " ; that
"Christ himself was a vile me-
chanic from the scum of the people,
a seducer who had lost all scru-
ple "; that <4 our sacred books are
the work of insanity, and that Chris-
tians are dupes, fools, and cowards."
And they desire such a book to re-
place among the masses the cate-
chism and the Gospel ! Do so, and
you have wolves instead of men.

BRETON LEGENDS OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN.

THE steadfastness of Breton Ca-
tholicity is proverbial. From the
far-away time when the disciples
of the good St. Patrick, among
whom, says the Breton legend, "he
was like a nightingale among wrens,
or a beech-tree among ferns," first
planted the cross in Armorica, up
to that last crusade in defence of
it wherein only yesterday, as it
were, Lamoriciere and Pimodan
and their gallant comrades sacri-
ficed themselves as chivalrously as
any knight of old on the fatal
field of Castelfidardo, the Breton
has never wavered in his faith.
Evil example has not availed to
weaken it ; persecution has only
made it stronger; the poisoned
arrow of the scoffer, deadlier than

the Moor's, has fallen blunted on
the armor of its tranquil simplicity.
When all France beside, with few
exceptions, had sunk into indiffer-
entism or infidelity, Breton peasant
and Breton gentleman still held
fast to their fathers' creed, still
doffed their hats as reverently as
of yore to wayside cross or Ma-
donna, still knelt as devoutly side
by side in the little rustic chapels
which so cover the land " that,"
says a sympathetic writer, " it
seems fertilized by so many holy
shrines." Some idea may be had
of the number of the religious mo-
numents of Brittany from the fact
that when, at the Restoration, the
proposition was mooted to replace
the wayside crosses which the ico-

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

noclastic frenzy of the Revolution
had overturned, it was found that
1,500,000 francs would be needed
to restore those in the department
of Finisterre alone.

Indeed, it may be said that the
Revolution in Brittany took the
form not so much of a political
struggle as of a religious proscrip-
tion. It was not the royalist so
much as the Catholic who was
there the object of partisan fury.
To the butchers of the Temple,

I the mad idolaters of Reason, re-
ligion was a crime even greater
than loyalty. " It was," says the
author already quoted,* " a conflict
between the guillotine and a peo-
ple's faith a merciless conflict, in
which the guillotine blunted its
knife and was baffled." Catholic
Brittany offered but a passive re-
sistance to her persecutors, but it
was a resistance none the less
stubborn, unflinching, unconquera-
ble. On her knees with clasped
hands she defied the noyades of
Carrier and the bayonets of Hoche.
"Nothing," says M. Souvestre,
" could alter the freshness of her
faith. She gave way neither to
anger nor to fear. The red cap
might be put upon her head, but
not upon her thoughts.

"'I will throw down your bel-
fries,' said Jean Bon- Saint- Andre
to the mayor of a village, k so that
you will have no longer any re-
minder of your effete superstitions.'

" 'You will still have to leave us
the stars,' returned the peasant,
'and we can see them farther than
our belfries.' '

Nevertheless, the threat was car-
ried out, at least so far that the
churches were closed, the celebra-
tion of Mass was made a crime,

* M. Emile Souvestre has done more than almost
any of his countrymen, except M. de la Ville-
marquee, to illustrate and set forth the Breton cha-
racter.

the priests were hunted like wild
beasts, and the faithful were re-
duced to much the same straits as
their English co-religionists under
Elizabeth, or as Irish Catholics un-
der the Penal Laws. Among the
many shifts they were put to to
evade their savage pursuers, the
coast population were often driven
to take to their boats and put to sea,
where, under favor of the mid-
night, the faithful pastor offered
Mass upon a raft. Surely the peo-
ple who could resort to such mea-
sures rather than forego the exer-
cise of their faith must have been
devoted to it.

It may seem strange that so
brave and hardy, nay, so fiery, a
race as the Bretons should submit
so tamely to provocation so bitter.
Unlike La Vendee, Brittany never,
as a province, made any effectual
head against the Revolution, which
made so ruthless an onslaught upon
all that Breton and Vendean held
most sacred. The uprising in Up-
per or Western Brittany which
broke out just as the Vendean in-
surrection was about being crush-
ed, and which is known to history
as the Chouannerie^ or war of the
Chouans, was but a desultory gue-
rilla warfare, confined for the most
part to that division of Brittany
which has preserved fewest of the
Breton characteristics. The only
important engagement which took
place in Lower Brittany during the
Revolution was the surprise of Fort
Penthievre by Hoche, when " the
sickle sweep of Quiberon Bay "
reaped its harvest of slaughter;
and there the royalists were in the
main composed of emigres, nobles,
and Chouans from Western Brit-
tany. Even the brothers Cotte-
reau, nicknamed Chouan? who gave

* A corruption of chat-huant (screech-owl), the
cry of which bird the brothers, who were salt-

6 9 8

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

its name to this insurrection, were
not Bretons, but from Maine.
Doubtless had not De la Rouarie's
plot miscarried through treachery
and the premature death of that
far-seeing and audacious schemer,
the result might have been other-
wise. As it was, the counter revo-
lution took in Brittany and La
Vendee very different directions.
In the former it was the hostility
of the "patriots" to the church
that was most deeply felt and most
bitterly resented; while the Ven-
deans fought for their faith, in-
deed, and their army bore the
name of " Catholic and loyal,"
but they fought at least as directly
for their king. We have not space
to philosophize upon this curious
distinction, further than to point
out that Brittany, so far as the bulk
of its population is concerned, has
always been rather Catholic than
royalist. It is not so very long
ago that a Frenchman was nearly
as much of an alien as the hated
Saozon or Saxon * himself to the
man of Treguier or the Leonnais ;
even two centuries of submission
to an enforced and distasteful un-
ion scarcely sufficed to make the
Breton look upon the French king
as other than a usurper. In this,
as in devotion to the faith, which
the same apostle brought to both,
and in readiness to give up all for
it, the parallel between Brittany
and that other great Celtic colony,
Ireland, is of the closest kind.
True, the union of Brittany and
France, like that of England and
Scotland, was effected through

smugglers, used as a signal to inform one another of
their whereabouts at night.

* The Breton has preserved a thoroughly Celtic
hatred of his ancient conqueror. '"Yes," said a
little peasant girl, describing a shipwreck ; " I saw
them buried here in the sand ; they were Saxons,
you know, not Christians ; and many an evening I
have come with the village children to dance on the
graves of the Englishmen who were turning to dust
beJow there."

marriage,* and not, as in the
Irish union, by force and fraud.
But it was none the more popular
for that ; and though all overt op-
position was effectually crushed
with the overthrow of the League,
headed by the ambitious and self-
seeking though gallant Due de
Mercceur, in the early part of the
seventeenth century, there still re-
mained a smouldering fire of re-
sentment and dislike which only
lately, if ever at all, has been ex-
tinguished. And from that time,
too, to quote M. Souvestre again,
of the two sovereign powers on
which the feudal edifice was based,
the nobility and the church, the
latter alone preserved its authority
in Brittany. Deceived and disap-
pointed in his worldly leaders, it
seemed as though the Breton pea-
sant turned more implicitly to his
spiritual guides. Certain it is that
in no Catholic land, not even in
Ireland, has the priesthood retain-
ed more ascendency, nor, if we
may trust writers who cannot be
accused of partiality, deserved it
more.

The spirit of devotion breathes
all through the Breton's daily life.
No important act is begun without
its appropriate religious ceremo-
nies. Is it a house or a barn that
he has built? he will use neither till
they have been blest, as in Aubrey
de Vere's "Building of the Cot-
tage " :

" Mix the mortar o'er and o'er,

Holy music singing ;
Holy water o'er it pour,

Flowers and tresses flinging.
Bless we now the earthen floor ;

May good angels love it !
. Bless we now the new-raised door,
And that cell above it !"

He thinks, with the poet,

" Better to roam for ay than rest
Under the impious shadow of a roof unblest."

* Namely, of Anne, daughter of Francis II., the
last duke, to Charles VIII., and after his death to
Louis XII. of France. Brittany was her dowry.

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

699

In little acts as in great ones it
is the same. The knife does not
cut the loaf until it has made over
it the sign of the cross; the chil-
dren tell their ages by the number
of Easters they have made; the
sowing of the grain is preceded by
a solemn procession. " The barren
field," says the Breton proverb,
" grows fertile under the stole of
the priest." In all his thoughts
the religious idea is uppermost.
" I was walking in the fields," says
M. de la Villemarquee, "reading
a book, when a peasant accosted
me. ' Is it,' said he, ' the Lives of
the Saints you are reading ?' " And
the strongest idea a Breton can
give you of the truth of any book
is that it was written and printed
by a priest.

It is not surprising, therefore,
that among a people of such simple
and fervid faith devotion to the
Blessed Virgin should especially
have flourished. The popular im-
pulse towards the expression of
piety which displayed itself in
France in the sixteenth century,
and which soon covered the land
with Calvaries and Chapels of Notre
Dame, was nowhere more outspok-
en or lasting than in Brittany.
Mme. Marie de Bon Secours, mere
des pecheurs Mme. Mary of Good
Help, mother of fishermen is in-
voked as heartily on the coast
of Treguier as Notre Dame de tons
les remedes Our Lady of All-Heal-
ing on the mountains of Cornou-
ailles. And, as might be looked for
in an impressionable and imagina-
tive race, this devotion has entwined
itself with many quaint and curious
legends. It is a general belief in
Brittany as, indeed, it is among the
peasantry elsewhere in France, and
we believe in some parts of Spain
that our Lord and his Blessed Mo-
ther visited their country in propria

persona after the Resurrection.
Ask a peasant of Vannes, for exam-
ple, the origin of the galgals, or
heaps of pebbles which diversify
the monotony of his vast Landes,
and he will tell you that the Bless-
ed Virgin carried them there in
her apron. The folk-lore of the
country turns largely upon her in-
tervention for the protection of
those who call upon her. Two of
the most curious of these legends
we propose to give our readers
from M. Souvestre's very interest-
ing collection entitled Le Foyer
Breton. So far as we know they
have not been rendered into Eng-
lish except in a mutilated and im-
perfect version styled Popular Le-
gends and Tales of Brittany, which
is simply the translation of a Ger-
man adaptation of Souvestre's book,
and in which the essentially Ca-
tholic features of the original are
for the most part studiously elimin-
ated. This process of " evangeliz-
ing "Catholic literature is familiar
enough from Dies Ira down ; it
is to be regretted that Catholic
publishers are sometimes found
willing to father and to circulate
such counterfeits.

The first of our legends is one
current in the country of Treguier
the Lower Breton still divides
his beloved province, not into the
departments fixed by the Revolu-
tion, but as of old into the four bi-
shoprics of Leon, Treguier, Vannes,
and Cornouailles and is known
as Les Trots Rencontres, or, as we
shall call it,

THE THREE BEGGARS.

Once upon a time, in the days
when Jesus Christ and his Mother
came often to visit Lower Brittany,
when along the roads there were as
many cells of holy hermits as there
are now new houses with a manger

;oo

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

and a branch of mistletoe by the
door, there lived in the bishopric
of Leon two young lords as rich as
heart could wish, and so handsome
that even their mother could not
have wished them better-looking.
They were called Tonyk and My-
lio.

Mylio, who was the elder, was
going on sixteen, while Tonyk was
but fourteen. Both had taken les-
sons from masters so able that
there was nothing to hinder them
from becoming priests at once, if
they had been old enough and had
had a vocation.

Now, Tonyk was pious, ever
ready to help the poor and for-
give injuries. Money stayed no
longer in his hand than anger in
his heart; while Mylio would give
to no one more than his due, and
even haggled over that, and if any-
body offended him he never rested
until he had avenged himself to the
utmost of his power.

As God had taken their father
from them while they were still in
long clothes, the widow, who was a
woman of great virtue, had brought
them up herself; but now that they
were well grown, she deemed it
time to send them to an uncle of
theirs at a distance, from whom
they might look for good counsel
as well as a great inheritance. So
one day, making each of them a
present of a new hat, shoes with
silver buckles, a purple cloak, a
well-lined purse, and a horse, she
bade them be off to the house of
their father's brother.

The two lads set out, glad enough
of the chance to see strange lands.
Their horse% went so fast that at
the end of some days they found
themselves in another kingdom,
where the trees and grain were un-
like any they had seen at home.
But one morning, as they were pass-

ing a cross-roads, they spied a poor
woman sitting by the cross, her
face buried in her apron. Tonyk
pulled up his horse to ask her
what was the matter. The beggar-
woman told him with sobs that
she had just lost her only son, who
was her all, and that she was thrown
upon the charity of Christians.

The lad was greatly touched ;
but Mylio, who had stopped some
paces off, cried out with a jeering
air :

"You are not x going to swallow
everything the first whimpering old
woman tells you ? That creature
is there only to trick travellers out
of their money."

" Hush, my brother," replied
Tonyk, " hush, in God's name !
Your words make her cry still hard-
er. Do you not see that she has
the years and mien of our own
mother, God bless her!"

Then, bending forward and hand-
ing his purse to the beggar-woman,
"Take it, poor woman," he said;
" I can only help you, but I will
pray to God to console you."

The beggar-woman took the purse,
and, kissing it, said to Tonyk:

" Since your lordship has wished
to enrich a poor woman, you will
not refuse to take from her this
nut, which holds a wasp with a dia-
mond sting."

Tonyk took the nut, thanked the
beggar-woman, and went his way
with Mylio.

The two soon came to the edge
of a wood, where they saw a little
child, nearly naked, who was pry-
ing about in the hollows of the
trees, and singing the while an air
sadder than the chants of the Mass
for the Dead. Often he stopped to
slap his little frozen hands together,
saying in a kind of sing-song, " I'm
so cold ! I'm so cold!" And then
they could hear his teeth chatter.

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

701

At this sight Tonyk felt like cry-
ing, and he said to his brother:

" For pity's sake, Mylio, do you
see how this poor little innocent
suffers from the cold?"

" He is a great baby, then," said
Mylio. " I, for my part, do not find
the wind so cold."

" Because you have on a velvet
vest, and over that a cloth coat, and
over that again your purple cloak,
while he is clad only in the air of
heaven."

" Well, what of it?" said Mylio.
" He is only a little peasant."

"Alas!" replied Tonyk, "when
I think that you* might have been
born in his place, my brother, my
heart bleeds and I cannot see him
suffer so."

With these words he drew rein,
called the little boy, and asked him
what he was doing there.

" I am looking for the winged
needles * that sleep in the crannies
of the trees," answered the child.

"And what wouldst thou do with
these winged needles ?" said Mylio.
"When I have enough of them I
will sell them in the city and buy a
coat which will keep me warm as
if it was always sunshine."

" Hast thou found any yet ?" went
on the young noble.

"But one," replied the child,
showing a little cage of rushes
within which he had shut the blue
fly.

" Very good, I will take it," broke
in Tonyk, throwing him his cloak.
" Wrap thyself up in that precious
cloth, little one, and add every
evening in thy prayers a Hail Mary
for Mylio and another for her who
bore us both."

The two brothers went on their
way, and Tonyk at first suffered
much from the wind for want of

* The insect popularly known as dragon-fly
the Bretons call nadoz-aer, or " needle of the air."

the cloak he had given away ; but
when they had got through the
wood the wind fell, the air grew
milder, the fog lifted, and a vein of
the sun * shone along the clouds.

Just then they came to a meadow
where there was a spring, and by
the side of it an old man in rags
carrying upon his shoulder the sack
of the seekers for bread.\ When he
saw the two cavaliers he called
to them in a supplicating voice.
Tonyk went up to him.

"What would you, father?" he
asked, lifting his hand to his hat
out of respect for the beggar's age.

"Alas! dear sir," replied he,
" you see how white my hair is and
how wrinkled my cheeks. I am
grown so weak from age that my
legs can no longer carry me; so I
must needs die in this spot, unless
one of you will sell me his horse."

" Sell thee one of our horses,
bread-seeker!" cried Mylio with
a scornful air. " And wherewith
wilt thou pay us ?"

"You see this hollow acorn?"
said the beggar. " It holds a spider
which can spin webs stronger than
steel. Let me have one of your
horses, and I will give you the
spider and the acorn for it."

The elder of the two lads burst
out laughing.

" Do you hear, Tonyk ?" he cried,
turning to his brother. " By my bap-
tism ! there, must be two calves'
feet in this man's sabots "\

But the younger replied gently :
",The poor man can offer only what
he has." Then, getting off his horse
and going up to the old man,
" I give you my horse, my good
man," said he, " not because of the

* Goazenn-HSault Breton expression for a ray
of sunlight piercing the clouds.

t Chercheur depain, Klasker the Breton name
for beggar.

% Treid lue zo ene voutou z>., he must be an
idiot.

702

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

price you put on it, but in remem-
brance of Him who has said that
the seekers for bread were his elect.
Take it as your own, and thank God,
who has made use of me to offer it
you."

The old man murmured a thou-
sand blessings, got upon the horse
with the lad's help, and was soon
out of sight across the meadow,

But Mylio could not forgive his
brother this last almsgiving, and it
led to an outbreak.

"Big mouth, /"* he cried to Tonyk,
"you ought to be ashamed of the
plight your folly has brought you to.
You thought, no doubt, that, once
stripped of everything, you would
be let share my money, my horse,
and my cloak ; but do not hope it !
I want the lesson to do you good,
that by feeling the hardships of
prodigality you may be more thrifty
hereafter."

"It is indeed a good lesson, my
brother," Tonyk answered mildly,
" and I am perfectly willing to take
it. I never thought to have any
part in your money, your horse, or
your cloak; so go your way without
troubling yourself about me, and
may the Queen of the angels guide
you !"

Mylio deigned no answer and
set off on a trot, while his young
brother kept on afoot, watching
him from afar and bearing him no
grudge in his heart.

They came thus to the opening
of a narrow pass between two
mountains which lost themselves in
the clouds. It was called the Curs-
ed Pass, because a Rounfl, or ogre,
dwelt upon the cliffs, and there lay in
wait for travellers as a hunter lies
in wait for the game. He was a
giant, blind and without feet, but
of so quick an ear that he could

* Genowek a Breton insult equivalent to
cile."

1 imbe-

hear the worm working underneath
the ground. His servants were two
eagles he had tamed, one white and
the other red (for he was a great
magician), and he sent them out to
seize his prey when he heard it
coming. So the people of that
country, whenever they had to go
through the pass, carried their
shoes in their hands, like the girls
of Roscoff when they go to the
market of Morlaix, scarce daring to
breathe for fear the ogre should
hear them. Mylio, who had no
warning of this, rode in on his horse,
and the giant was aroused by the
noise of the hoof-strokes on the flint.

" Ho, there ! my eagles," cried he,
" where are you ?"

The white eagle and the red
eagle ran to him.

" Go get me for my supper what
is going by," cried the ogre.

Like two balls from a gun they
plunged to the bottom of the pass,
seized Mylio by his purple cloak,
and bore him away to the ogre's
dwelling.

At this moment Tonyk reached
the mouth of the pass. He saw
his brother carried off by the two
birds, and with a cry ran towards
him ; but the eagles and Mylio
were out of sight in the clouds
which covered the highest moun-
tain.

The lad stood for a moment root-
ed to the spot and beside himself
with grief, staring at the sky and
the cliff as steep as a wall ; then he
sank upon his knees with clasped
hands and cried :

" Almighty Lord, Creator of the
world, save my brother Mylio !"

" Trouble not God the Father
for such a trifle," replied three
small voices which he heard all at
once near by.

Tonyk turned round wonder-
stricken.

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

703

"Who spoke then, and where are
you ?" he asked.

" In your waistcoat pocket," re-
plied the three voices.

The lad felt in his pocket, and
pulled out the nut, the acorn, and
the little cage of rushes, wherein
were the three insects.

" Is it you, then, who wish to
save Mylio ?" said he.

" Yes, yes, yes !" replied they in
their three different voices.

" And how will you go about it,
my poor nobodies ?" said Tonyk.

" Open our cages and you will
see."

The lad did as they asked; then
the spider made up to a tree, against
which she began a web shining and
strong as steel ; then she got upon
the winged needle, who wafted her
gently into the air, while she went
on with her web, whose threads
were far enough apart to make a
kind of ladder, reaching higher and
1 . higher as they went up. Tonyk
followed them up this wonderful
ladder until he had reached the top
of the mountain. The wasp flew
in front of him, and together they
came to the giant's house.

It was a cave hollowed in the
rock and as high as a church. In
the middle of it sat the ogre, with-
out eyes or legs. He kept rocking
himself to and fro like a poplar,
while he sang these words to an air
of his own :

" The Leonard's flesh I love to eat,
Fed is he on the fattest of meat ;
The man of Trdguier tastes beside
Of sweet new milk and pancakes fried ;
But Vannes and Cornouailles who could eat,
Bitter and tough as their coarse buckwheat ?' '

All the while he sang this song
he got ready slices of pork to roast
Mylio, who lay at his feet, his legs
and arms tied upon his back like a
chicken trussed for the spit. The
two eagles held a little aloof, near
the chimney, and one set the turn-

spit while the other stirred up the
fire.

The noise the giant made in
singing, and also the care he gave
to getting ready his slices of pork,
had kept him from hearing the ap-
proach of Tonyk and his three lit-
tle servants. But the red eagle
spied the lad ; he darted upon him,
and was about to make off with
him in his claws when the wasp
pierced his eyes with her diamond
dart. The white eagle ran to help
his brother, and his eyes were put
out too. Then the wasp flew to
the ogre, who had sprung up on
hearing the cries of his two domes-
tics, and fell to piercing him with
her sting without let or truce.
The giant roared like a bull in
August. But it was in vain for
him to dash his arms about like
the sails of a windmill ; he could
not catch the wasp for want of
eyes, and no more, for want of feet,
could he get away.

At last he dropped face down
upon the ground to escape the
sting of fire ; but the spider at
once came up and wove about him
a net which held him fast. In
vain he called his two eagles to his
aid. Mad with pain, knowing the
ogre was helpless, they wished to
avenge their long slavery; with
flapping wings they rushed upon
their former master and sought to
tear him to pieces under his net of
steel. At each stroke of their
beaks they tore away a shred of
flesh, and never stopped till they
had picked his four bones clean.
Then they lay down upon the car-
cass of the ogre, and, as the magi-
cian's flesh was indigestible, they
never got up again, but burst there
on the spot.

As to Tonyk, he had untied his
brother's bonds, and, after embrac-
ing him with tears of joy, led him

704

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

out of the ogre's bouse to the edge
of the cliff. The winged needle and
the wasp were soon at hand, har-
nessed to the little cage of rushes,
now changed to a coach. Pray-
ing the two brothers to take
seats, while the spider posted her-
self behind like the lackey of some
great house, the equipage went off
with the speed of the wind.

Tonyk and Mylio in this way
crossed with the utmost ease mea-
dows, mountains, and villages (for
in the air the roads are always in
good order) until they were come
to their uncle's castle.

There the carriage alighted and
rolled towards the drawbridge,
where the brothers saw their two
horses waiting for them ; but at
Tonyk's saddlebow hung his purse
and cloak ; only the purse was big-
ger and much better lined, and the
cloak was all embroidered with
diamonds.

The wondering lad would have
turned to the carriage to ask the
meaning of this; but the carriage
was gone, and in place of the wasp,
the winged needle, and the spider
there stood only three angels daz-
zling with light.

The two brothers, confounded,
fell upon their knees. Then one
of the angels drew near Tonyk and
said to him :

" Be not afraid, dear youth ; for
the woman, the child, and the old
man thou didst succor were no
other than the Virgin Mary, Jesus
her Son, and St. Joseph. They
have given us to thee that thou
mightest make the journey without
danger, and, now that it is ended,
we go back to Paradise. Bethink
thee only of what has happened to
thyself, and let this be a warning."

With these words the three an-
gels spread their wings and flew off
like three swallows, chanting the

hosannah which is sung in the
churches.

The motive of this tale, it will be
observed, is the beauty of charity,
and it is perhaps another form of
the ancient legend of St. Julian
which is found, in one shape or an-
other, in the traditions of many
peoples. But charity and hospi-
tality are pre-eminently Breton a
they are Irish virtues. With a
"God save all here!" the beggar
walks unbidden and unrepulsed
into the first cabin he comes to,
and takes his seat, as one expected,
by the fireside or at the table. No
one dreams of turning him away,
for he is the guest of God. The
following legend also turns on the
same virtues ; but it is peculiar in
introducing a personage almost
unique in Breton tradition viz., a
wicked priest. " In our pious
Armorica," says M. Souvestre, " the
respect accorded to the priesthood
partakes of worship. The tonsure
is a crown which gives a right to
royal homage." But in proportion
to the veneration paid to the good
priest is the contempt and detes-
tation visited upon the derelict,
as the few "constitutional" cure's
whom the Revolution found among
the Breton and Vendean clergy
were made fully aware. The rea-
der of Carleton's Tales and Legends
of the Irish Peasantry may discover
here another element of likeness in
the kindred race.

MAO, THE LUCKY.

Christians who wish a powerful
protectress in heaven cannot do
better than address themselves to
Notre Dame de fous remedes (Our
Lady of All-Healing), near the City
of the Beech.* She has in that place
the richest chapel that the hand of

* Faou, in the department of Finisterre (the an-
cient Pays de Cornouailles), was so called.

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

705

man ever built. All inside it is
filled with golden statues ; the bel-
fry) which is brother to that of
Kreisker, has more windows in it
than there are holes in a Quimper
waffle, and there is near the church
a fountain of masonry whose waters
wash away all evil of soul and
body.* Our Lady of All-Healing
is one of the four great Pardons of
the Virgin Mary in Lower Brit-
tany. The others are at Auray, at
JBoisdufou (Fol-goat, or Madman's
Wood), and Callot,

It was to Our Lady of All-Heal-
ing that Mao stopped to pray. Mao
was on his way from Loperek, a
pretty parish between Kimerc'h
and .Logoma. He had neither kith
nor kin, and his guardian had put
in his hand a. frappc-ttte \ with three
silver crowns, telling him to seek
his fortune where he would.

After saying at the foot of the
great altar all the prayers his nurse
and the rector had taught him,
Mao left the church to go his way.
But as he was about passing through
the hedge he saw a crowd of folks
gathered about a dead body lying
on the grass at the door of the
priest's house; and he was told it
was a poor bread-seeker who had
given up his soul the night before,
and whom the priest refused to
bury.

" Was he, then, a pagan or a
wretch who had denied his bap-
tism ?" asked Mao.

" He was a true sheep of God's
fold," made answer all who were
there; "and even when hunger
pressed him sore he would have

* We are not to take literally, says M. Souvestre
in a note, these Breton exaggerations. The church
of Rumengol (corruption of retried- ol = tous les
remedes) is remarkable without being a wonder ;
the golden statues are gilded figures of rude work-
manship, and the spire is far from being comparable
to that of Kreisker at St. Pol de Leon.

t Pen-god or t>en~scod literally, a maul-pate, the
Breton shillelagh.

VOL. xxvii. 45

taken neither the three ears of
corn nor the three apples which
custom permits the wayfarer to
pluck."

" Why, then, does the rector deny
him the holy water and the conse-
crated earth?" asked the youth.

" Because poor Stevan left noth-
ing to pay for the prayers of the
church," replied the spectators.

" What !" cried Mao, " is there a
priest in this country < so hard-
hearted that he shuts the door on
the poor while living and will not
open to them when dead ? If it is
money is wanted, here are three
crowns. 'Tis all I have in the world ;
but I give it with all my heart to
open to a Christian the consecrated
earth."

The unworthy priest was called ;
he took the three crowns, rattled
off the prayers for the dead in as
little time as it takes a carrier's
horse to eat his truss of hay, dump-
ed poor Stevan into a hole in the
ground, and went off to see that the
sucking pig which was a-cooking for
his dinner was properly done on
both sides.

As for Mao, he made a cross
with two branches of yew, planted
it on the grave of the poor seeker of
bread, and after saying a De Pro-
f umiis went on his way to Cam-
front.

But after a time Mao grew hun-
gry and thirsty, and bethought
him that he had nothing left of
what his guardian had given him
to buy food and drink. So he set
about finding some mulberries or
wild sorrel or wild plums, and all
the while he hunted for them he
kept looking at the birds who were
picking away in the thickets, and
saying to himself:

" Those birds there are better off
than baptized creatures; they want
neither for inns nor butchers, nor

;o6

r Bret o)i Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

bakers nor gardeners ; God's hea-
ven is all their own, and the earth
spreads itself before them like a
table always served ; the little in-
sects are their game, the seeds are
their fields of standing corn, hips
and haws their dessert ; they have
the right to take everywhere with-
out paying or as much as saying
by your leave. So the little birds
are gay, and they sing all day
long."

Turning these thoughts in his
mind, Mao slackened his pace, and
at last sat down under a great oak
and fell fast asleep.

But, lo and behold, all of a sud-
den while he slept there came to
him a saint, all dressed in shining
stuffs and crowned with a halo, and
the saint said to him:

" I am the poor seeker of bread,
Stevan, to whom thou hast opened
the gates of Paradise by buying
for his body a consecrated grave.
The Virgin Mary, whose faithful
servant I was on earth, has just had
me made a saint, and she has let
me come back to thee as the bearer
of good tidings. Believe no longer
that the birds of the air are hap-
pier than baptized souls, since for
these the blood of the Son of God
has been shed and they are the
favorites of the Trinity. Hear,
then, what the Three Persons have
done to reward thy piety :

" Near by, beyond the meadows,
is a manor which thou wilt know
by its red and green weathercock.
There lives a lord named Trehouar,
who is 'the father of a daughter as
lovely as the day and as gentle as
a babe in the cradle. Go and
knock this evening at his door, and
say that thou comest for what he
well knows; he will receive thee,
and the rest thou wilt learn thyself.
Remember only, if thou hast need
of help, thou must say,

" Come, dead beggar, come quick to aid
Here am I all helpless stayed."

With these words the saint vanish-
ed and Mao awoke.

His first care was to thank God
for the safeguard he had sent him ;
then he took his way towards the
meadows in order to seek the
manor-house. As night was fall-
ing, he had at first some trouble to
find it; but he saw at length a
flight of pigeons and followed them,
sure they could lead him only to a
noble house.

Sure enough, he spied at last the
red and green weathercock peep-
ing above some trees loaded with
black cherries for that is the coun-
try where they grow. It is the
mountain parishes which send all
the wild cherries you see laid out
on straw at the Pardons of the
Leonnais, and which lovers bring
to the penncrh * in their great felt
hats. Mao crossed the lawn set
out with walnuts, knocked at the
smallest door he could find in the
manor-house, and said, as the saint
bade him, that he came for what
they knew.

The gentleman was told at once.
He came shaking his head, for he
was old and feeblej but leanins
upon his granddaughter, who \vj
young and fresh ; so that to lool
at then* you would have said it
was a ruined wall held up by
blooming honeysuckle.

Both, with the utmost politenes
bade the young man come in ; h<
was given a carpet-covered st(
by the old man's arm-chair, am
served with sweet cider while sup-
per was getfing ready.

Mao wondered greatly at this
greeting, and could not keep
eyes off the young girl as she rai
about getting everything ready am

PenTterIz Breton for heiresses, marriageable

girls.

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

707

singing like a lark. The more he
looked the prettier he found her,
and his heart beat like a clock.

"Alas!" he thought, "he alone
may call himself happy who will be
able to talk with the pcnnerez of
the manor behind the gable." *

At last, when supper was over,
the grandfather had Ligzenn (that
was the young girl's name) clear
away the things, and said to Mao :
" We have given you of our best
and according to our means, young
man, but not according to our wish,
for the house of Trehouar has long
suffered from a grievous wound.
Once upon a time we reckoned
here as many as twenty horses and
forty cows ; but the fiend has made
himself master of cattle-sheds and
stables ; cows and horses have van-
ished one after another and as
often as they have been replaced,
until I have sunk all my savings.
All our prayers to conjure away
the destroying spirit have been in
vain ; we have had to resign our-
selves, and for lack of live-stock
my lands are now lying fallow. I
had some hopes of my nephew Ma-
telinn, who has gone to the French
wars ; but as he never came back
I have caused it to be given out
through the country, at sermons
and elsewhere, that the man who
freed the manor should have Lig-
zenn to wife, and my whole estate
after me. But all who have come
here to this end and watched in
the stable have disappeared like
the cows and horses. I pray God
you may have better hap."

Mao, whom the remembrance of
his vision emboldened to take the
risk, answered that, with the grace
of the Virgin Mary, he hoped to
overthrow the hidden demon. With

* Lovers met behind the gable end, because
there there were no windows from which they
could be overlooked ; hence the expression for court-
ship, to talk be kind tht gable, .. i

that he asked for some fire to keep
his limbs from getting stiff, took
his frappe-tete, and besought Lig-
zenn to think of him in her
prayers.

The place to which they brought
him was a great shed divided into
two parts for the cows and the
horses ; but it was wholly empty,
and spiders had spun their webs
upon the feed-racks. Mao lit a
fire of furze upon the great stones
which served for pavement, and
betook himself to his prayers.

For the first quarter of an hour
he heard only the crackling of the
flame ; for the second quarter of an
hour he heard only the wind whist-
ling sadly through the cracks of the
door ; for the third quarter of an
hour he heard only the little death's-
hammer * which sounded in the
wood-work ; but at the fourth quar-
ter a muffled sound was heard un-
der the pavement, and at the end'
of the building in the darkest cor-
ner he saw the largest stone rise
slowly and a dragon's head come
out of the ground ; it was as big as
a cheese-trough, flat like a viper's,,
and all about its forehead flashed a
row of parti-colored eyes.

The animal set two paws with'
red claws upon the edge of the
pavement, looked at Mao, and left
his hole with a hiss.

As he drew near Mao could see
his scaly body unroll itself, coming
out from under the stone like a
great cable from the hold of a
ship.

Although the lad was bold enough,,
yet his blood ran cold, and as he
felt the fumes of the dragon's breath,
he cried :

'Come, dead beggar, come quick to aid !
Here am I all helpless stayed."

* Morzclik an ankou the Bretons call the wood-
louse, in allusion to its faint, regular rapping. Cf.
our Death-watch*

;o8

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

That very instant the shining
shape he had summoned stood by
his side.

"Fear nothing," said he; "the
wards of the Mother of God will
always prevail against the monsters
of the earth."

So saying, Stevan stretched forth
his hand, spoke some words of the
language they talk in heaven, and
instantly the dragon rolled over on
his side, struck dead.

At sun-up next morning Mao
went and woke all the people of
the manor and took them to the
stables; but at sight of the dead
beast the boldest fell back ten
paces.

"Have no fear," the young man
said to them; "the Virgin Mary
has helped me. The monster that
devoured the cattle and their keep-
ers is now but lifeless clay. Go
fetch cords and drag him hence to
some deserted quarry."

They did. as he bade them, and
when the dragon had been dragged
from his lair the entire body went
twice round the buckwheat-thrash-
ing yard.

Overjoyed to be freed from so
dangerous a foe, the grandfather
kept his promise to Mao and gave
him Ligzenn to wife. The young
pennerez was led to the church at
Camfront, her right arm encircled,
as usual, with a band of silver lace
for each thousand francs in her
dowry, and the story goes that she
had eighteen.

Once married, Mao bought live-
stock, hired servants, and the lands
of the manor were soon worth more
;than ever. Then it was that the
grandfather went to receive his re-
ward from God, leaving all he own-
ed to the young couple.

These last were happier than any
other baptized creatures so happy
'that every evening they could find

nothing to ask of God, and could
only thank him. But one day, just
as they were sitting down to supper
with their servants, who should
come in with one of the maids but
a soldier, so tall that his head
touched the beams of the ceiling,
and whom Ligzenn knew at once
for her cousin Matelinn. He had
come back from the French wars
to marry the pennerez, and, learn-
ing what had passed while he was
away, great indeed was his wrath ;
but he took good care not to show
it to the young couple, for he was
a dissembler by nature.

Mao, nothing doubting, welcom-
ed him with open arms; he gave
him of the best in the manor, had
the best room made ready for him,
and rode with him everywhere
about his fields, now covered with
harvests.

But the taller Matelinn found the
flax, and the heavier the wheat, the
angrier he grew that all these things
were not his, without speaking of
his cousin Ligzenn, who seemed to
him prettier than ever. So one
day he got Mao to hunt with him on
the downs of Logoma, and brought
him to a far thicket where there
was an abandoned windmill, against
which bundles of furze had been
piled for the baker of Daonlas ; ar-
rived there, he turned his eyes to-
wards Camfront and said all of a
sudden to the young man :

" Look ! I can see from here the
manor with its great court."

" Which way ?" asked Mao.

"Behind that little beechwood :
don't you see the windows of the
great hall ?"

" I am too short," said Mao.

"You are right," cried Matelim
*' and it is a great pity, for I set
my cousin Ligzenn in the little pad
dock by the garden."

" Is she alone ?"

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

709

" No ; she is talking to some
gentlemen, who are whispering in
her ear."

"And what is Liczenn doing?"

" Liczenn is listening to them and
twisting the strings of her apron."

Mao stood on tip-toe.

" Oh ! how I wish I could see,"
lie said.

" Nothing is easier," replied
Matelinn ; " you have but to go up
to the top of the mill, and you will
be taller than I."

Mao thought well of the advice
and climbed the old ladder. When
he was come to the top his cousin
isked him what he saw.

" I see only trees which seem as
lear the earth as two-months
:orn," answered he, "and houses
r hich seem as little as shells left
!ry stranded on the shore."

"Look nearer," said Matelinn.

" Nearer I see only the sea
with barks that skim the water
like gulls."

"Nearer yet," continued the sol-
dier.

" Nearer yet is the heather in
bloom and the golden gorse."

" But below you ?"

" Below me !" cried Mao in a
fright, " instead of the ladder to
get down I see flames coming to
devour me."

And he saw truly, for Matelinn
had taken away the ladder and set
fire to the heaped-up piles of furze,
so that the old mill was in the midst
of a furnace.

In vain Mao begged the giant
not to leave him to perish in so
cruel a manner ; he turned his back
and went off along the downs, whist-
ling.

Then the young man, feeling
himself near to stifle, repeated the
invocation :

" Come, dead beggar, come quick to aid !
Here am I all helpless stayed."

Instantly the saint appeared,
holding in his right hand a rainbow
one end of which sank in the sea
while the other shed a heavy dew,
and in the left hand Jacob's ladder
which joined heaven and earth.
The rainbow put out the fire, while
Mao climbed down on the ladder
and .made his way back to the
manor without the slightest hurt.

At sight of him Matelinn was
thunderstruck ; sure that his cousin
would denounce him to justice, he
ran to get his arms and his war-
horse, but as he was going out of
the great court Mao went up to
him and said:

" Have no fear, cousin ; for no
man on earth will know what has
passed on the heath of Daonlas.
Your heart was sickened that God
had given me more prosperity than
you ; I wish to cure your heart.
From to-day on, while I live, you
will have the right to half of all
that is mine, save my dearest Lic-
zenn. Go, then, cousin, and have
no more bad thoughts against me."

This agreement was drawn up by
the notary in due form, and Mate-
linn had every month half of all the
produce of the fields, the poultry-
yard, and the cattle.

But this generosity of Mao only
embittered the venom of his heart.
For undeserved benefits are like
wine drunk without thirst; they
give neither joy nor profit. He no
longer sought Mao's death, for, Mao
dead, he would lose the allotted
share of his wealth; but he hated
him as a caged wolf hates the mas-
ter who feeds him.

What heightened his wrath was
that all turned to gold for his cou-
sin. Up to that time only a child
was wanting to his happiness, and
Ligzenn now brought him a hand-
some, hearty boy who was born
without a tear. Mao sent word

Breton Legends of the Blessed Virgin.

to all the gentlefolks for more than
five leagues round, praying them to
the christening feast ; they came
from Braspars, from Kimerc'h, from
Loperek, from Logoma, from Faou,
from Irvilhac, and from Saint Eloi
all mounted on well-caparisoned
horses, with their wives or daugh-
ters on pillions behind them. The
baptism of a prince of Cornouailles
would not have drawn together
more people of rank.

All were gathered in front of the
manor, and Mao was come to get
the new-born infant in Lifzenn's
chamber with those who were to
hold it at the font and his nearest
friends, when in comes Matelinn,
wearing on his face a treacherous
smile. At his entrance the sick
mother gave a cry, but he drew
near, twisting his shoulders, and
with many compliments thanked
her for the present she had made
bin.

" What present ?" asked the poor
woman in bewilderment.

" Have you not just added an
heir to my cousin's wealth ?" said
the soldier.

"And if I have ?" said Lifzenn.

"A deed on parchment entitles
me to half of all that shall belong
to Mao, save your dearly-beloved
self," added Matelinn, " and I come,
therefore, to claim my half of the
new-born heir."

All present cried out,- but Mate-
linn repeated coldly that he must
have his share of the infant, adding
that if denied he would take it
himself; and he showed a great
knife for cutting up pork which he
had brought with him for the pur-
pose.

Vainly did Mao and Liczenn be-
seech him with clasped hands and
on bended knees to give up his
right ; the giant's only answer was
to whet his knife on the steel which

hung from his girdle. At last he
was in the act of tearing the child
from the young woman's arms when
Mao bethought him all at once of
the appeal to the dead beggar, and
repeated it aloud. He had no
sooner ended than the room was
flooded with a heavenly light, and
the saint was descried upon a
cloud with the Virgin Mary by his
side.

" I am here, good people," said
the Mother of God; "my faithful
servant has had me come from the
starry realms to judge between
you/'

"If you are the Mother of God,
save the child," cried Lifzenn.

" If you are the Queen of Heaven,
make them give me my due," said
Matelinn with effrontery.

" Listen to me," said Mary. " You
first, Mao, and you, Liczenn, draw-
near with the babe. Until now I
had given you only the joys of life ;
I wish to do more, and so I give
you the joys of death. You will
follow me into the Paradise of my
Son, where neither sorrow nor trea-
son nor sickness comes. As for
you, Goliath, it is your right to
share the new good which is given
them, and you will die like them,
but to descend twelve hundred an<
fifty leagues * into the kingdom oi
the evil one."

With these words she held out
her hand, and the giant was swal-
lowed up in a gulf of fire, while the
young husband and wife with theij
child bent towards each other lik(
a family asleep, and disappeared,
borne upon a cloud.

In the incomplete version refer-
red to the beggar-man is change<
into a spirit of the air like the genii
of the Arabian Nights, the Blessed

* The precise distance at which the Bretoi
locate hell.

New Publications.

711

Virgin, it is needless to say, makes
no appearance at all, and the beau-
tiful touch at the end, possible only
in a Catholic legend, by which Mao

ward of their virtue on being trans-
lated to Paradise, is altogether omit-
ted ; so that all that is truly sig-
nificant and characteristic in the

and Lifzenn receive the crowning re- story is lost.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

PHILOCHRISTUS.
thers. 1878.

Boston : Roberts Bro-

The peculiar merits of this book can-
not be too highly valued by any sincere
lover of Christ. Its sweet, earnest, in-
tensely religious tone leads the reader
through its learned pages over a most
delightful walk of spiritual and intellec-
tual recreation. Dry and unsatisfactory
discussion is wholly avoided, and the all-
absorbing subject, the human life of the
divine Redeemer, is pictured in a light
glowing with fascinating love and lumi-
nous with precise intelligence. Assum-
ing the character of a disciple who ac-
tually lived with and followed Christ un-
til the Ascension, the author represents
himself as writing in Alexandria ten
years after the destruction of Jerusalem,
and when, he says, " almost all those dis-
ciples who with me saw the Lord Jesus
in the flesh are now fallen asleep." He
admits the impossibility of portraying
Christ " as he was in himself," but he
" determined rather to set forth an his-
tory of mine own life, wherein, as in a
mirror, might perchance be discerned
some lineaments of the countenance of
Christ, seen, as by reflection, in the life
of one who loved him."

The book opens with a brief but strik-
ingly graphic statement of the condition
of Judea, both religiously and political-
ly, at the time of our Lord's pub ( lic ap-
pearance. Its' subjection to Roman do-
mination had eliminated its existence as
an independent state, whilst the exces-
sive love of ceremonial into which the
law had degenerated betokened the need
of a new law and a new law-maker.
For to be pious in those days meant

" to be obedient to the light precepts of
the law, such as the laws concerning the
exact observance of the Sabbath, and
concerning purifications, and concerning
the consumption of nail-parings and the
like" (p. 27). The nicety to which these
casuistic pietists carried their human ob-
servances is shown from the example of
one of them, Abuyah, who extolled the
Law of the Tassels as most perfect ; and
so, he says, " once, because I had chanced
to tread upon a portion of the fringe of
my garment, going up a ladder, I stead-
fastly refused to move from the spot
where I stood till such time as the rent
had been repaired." It was this same
pious man that chid his mother " be-
cause she wore on her dress a ribbon that
was not sewn but only fastened to her
vesture, for thus she transgressed the
law by bearing burdens on the Sab-
bath."

Bringing in Philo and some Alexan-
drine Jews, with an exposition of their
philosophical opinions, adds much in-
terest to the narrative. The patriotic
spirit of the enthusiastic Galileans who
hastened to gather around Jesus, whom
they thought to have come for the resto-
ration of the ancient glory of Israel, is
well depicted, and shown to have been
the chief motive leading so many from
that province to follow him. How slow-
ly even the disciples learned the true
mission of our Redeemer appears from
the fact that Philochristus himself had no
definite conception of it in the begin-
ning. Conversing with Gorgias. a tra-
velled Jew, he sees advancing the te-
trarch's Thracian guard, whose descrip-
tion, as well as that of the Roman sol-
diers, is admirable : " I looked and saw

712

Neiv Publications*

a band of about three hundred men, of a
wild and savage aspect, bearing targets
and girt with scimitars. But Gorgias,
noting, as I suppose, the anger in my
countenance, answered: 'These dogs
(may the Lord destroy them root and
branch !) are swift indeed to shed the
blood of women and children, but they
are as naught compared with the Ro-
mans. Couldst thou see a Roman le-
gion how they march, these would seem
unto thee but as jackals at the lion's tail.
Mark but how the dogs straggle. But
when the Romans march the spears in
their hands all point one way, and the
swords by their sides hang all after one
fashion, and even their stakes and tools
(which they carry behind their backs) do
all swing to one time, and their feet, arms,
and heads, yea, even to the winking of
their eyes, go all together after the man-
ner of a five-banked corn-ship of Al,ex-
andria, with her five hundred oars all
keeping time ; and when they charge,
they charge like ten thousand elephants
clad in iron. . . . Verily these Roman
swine are all as children of Satan ; but a
Roman legion is as Satan himself '" (p.
126). As he had been listening to Christ
teaching that whosoever would enter
the kingdom should become as little
children, it seemed not easy to him to
reconcile this with the temporal restora-
tion of Israel, and " methought," he says,
" it would be very hard to overthrow
these Thracians, and much more the
Romans, by becoming as little children "
(ibid.}

Although the work does not come out
as a Catholic production, it is very en-
couraging to those who desire the spirit
of Christ to be more universally diffused
to find such books receiving extensive
circulation. Dogmatic or formally doc-
trinal propositions are not to be found in
it, yet the substantial doctrine of the
Gospel is clearly discernible in the body
of the work. Excepting the brief expo-
sition of the doctrine of divorce at p. 213,
there appears nothing in the whole book
inconsistent with a candid, Catholic exe-
gesis of Scripture. The beautiful expo-
sition of Peter's faith and the founding
of the church thereupon, at p. 249, could
not be easily surpassed. It is a good
sign when Protestants have such works
placed in their hands, and the publishers
deserve well of the public for the credit-
able manner in which they have brought
out this admirable volume. No profess-

ing Christian can read it without very
much profit, and, indeed, he will be filled
with the author's declaration concerning
Christ : "For in his presence I find life ;
but to be absent from him is death "
(p. 242).

HOLY CHURCH THE CENTRE OF UNITY ;
or, Ritualism compared with Catholi-
cism. Reasons for returning to the
True Fold. By T. H. Shaw. London :
R. Washbourne. 1877.

This pamphlet is not a little remarka-
ble among those which issue from the
pens of converts. It is very different
from what its title leads us to expect.
But perhaps it will take the Protestant
mind all the better for its peculiarities.
We confess, for our own part, to being
disappointed at the same time that we are
pleased. There is occasionally an ex-
hibition of something like bad taste.
There is extravagant use of italics
the effect of which is always weakening.
There are outbursts of pious sentiment
a thing never suitable to polemical
pages. Then, too, there is no continuity
of argument. Each chapter stands by
itself and needlessly repeats what other
chapters have dealt with. Still, in spite
of these defects, there is an earnestness
from beginning to end which cannot fail
to impress the mind of a real inquirer.
And together with this earnestness there
is a force in the way some of the argu-
ments are put which is greater, by con-
trast, than it would appear in pages of
the usual style of controversy.

The writer begins by telling us that he
has been " for nearly fifty years a member
of the Church of England." He is there-
fore no hot-brained undergraduate. He
adds that his "misgivings were first
aroused as early as the year 1851" ; and
that his " convictions have become matur-
ed by means of earnest prayer for Divine
guidance." Here is a mental process
that ought to strike a Protestant, and
make him ask his conscience: "Am
I seeking that I may find ? Am I
praying for light as this man did ? Can
I believe that such persistent prayer has
ended in delusion ?"

The author's next paragraph is a spe-
cimen of his way of putting things :

" Regarding the Church of England
to say nothing of the overwhelming tes-
timony against her through lack of
' apostolic commission ' and her want

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713

of unity in doctrine the endowments,
the system of patronage, the untrained
priesthood, are in themselves facts glar-
ingly inconsistent with the idea of the
guidance of the Spirit of that God who is
the author and source of all unity. There
is no trade or profession for which it is
required that a youth should go through
less training than that which suffices for
the English clergy. Almost any scholar
would pass for holy orders whose father
had a lucrative benefice at his dispo-
sal. Is it so in Rome? I rather think
that learning, self-sacrifice, and poverty
are the main worldly requirements.
Which most corresponds to our Blessed
Lord's life upon earth, whose ' kingdom
is not of this world ' ?"

On pages 22-25 h g quotes from Father
Harper's reply to Dr. Fraser, Bishop of
Manchester, on infallibility. The learn-
ed Jesuit is appealing to the testimony
of the Third, Fourth, and Sixth (Ecumeni-
cal Councils. All Anglicans profess to
receive the Third and Fourth, some even
the Sixth. If their divines should hon-
estly state, as arguments on the Catholic
side, the passages cited by Father Har-
per, their cause would be a lost one in-
deed, as many of them know but too
well. It is therefore a great service to
lay these passages before the candid
inquirer, who, in all probability, has
never heard of Father Harper's " reply,"
or would fear to read it if he had. Fur-
ther quotations follow, from page 25
to page 27, showing how the dogma of
Papal Infallibility, like all other defini-
tions, is "at once old and new," and
thus refuting the stale charge of innova-
tion.

We conclude our notice with another
piece of excellent advice to professed
inquirers : .

" We should call -a man insane who
endeavored to roof in his house before
he had laid the foundation or measured
its dimensions ; just so it is in fact when
people seeking the true church begin
by attacking and trying to understand
every dogma. These can never be fully
understood. It is only as the house be-
comes built up that the roofing begins ;
so it is in the spiritual house of the soul.
Faith leads us to the church. Faith is,
then, the foundation. As the soul grows
in grace and humility, so the mysteries
of godliness expand before the eye of the
soul, revealing that which at one time
appeared most obscure. . . . The great

thing needed is divine faith ; and this is
never found by mere arguing and read-
ing. It is the free gift of God, to be ob-
tained only by earnest prayer. . . . Get
this, and then search whether Jesus
Christ did establish a visible church."

The " faith " here spoken of is not
fides fonnata, for that " comes by hear-
ing " ; but the grace of a right disposi-
tion for accepting the "word of Christ."
And this disposition is not merely an
attitude of earnest attention, but, essen-
tially, a spirit of humility the " becom-
ing as a little child." It is precisely the
lack of this child-like spirit that makes
our arguments barren of result even
where they are listened to with respect.

LIFE OF ST. WINFRID, OR BONIFACIUS,
MARTYR, ARCHBISHOP OF MENTZ AND
APOSTLE OF GERMANY. By the author
of St. Willibrord. London : Burns &
Gates. 1878. (For sale by The Ca-
tholic Publication Society Co.)

This latest life of the great apostle ot
Germany is a truly interesting contribu-
tion to the early missionary history of
the church, and as such seems to com-
mend itself in an especial manner to
those of his wandering Anglo Saxon
children who would fain be of the
church without being within it ; since
in this short narrative^ these may learn
how, in the eighth century, their great
English saint laid his spiritual allegiance
at the feet of Peter before he went forth
successfully to undertake the conver-
sion of the heathen and the reform of
abuses among half-hearted and unruly
Christians. And might not these also
ponder on the counsel of Pope St. Zach-
arias, addressed to the Saxon monk,
when commenting on certain of the
Gallic clergy who held nationality above
unity, the fringes of the episcopal robe
of greater value than the seamless rai-
ment of the Bride of Christ ? "Preach,
dearest brother," writes the holy pope,
"the rule of Catholic tradition we have
received from the Holy Roman Church
which we serve, and of which God is the
founder."

The present English biographer of St.
Boniface has enriched the historical ac-
count of the saint's labors with letters
that give a vivid picture of the faith and
simplicity of those troubled times that
seem so confusing a maze as we look
back on them with the clouded memories

New Publications*

of early school-days, when English his-
tory was a tangled web of Ethel wulfs
and Ethelberts.

To American ears the name of St.
Boniface grows familiar through the
churches that rise in his honor among
his German children in the United
States, yet, while we seem to know him
better under the title given him at Rome,
we heartily enter into the feeling of lov-
ing pride that makes his English biogra-
pher dwell on the sweetness of the Saxon
name, and with its peaceful syllables
waken patriotic echoes among the for-
est.3 of Thuringia and the waves of the
Zuyder Zee Boniface or Winfrid, he is
alike peacemaker and worker of good
for all the nations.

VOYAGE OF THE PAPER CANOE : A Geo-
graphical Journey of two thousand
five hundred miles, from Quebec to
the Gulf of Mexico, during the years
1874-5. By Nathaniel H. Bishop. Au-
thor of " One Thousand Miles' Walk
across South America," and corre-
sponding Member of the Boston Society
of Natural History, and of the New
York Academy of Sciences. Boston :
Lee & Shepard ; New York : Charles
T. Dillingham. 1878.

Mr. Bishop has given us a most inter-
esting and instructive book. It cannot
fail to be interesting to every one who
has any love for nature, or any apprecia-
tion of out-of-door life and adventure ;
and it is instructive in two ways : first,
by showing what can be done by a paper
boat (a thing which most people know
little or nothing about) under skilful
management, and, secondly, by the in-
formation it gives regarding that remark-
able inland line of navigation which
runs along almost our whole Atlantic
coast, the very existence of which is per-
haps known to comparatively few per-
sons.

Mr. B.ishop started from Quebec on
July 4, 1874, in a large wooden canoe,
with which he had at first proposed to
make his journey, under the impression,
in which well-informed seamen shared,
that two hundred miles of his route would
be on the open ocean. With this boat
he ascended the St. Lawrence and Riche-
lieu rivers to Lake Champlain, thence
proceeding by the Champlain and Erie
canals to Albany. At this point he con-
cluded to adopt a lighter craft, which

was made for him at Troy by Mr. Waters.
This was the paper canoe with which the
rest of the voyage was made ; it was only
one-eighth of an inch in thickness, and
weighed only fifty-eight pounds. In
this seemingly frail but really verv strong
boat he rowed along down the Hudson,
through the Kill von Kull, up the Rari-
tan, through the canal to the Delaware,
down the Delaware to the bay and Cape
Henlopen, thence along the coast nearly
to Cape Charles. Here he had to take the
steamer across Chesapeake Bay ; but
thence, with the exception of short land-
portages, the voyage was pursued through
the sounds and inlets skirting the coast,
and the Waccamaw River, to the Florida
line at St. Mary's, and across Florida by
the St. Mary's and Suwanee Rivers to
the Gulf of Mexico.

We have given a short sketch of what
Mr. Bishop did ; but how he did it, and
the various incidents and adventures of
his trip, must be learned from the book
itself, which we commend heartily to the
perusal of all who like to read a most in-
teresting story, which has the advantage
of being true from beginning to end.

SEVEN YEARS AND MAIR. By Anna T.
Sadlier. New York : Harper &
Brothers. 1878.

This is a pleasing and graceful little
tale quite out of the common track. It
opens amid the wild scenery and the
wild people of the Shetlands, passes
thence to France, and goes back to a
happy ending in its Shetland home.
The out-of-the-way scenery and charac-
ters afford unusual scope for a pictur-
esque imagination, which Miss Sadlier
seems to possess in a very high degree,
but which she holds under .a wise re-
straint and never allows to run away
with her. She delights in the long, low
sunsets, the gloom of night, the roar of
the tempest, the swell of the sea, the
grey and the rosy dawn of morning, the
solemn beauty of the starry night. All
these have a meaning, a poetry, almost
a life for her ; and she is very happy in
her descriptions of them. These are en-
hanced by a sweet, clear English, which
she has doubtless caught from a mother
whose name is and will long remain a
household word among Catholic readers.
The narrative is fresh and pure and simply
quaint. Miss Sadlier does not affect to
depict the psychological monstrosities

Neiv Publications.

715

which are the ambition of most of the
story- writers of the day. She avoids micro-
scopic inspections of the interiors, so to
say, of impossible personages, and gives
us instead a pleasing story of the roman-
tic style, with a few characters strongly
marked and well contrasted, the whole
forming a refreshing change from the
average fiction of the day.

THE CHRISTIAN REFORMED IN MIND
AND MANNERS. By Benedict Rogac-
ci, S.J. The translation edited by
Henry James Coleridge, S. J. London :
Burns & Gates. 1877. (For sale by
The Catholic Publication Society Co.)

This volume is the twenty-third of the
quarterly series brought out by the
Jesuits in London. The original is a
work of the seventeenth century. " It
may be considered," says the editor, "as
the fruit of the great experience of Father
Rogacci in giving retreats," and " is one
of those series of meditations in which
the whole substance and system of the
Exercises of St. Ignatius are worked up,
although not precisely in the form in
which they lie in the Exercises them-
selves." Moreover, ''the meditations
are meant for persons of all classes, not
only for religious persons ; and those
who are familiar from practice with the
text of the book itself of St. Ignatius will
not fail to see how perfect an acquaint-
ance with and mastery of it must have
been possessed by Father Rogacci."

The meditations are arranged for an
eight days' retreat, at the rate of four a
day. But since this may be considered
excessive, a "selection" is given on
page xii. "for persons who desire to
make only three a day." Indeed, Father
Rogacci's own practice was " not to give
more than three meditations a day, with
a repetition, or some practical consid-
erations helping to the reformation of
life, in the afternoon." "The place of
these considerations," continues the
editor, " is supplied in the present work
by a number of practical reflections
which he calls r'e forme, one of which
he would have the exercitant read each
day at the time of the consideration.
There are sixteen of these considerations,
in order that the exercitant may choose
for himself, or as directed by his spirit-
ual guide, whose assistance is supposed
in works like this, according to his
special needs."

Our own judgment of the work is that
it is most excellent as a whole, and we
recommend it specially to those who are
called upon from time to time to give re-
treats, whether to religious or to sodali-
ties. We regret, however, that the medi-
tations on hell, which are assigned to
the fifth day, have been left without an-
notations for those who may use the
book in private. " Pious" exaggera-
tions and figures of speech which may be
necessary, by way of economy, to im-
press gross and sensual natures are very
much out of place, we think, in a work
of the kind before us.

OUR SUNDAY FIRESIDE : OR, MEDITA-
TIONS FOR CHILDREN. By Rory of the
Hill. London : Burns & Oates. 1878.
(For sale by The Catholic Publication
Society Co.)

The author of this series of stories, as
we find stated in the preface, aims " to
supply, for the use of children, some
meditations on the choice of life," while
he endeavors so to clothe, in a garb at-
tractive to childish minds, great truths
of salvation and of eyery-day morality
as well as the more complex relations of
" church and state " that, the pictur-
esque raiment winning the eyes, the
soul may be led to weigh the half-hidden
substance. How far he has attained his
aim remains for the children to prove to
whom his words shall be read. To us
the garb seems, in many cases, too
deep-freighted with cabalistic embroid-
ery for little hands to lift, and the sub-
stance too heavy with the world's fate
for little minds to weigh. " Many carps
are to be expected when curious eyes
come a-fishing," says gentle Robert
Southwell, and so our curious eyes
open wide with wonder at the wise little
maiden of thirteen years who discourses
of "amphibologies" and " the hypodi-
chotomy of petty schisms" ; who quotes
from Renan and Voltaire, Walpole and
De Tocqueville, citing almost volume
and chapter, and who sets before her
younger brothers and sisters the ques-
tion of the great social conflict of the
age, the ceaseless war between Christ
and the world in its modern phase of
" Liberalism " versus the divine voice of
the church of God. In his ardent inte-
rest in the subjects whereof he treats
we fear the scholar has often forgotten
himself, and so has failed to stoop low

716

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enough, or rise high enough, to reach
the hearts of the little people for whom
he writes, picturesque as are his descrip-
tions and full of meaning as are his
tales, among which we like best "The
Way of Life," for the greater simplicity
of its action ; " Forgiveness," for the
Christian pathos of its close ; and " The
Last Mass," for the solemn beauty and
true poetry of its cathedral vision.

A MANUAL OF NURSING. New York : G.
P. Putnam's Sons. 1878.

In reading this little volume it will be
seen that nursing is an art only to be
acquired by a large experience and un-
der competent instruction. Although
this Manual has been published express-
ly for the Training School for Nurses at
Bellevue Hospital, nevertheless it would
repay perusal by any person who is lia-
ble to be called upon to act as nurse.
As is truly remarked in the preface, the
infirm and superannuated are not suitable
as nurses. The young and vigorous are
the proper subjects to act in such capa-
city. Judging from its past record, the
Training School is a success, and its
pupils are far in advance of the old-time
nurses who vegetated about Bellevue
and charity hospitals. Many physicians
state that numbers of patients are lost*
through injudicious acts on the part of
the nurse. A careful perusal of this
Manual, and a careful attention given to
the physician's advice, will certainly be
important, and would repay the trouble
a hundred-fold.

FREDERIC OZANAM, PROFESSOR AT THE
SORBONNE : His LIFE AND WORKS. By
Kathleen O'Meara. (First American
Edition.) New York : The Catholic
Publication Society Co., 9 Barclay
Street. 1878.

We greet with pleasure the appear-
ance of an American edition of this de-
lightful biography, an article on which
appeared in THE CATHOLIC WORLD,
February, 1877, on the event of its pub-
lication in England. This edition has,
we understand, been published at the
request of the Supreme Council of the
Society of St. Vincent de Paul of this
city, -and we trust there is not a member
of the society in the country who will
not read this life of one of the founders,
in fact we may say the founder, of the

great and useful Society of St. Vincent
de Paul.

VACATION DAYS : A Book of Instruction
for Girls. By the author of Golden
Sands. Translated from the French.
New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co.
1878.

This is another of the admirable lit-
tle series of devotional and instructive
works which Miss McMahon has been
the happy means of setting before the
English-reading public. Vacation Days
follows Golden Sands in its method of
appealing simply and tenderly and with
apt illustration to the young heart. We
recommend it strongly to young people
who have the opportunity of idling during
these idle days. A passing glance once
a day at a page or two of it will form an
excellent antidote to the literary trash
which nowadays constitutes the staple
commodity of summer reading.

SELECT WORKS OF THE VENERABLE FA-
THER NICHOLAS LANCICIUS, SJ. Vol.
I. London : Burns & Gates. (For
sale by The Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co.)

This is the first volume of a selected
edition of the works of one who was a
very holy Jesuitand great master of spirit-
ual life during the first half of the seven-
teenth century. It is a spiritual treatise
developing the eight days' retreat which
is founded on the Exercises of St. Igna-
tius, and contains many pious consid-
erations supported and illustrated by
opinions of the saints. We do not
question the doctrine of the book ; it is
solid, orthodox, and inviting ; but we be-
lieve the book is one which, on the
whole, is not adapted to people living in
the world, and had bettor be confined to
that class of persons, religious and peo-
ple retired from the world, for whom it
was originally written. Some of the ex-
amples taken from the lives of saints are
"hard to be understood," and several of
the illustrations given in the chapter on
"Helps to escape Purgatory" are not
specially edifying to us. We do not care
to believe in the vision of a certain monk,
or even to think about numerous souls
impaled iipon spits and roasted like geese be-
fore a large fire, with a lot of devils
around them acting the part of cooks.
The work is well translated from the

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717

Latin, and contains a short preface by
Father Gallwey, S.J., whose name stands
deservedly high in England.

THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE : A Tale of the
Middle Ages. Translated from the
French by Mrs. Kate E. Hughes.
Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co.

This quaint autobiography of the
Baron de Rabasteins is charmingly
written. It is full of pleasant, lively in-
cidents of travel, with descriptions of the
life and manners of the French people
during the middle and latter half of the
last century, a period which can hardly
be classed as mediaeval, as the title given
to the translation imports. The adven-
tures of the young baron in the so-call-
ed "mysterious" castle of Monsegui
surpass any story of the kind we have
ever read in fiction. If they knew what
a treat was in store for them by its peru-
sal, there is not one of our young folks
who would not like to get it as a school
premium or as a Christmas present.
However, we feel it our duty to say that
there are numerous faults in translation
which in future editions should be cor-
rected. As, for example, on the first
page we are confronted with the ex-
pression " decision of the holy siege,"
by which we presume is meant " the
judgment of the Holy See."

THE ART OF KNOWING OURSELVES, etc.
By Father John Peter Pinamonti, S.J.
With TWELVE CONSIDERATIONS ON
DEATH, by Father Luigi La Nuza, S.J.,
and FOUR ON ETERNITY, by Father
John Baptist Manni, S.J. Translated
by the author of St. Wiliibrord. Lon-
don : Burns & Gates. 1877.

DAILY MEDITATIONS ON THE MYSTERIES
OF OUR HOLY FAITH, and on the lives
of our Lord Jesus Christ and of the
Saints. First Part, containing Medita-
tions for the five weeks of Advent, for
the six weeks after Christmas, as also
on the Mysteries of the Life of Christ.
Translated from the Spanish of Rev.
Father Alonso de Andrade, S.J. Lon-
don : Burns & Gates. 1878. (For
sale by The Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co.)

Here are two more volumes of medi-
tations written for other times and res-
cued from oblivion. Of the three brief

treatises contained in the first volume,
the "Art of Knowing Ourselves" is a
veritable gem. It may well be called
"the looking-glass which does not de-
ceive." Regarding the other two trea-
tises the " Twelve Considerations on
Death" and the " Four on Eternity"
we have to remark again that there is
much in them unsuited to the present
age. We greatly prefer the second vol-
ume from the Spanish of Father Andrade ;
for though here, too, in the meditations
for the first week of Advent, will be
found things rather calculated to irritate
than to edify, yet the rest of the book is
the more delicious for its quaintness,
and has a way we have never seen sur-
passed of making us familiar with Jesus
and Mary as our models, and of showing
us what wealth is treasured up in the
gospels which the church has chosen for
her Mass.

ST. TERESA'S OWN WORDS ; or, Instruc-
tions on the Prayer of Recollection,
etc. London : Burns & Gates. (For
sale by The Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co.)

This is a good English translation, by
Bishop Chadwick, of St. Teresa's ad-
mirable method of interior prayer. It
contains the sense and substance of the
whole third book of the Imitation of
Christ, showing us in brief how Truth
speaks within, without the noise of
words ; and that interior conversation
of Christ with the faithful soul is the
surest means of possessing our Sover-
eign Good in this world and the next.
It is, as Edmund Waller says, "infinite
riches in a little space."

THE NOTARY'S DAUGHTER. From the
French of Mme. Donnet, by Lady
Georgiana Fullerton. New York : D.
& J. Sadlier & Co.

As the translator, Lady Fullerton, an-
nounces that this very pretty tale is an
adaptation, and not in a strict sense a
translation, we are assured that the
gifted authoress of Lady Bird has not
only avoided servility in translating the
parts of Un Mai-iage en Province which
she has decided to employ, but has add-
ed to a very charming French story
some of her own excellent ideas, both
in relation to plot and dialogue. The
story brings us to the south of France,

718

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about Toulon, and is strikingly illus-
trative of the French theories in regard
to matrimony. A notary, M. Lescalle,
who possesses great political influence,
has a very pretty daughter, Rose, whom
he successively offers to all the great
men in the neighborhood, desirous of
his support, as a suitable wife for their
sons. His offer is accepted by a rich
roturier, but is abruptly broken off by
M. Lescalle himself, in consequence of
another offer of marriage by M. le
Comte de Vedelles, in behalf of his
younger son, George. Now George, be-
ing considered a fada namely, a half-
witted person is an object of aversion
to Mile. Rose ; but, in spite of her re-
pugnance, the ceremony takes place. It
is needless to say that George is not a
fada, but is a poet, unappreciated by his
relations, and so everything is brought
to a happy conclusion. The dialogue is
above the average of novels, but even
so, it is not very sprightly. The moral
tone is exceptionally good. The plot
affords an opportunity of condemning
the system by which marriages are ar-
ranged in France, and invites reflections
which cannot be discussed in a brief
criticism.

THE PRECIOUS PEARL OF HOPE IN THE
MERCY OF GOD. London : Burns &
Gates (For sale by The Catholic Pub-
lication Society Co )

We welcome this beautiful little book
as a great addition to our ascetical liter-
ature. It is translated into English from
the Italian, and, to judge by its grace and
elegance, by a master of both languages.
The aim of the pious author was to
awaken and increase in us a sense of
confidence in God, which is so necessary
to our spiritual life ; and he admirably
answers objections drawn from certain
passages of the Sacred Scriptures which
heretics and others have abused, and
from some opinions of the Fathers in-
sisting on the severity of the divine judg-
ments. We are reminded by this little
work of the great and constant account
which the early Christians made of the
virtue of hope, whose symbol was an an_
chor suggested by St. Paul to the
Hebrews vi. 18-19 an ^ which, either
alone or in connection with the fish
(symbol of our Lord and Saviour), or
combined with a cross, substituted for
the ring by which the anchor is attached,

was a very common device cut or impress-
ed on lamps, rings, and other objects of
daily use. Among early Christian in-
scriptions, also, few are more frequent
than those which express hope in the
mercy of God, such as Spes in Deo, Spes
in Christo, Spes in Dto Chi islo.

THALIA. From the French of Abbe A.
Bayle, by a Sister of St. Joseph.
Philadelphia : Peter F. Cunningham
& Son.

The vast majority of the lovers of light
literature look upon classical stories
with a certain mistrust. They fear them
either to be too pedantic or wanting in
" esprit." Thalia opens in Aries, thence
we voyage to Alexandria, then to Rome,
from Rome to Nicomedia, and so on.
There are a few good scenes and de-
scriptive passages ; but, although a some-
what agreeable way of learning the his-
tory of the time, it does not necessarily
make a pleasing romance. A Sister of
St. Joseph has translated Thalia into
very correct English. The book is like-
ly to be discarded as a light production
by one who can appreciate its learned
allusions, and to one who cannot, to
read it will seem a task rather than a
pleasure.

IRELAND, AS SHE Is, AS SHE HAS BEEN,
AND AS SHE OUGHT TO BE. By James
J. Clancy. New York : Thomas Kel-
ly. 1877.

The comprehensive title of this work
indicates the author's intentions in giving
it to the public, and, if he has not suc-
ceeded in doing justice to a theme so
important, he has at least produced a
very readable book, in which will be
found many historical facts clearly and
succinctly stated, .and several sugges-
tions that will command the attention of
the thoughtful reader. With some of
Mr. Clancy's views on the past and pre-
sent of his native country we cannot
agree. They are those entertained by a
certain class of radical and impracticable
politicians whose sole claim to atten-
tion consists in the fact that they are
continually inveighing against the in-
evitable, and criticising the acts of the
able men who, like Edmund Burke and
Daniel O'Connell, have conferred dig-
nity on their native land and earned for
themselves the world's applause. Still,

New Publications.

719

the author of the book before us advan-
ces his opinions with so much compara-
tive moderation that, while they do not
compel conviction, they certainly com-
mand our respectful consideration.
Those who have read Mr. Sullivan's New
Ireland will probably like to read this
Irish-American version of the oft-told
tale of Ireland's wrongs and rights.

WRECKED AND SAVED. By Mrs. Parsons.
London : Burns & Gates. 1878. (For
sale by The Catholic Publication So-
ciety Co.)

The author of this very pretty and in-
structive tale is already well known to
the public as the writer of several
moral stories which, while thoroughly
Catholic in tone and interesting in
plot, are sufficiently attractive in an ar-
tistic point of view to command the
attention of all intelligent readers.
Wncked and Saved is a story of every-
day life very simply and gently told.
The hero, who has been a shipwrecked
babe, passed through all the phases of
the life of a foundling, winning to him-
self friends by his good conduct, cheer-
ful disposition, and intrinsic merits.
Wrongfully accused of a heinous crime,
he suffers imprisonment and mental tor-
ture, but, having finally been proven in-
nocent, all ends happily. The plan of
the book can scarcely be called original,
but the lessons of patience, industry,
and dependence on the will of Provi-
dence inculcated are excellent.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT. From the German
of F. W. Hacklander. By Rosalie
Kaufman. Boston : Estes & Lauriat.

1878.

This is a novel with the threadbare
plot of a young heir being obliged to
marry before a certain age or lose a con-
siderable fortune. There is no grace or
lightness about the dialogue, and scarce-
ly a particle of humor in the entire book.
There are one or two characters well
drawn, of whom an old gentleman named
Renner, and a young and vivacious beau-
ty, Fraulein Clothilde, are possibly the
best. As a rule, this kind of novel does
not prove a success when translated for an
American public. How it may succeed
in Germany it is impossible to say, but
certainly the book is even uncommonly
stupid. When it is remarked that all

4 the young ladies and gentlemen are dis-
tinguished for their elegance and beauty,
the character of the story will be appre-
ciated.

TOTAL ABSTINENCE IN ITS SOCIAL AND
THEOLOGICAL ASPECTS. An address
by the Rev. James J. Moriarty, Catholic
pastor of Chatham Village, N. Y.
Published by special request. Chat-
ham Village, N. Y. : Courier Print-
ing-House. 1878.

This is a very earnest and eloquent
address, which was delivered to a mixed
audience of Catholics and Protestants.
Studiously popular in its style, it is for
that reason especially adapted to go
home to the hearts of the people. Fa-
ther Moriarty has happily hit on the pe-
culiar danger and fascination of the vice
of intemperance in the following pas-
sage : " It is a vice that lies in wait for
the most prominent members of society,
the highest in station, the most influential
over their fellow-men. It is not the vice
of the naturally mean, the selfish, or the
miserly. It is more apt, of its nature, to
attack those of the finest mind, the most
brilliant talent, the brave, the frank, the
generous-hearted, those open to the in-
fluence of the highest, the purest, the
noblest sentiments."

ERLESTON GLEN : A Lancashire Story of
the Sixteenth Century. By Alice O'Han-
lon. London : Burns & Gates. 1878.
(For sale by The Catholic Publication
Society Co.)

The scene of this tale, as the title in-
dicates, is laid in England, and the time
is that of Queen Elizabeth, before the
Catholic gentry of the country became
almost extinct, and the persecuting
spirit of the " Reformers" had died out
for want of material upon which to ex-
ercise its fanaticism. The plot of the
book is simple, and the story is, taken all
together, sad. Two happy, unobtrusive
families, allied by long acquaintance and
sincere friendship, but still more by the
bond of a common faith, are suddenly
and cruelly interrupted in their retired
happiness by the agents of that govern-
ment which it is the boast of some mo-
dern historians to characterize as one of
the most glorious England has ever had.
Then follow espionage, arrests, mental

720

New Publications.

suffering and physical torture, that k
though less than historical facts and by
no means distorted from the truth, sicken
the heart and move us to thank God we
live in the nineteenth and not in the six-
teenth century. As a work of art Erles-
ton Glen is by no means perfect. Its
stiffness of style argues an unpractised
hand, and the incomprehensible Lanca-
shire dialect is too often introduced to
suit the general reader ; but as a picture
of English life as it was during the sud-
den paroxysm of Protestant reformatory
zeal which characterized the reign of
Elizabeth, it is both truthful and vivid.
Many who do not care to read the more
serious works lately printed in England
on the same topic the sufferings of Ca-
tholics in that country will be both edi-
fied and instructed by a perusal of Miss
O'Hanlon's clever book.

it : it gives Catholics their due promi-
nence in a history of which they occupy
so large a place, but a place that has
hitherto been resolutely denied them,
It is well, it is necessary, that Catholic
children should feel and know that they
have as grand a share in the history, the
development, the life, the struggles, the
triumphs of their country as has any
other class. Placing this History in
their hands at school is the very best
means of instilling into their minds facts
which it has been the custom to ignore
in the histories thus far published.

The work is intended for the more ad-
vanced students in our schools and col-
leges. For younger scholars an Intro-
ductory History, arranged on the cateche-
tical plan, has been prepared as an
abridgment of the larger work, and will
be issued simultaneously with the latter.

THE Catholic Publication Society Com-
pany has in press, and will shortly issue,
one of the most important of its excel-
lent series of educational works. This
is the History of the United States (for
the use of schools), advance sheets of
which lie before us. It is written by
one of the most experienced and cultur-
ed of our writers, Mr. J. R. G. Hassard,
author of the Life of Archbishop Hughes,
Life of Pius IX., etc. Its letter-press, illus-
trations, and maps are beyond criticism.
Its method is singularly well adapted to
assist both scholar and teacher. At the
foot of every page are questions on what
has gone above. The Hhtory begins
with the discovery of America and brings
us down to our own times. It has
this special distinction to recommend

WE would again call the attention of
our readers to the new and excellent
works published by the Catholic Publi-
cation Society Co., and especially in-
tended for light summer reading. Such
are Six Sunny MontJis, Sir 77io//ias J\lore,
Letters of a Young Irishwoman, Alba^s
Dream, and the Various volumes of sto-
ries collected from THE CATHOLIC
WORLD. We only call attention to these
because they are the most recent of their
kind. The field of Catholic fiction is now
happily a large and rich one, and Catho-
lics who are given to this kind of read-
ing might well turn aside from the fool-
ish romances that are made to suit a vi-
cious popular taste to works which are
full}' as interesting as the others without
their nauseous flavor and immoral tone
and tendency.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXVIL, No. 162. SEPTEMBER, 1878.

THE MATHEMATICAL HARMONIES OF THE UNIVERSE.*

ARGUMENT.

THE primary light of reflection
which awakens the human mind to
a distinct consciousness of itself at
the same time reveals a world of
unknown forms, the universe of
space and succession, teeming with
evolutions of order, beauty, and
power. With the dawn of reason

* The following article was recently found in
Chicago among the posthumous papers of Judge
Arrington, who died in that city nine years ago, a
convert to the Catholic Church. It was written
twenty years previous, when he was struggling to
escape from the meshes of pantheism, and seems
to be a vigorous effort to prove to his own satisfac-
tion the reality of a personal, rational Deity.

Some of the illustrations are recognized as hav-
ing been used in a similar article published in the
Democratic Review about thirty years ago, which
was extensively copied, and even translated into
the French and German languages. The present
is a much more elaborate statement than that, as
if the author still dwelt upon the subject, and as the
years rolled on wished with increasing knowledge
to more strongly substantiate to his intellect what
his higher nature so instinctively craved.

At the bar Judge Arrington stood almost with-
out a peer in the great Northwest for legal learn-
ing and oratorical power. Whenever he indulged
in the luxury of literary and poetical composition
he showed an ability that promised a like pre-emi-
nence in those pursuits, had he devoted himself to
them.

This struggle of a great mind to fling off the in-
cubus of modern error, whose every maze he had
thoroughly explored, coupled with his subsequent
conversion to Catholicity and his saint-like death
in its communion, is an admirable practical illus-
tration of the truth that nothing short of the light
and grace to be found only in the true church of
Christ can ever thoroughly satisfy a great soul.

comes also the principle of causal-
ity, and man asks himself, What
mean these mighty changes on
earth and in the sky ? What urg-
es the wonderful motions of wind
and wave, of sunshine and of sha-
dow, and yonder golden fires that
sparkle and burn in the high vault
of heaven ? Whence are they all,
and whence am I? And the very
first attempt to answer these spon-
taneous questions produces the
first theory of natural theology, in-
augurating the reign of the earliest
natural religion.

But the curiosity of the intellect
never slumbers, and the problem
repeats itself from age to age :
What is the magnificent and myste-
rious power above man and be-
fore nature, the primordial Cause
of all phenomena ? And in re-
sponse to this constant and ever-
recurring interrogatory the annals
of speculation have presented sev-
eral contradictory solutions, as the
atheistic, the sceptical, and the
pantheistic, none of which I shall
now pause to criticise. I shall
simply undertake to prove, in ac-
cordance with the rigorous rules
of inductive logic, that the grea

T. HECKER. 1878.

722

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

cause, the fundamental efficient of
all facts whatsoever, must possess
the attributes of intelligence, and
especially mathematical reason.

It will be remembered, however,
that on the subject of causation, as
to the reality of the abstract idea
itself, the schools of both an-
cient and modern philosophy stand
divided. The disciples of one
sect assume the existence of secret
forces in the bosom of nature,
whose development results in those
varied manifestations of mingled
matter and motion which become
perceptible to our senses; while
their opponents, now including
the elite of the most enlightened
thinkers, as strenuously contend
that the knowledge of efficient
causes lies altogether beyond the
reach of the human faculties; that
our science must therefore be lim-
ited to the strict generalization of
phenomena according to their in-
variable conjunctions of simulta-
neity and succession, without the
possibility of discovering any hid-
den nexus or closer tie between
them. This is the doctrine taught
alike by the great names of Reid,
Locke, Hume, Brown, Kant, and
Comte.

But it is fortunate that the path
of the present argument will not
carry us into the mist of that in-
terminable controversy. I shall
not pretend to determine the speci-
fic qualities of causation in general.
On the contrary, the whole extent
of my purpose is to show that the
fundamental efficient of all material
facts, whatever else it may or may
not be, must be endowed with the
attribute of rationality.

I will begin by laying down the
universal proposition : Every na-
tural phenomenon having the cha-
racteristics of mathematical order
and harmony, to the exclusion of

chance, must be the effect of a ra-
tional cause.*

Now, it is evident that the forego-
ing assertion, the major premise of
my intended syllogism, predicates
a uniformity of relation between
a certain class of facts and the
power which produces them. In
other words, it affirms an invariable
correspondence betwixt a given
quality in the consequent, or effect,
and a like definite attribute in the
antecedent, or cause, whichever
terminology different schools may
prefer. The existence of this rela-
tion would by some be deduced
from a priori principles founded on
a mental analysis of the abstract
notion of causation, while a large
majority of mankind actually take
it for granted as an intuitive axiom
of self-evident truth ; and thus,
wherever they behold the appear-
ances of design or the beautiful
evidence of mathematical order,
their inference of previous or con-
temporaneous causal intelligence is
immediate and irresistible.

But neither of those procedures
can be regarded as either certain or
scientific. No sequence of events
can attain to the dignity of a gen-
eral and philosophic law until the
antecedent and consequent are
brought face to face and tested by
the rigid rules of an infallible in-
duction. The complicated web of
circumstances must be unravelled
to eliminate the extraneous facts,
and discover what precise quality
alone in the cause produces mathe-
matical harmony in the effect.

* Judge Arrington had devoted much time and
attention to studying the nature and results of saga-
city in animals ; but he so distinctly saw that they
are not responsible agents, &n& that the harmonious
and orderly results produced by them as, for exam-
ple, the mathematical regularity of the cells of bees-
are to be attributed not to them but to the Author of
their wonderful instinct, that he does not even
pause to treat this as an objection to his proposition
or to draw a distinction between mediate and im-
mediate causes.

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

723

For example, it is known that the
air supports animal life as well as
combustion. But that same atmo-
sphere consists of two elements,
oxygen and azote; how, then, shall it
be ascertained which ingredient is
the supporter of life and flame?
To determine this question the na-
tural philosopher performs an ex-
pcrimentum crucis by plunging a
bird or a lighted candle in a jar of
pure azote from which the oxygen
has been removed, when the bird
instantly dies and the candle is ex-
tinguished. The problem is solved
according to the inductive canon of
difference. Nevertheless, to make
sure he reverses the experiment,
and treats the animal or the flame
with oxygen instead of azote, when
the functions of vitality and com-
bustion proceed without disturb-
ance indeed, with additional vigor.
Here there can be no longer any
room for doubt. It is manifest as
any demonstrated theorem in geo-
metry that of the two elements in
atmospheric air, the oxygen, and
not the azote, sustains both life and
combustion. And as I said before,
this is the procedure of induction
by what Mill so happily terms the <
method of difference the most po-
tent and unerring of all the five
canons for the investigation of
causes.

Now, what we need for our in-
duction as to the real and absolute
efficient of mathematical order and
harmony in the motions of the uni-
verse is a similar analyzed instance,
where the naked antecedent and
consequent shall be detected in the
very act of conjugation. And, by
a propitious arrangement of nature
in the great fact of our complex or-
ganization, we have it in our power
to perform this decisive experi-
ment in the same manner and with
as much certainty as in the previous

example. We can act as individu-
al causes, either with or without
the presence of a rational purpose.
Then, let the student seat himself,
pen or pencil in hand, to make
marks on the paper, without any
intelligent design, as we sometimes
do in a state of reverie when the
reason is exclusively occupied with
some other subject. The result is
a medley of irregular and discon-
nected figures, of letters and words
written mechanically, without beau-
ty, order, or consecutive meaning.

Again, let the experimentalist
apply the test of his intelligence.
The effect is a series of united dia-
grams solving some profound pro-
blem in geometry, or a divine
page of impassioned and classical
eloquence, or the elegant delinea-
tion of any particular object of na-
ture or art, according to the spe-
cific intention of the person. Here
the analysis is perfect, and real-
izes the exact conditions imposed
by the inductive canon of differ-
ence. The circumstances are all
precisely identical in both cases,
save the presence of rationality and
its consequent mathematical har-
mony in the one instance, and their
absence in the other. Hence there
can be no question that in human
causation the attribute of reason
is the actual efficient of every spe-
cies of order.

Besides, even nature herself pre-
sents the same experiment in every
case of total insanity. The mad-
man is deprived of reason, but not
of simple volition or bare causal
power; and the consequence is
utter disorder and want of method
in his actions. He cannot produce
mathematical effects, because he fs
deficient in mathematical intelli-
gence.

The same general law is demon-
strated also by the canon of agree-

724

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

fnent. Universal experience shows
in every department of science, in-
dustry, literature, and art that in-
telligence is the invariable ante-
cedent of order, and that the ab-
sence of that mental quality in-
volves the corresponding absence
of all regular and harmonious se-
quence.

It remains, however, to prove
our major premise by the method
of concomitant variations, the can-
on of which has been expressed
with such clear and scientific ac-
curacy in Mill's Logic : " Whatever
phenomenon varies in any manner
whenever another phenomenon va-
ries in some particular manner, is
either a cause or an effect of that
phenomenon, or is connected with
it through some fact of causation."

For instance, in the case of heat,
by increasing the temperature of a
body we enlarge its bulk, but by
enlarging its bulk we do not in-
crease its temperature; therefore
heat must be the cause, and not the
effect, of expansion. In a similar
manner philosophers demonstrate
the first law of motion, or uniform
velocity in a straight line, by show-
ing that retardation, or divergence,
is always in the definite ratio of the
obstacles encountered by the mov-
ing body.

The application of this rule to
our argument, although its force
cannot be augmented, gives the
evidence the greatest variety and
splendor. For the annals of all
ages and nations, without one sin-
gle exception, bear witness that, in
exact proportion to the increase of
rationality, the human mind has al-
ways displayed corresponding ef-
fects of beauty and order in every
sphere of art and civilization.
What investigators have extended
the limits of natural knowledge by
perfecting the science of geometry,

or discovering the differential cal-
culus, or fixing the \.r\\Q principia of
the material universe? Not alow
class of intellects with feeble facul-
ties of reason and no broad sweep
of mathematical perception, but
men of the loftiest genius, such as
the immortal names of Euclid,
Archimedes, Leibnitz, or Newton.

But I have already spent suffi-
cient, and perhaps the reader will
think too much, time on this pri-
mary induction, which indeed, from
the universality of the law, has
every appearance of being self-evi-
dent. Nevertheless, this fulness of
discussion was indispensable to my
purpose, that being to place all the
premises of the argument on a
scientific rather than a popular
basis. And, if I am not mistaken,
we are now entitled to consider
the first proposition as completely
proven : " That all natural pheno-
mena having the attributes of mathe-
matical order and harmony to the
exclusion of chance must be the
effects of a cause, or of causes, pos-
sessing rationality."

I am aware, however, of the spe-
cious objection that the general
induction is too wide for the war-
rant of its particular instances. It
may be urged that although the
demonstration is perfect as to the
logical relation of intelligence as a
cause and harmony as the conse-
quent, yet still we are not justified
in affirming that no other cause is
capable of producing the same re-
sult. For example, a hundred sep-
arate antecedents may lead to
death ; and many ordinary facts
follow very different material or
mental efficients. Upon what prin-
ciples, then, it will be asked,> are we
enabled to pronounce the universal
negative that there cannot exist
any unintelligent forces in the
bosom of nature entirely adequate

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

725

to the production of the mathemati-
cal order which we behold in the
world of time and space ? I state
the adverse criticism in all its
strength, because it is the only an-
swer that can be interposed by the
sceptical philosopher ; and, besides,
it constitutes the main difficulty in
the minds of the multitude. Never-
theless, it cannot claim the slight-
est pretension to the dignity of a
scientific argument.

In the first place, I remark that
the objection, if it has any sem-
blance of validity, proves too much,
as it goes to overthrow every gen-
eral proposition which can possibly
be framed on the subject of causa-
tion, so far as assertion can pro-
ceed from the antecedent to the
consequent. It cuts off from the
realms of logic, at one reckless
blow, the whole category of univer-
sals as to the predication of any
causal sequence even among per-
ceptible phenomena. Nay, it also
denies the legitimacy of particular
affirmations in all cases of causa-
tion ; for if the sceptic has the
logical liberty to assume the hy-
pothesis of unknown and invisi-
ble efficients in one instance, he
may with equal plausibility do so
in all ; and therefore these secret
and unseen causes may be the real
producing antecedents of every
phenomenon whatever, and thus all
knowledge must be reduced to
naked conjecture.

By what rule, let me inquire, are
we justified in extending the sub-
lime law of gravitation to the va-
rious planets of the solar system,
and even as high as the fixed stars ?
Obviously for the only reason that
we perceive in the magnificent evo-
lutions of the celestial bodies the
same class of effects which apper-
tain to terrestrial attraction. And
upon that identical principle we

are entitled to infer the existence
of a rational cause wherever we
behold mathematical harmonies
or the manifest evidences of in-
telligence and design. The most
stringent canons of induction give
us this right, and I can see no mo-
tive for refraining from its exer-
cise, if the process should per-
chance conduct us to the recogni-
tion of a Supreme Being. But as
to this last point, we have not yet
advanced far enough in the discus-
sion to venture a positive declara-
tion.

It must be admitted, however,
that the axiom by which we are
enabled to deduce a cause with
specific attributes from any definite
facts, such as we know by previous
experience to be the natural con-
sequents of that particular effi-
cient, must be restricted to the
special case where we have no ac-
quaintance with any other cause
competent for the production of
the given phenomena. And this
is precisely the condition of the
case in our present argument.
We have the most abundant and
perfect experience that intelligence
is adequate to produce the harmo-
nious regularity and beautiful order
of nature; but we are altogether
destitute of scientific, or even su-
perficial, knowledge as to the reali-
ty of any different cause which
might yield those results.

As I have already observed, the
most advanced schools of modern
sensist philosophy entirely ignore
the investigation of efficient or
producing causes, as removed beyond
the sphere of the human senses. On
this point the Scotch metaphysi-
cians speak as decidedly as the
disciples of Locke and Hume, or
the more profound and intensely
critical Kant. Indeed, Dr. Thomas
Brown has clearly demonstrated

726

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

that in the physical world we can
never hope to discover by sensation
anything save phenomena, either
antecedents or consequents, with
their invariable laws of simulta-
neity and succession ; while the
deepest as the most laborious
thinker of all, M. Auguste Comte,
refuses even so much as to use the
term cause in his Course of Positive
Philosophy.

On the other hand, those who
aver the existence of imperceptible
powers and occult qualities as the
actual efficients of phenomena do
not attempt to define their charac-
ter, nor pretend that they fall
within the limits of sensible or in-
tellectual cognition. A member
of that s&ct, like the pedant in the
old play, may explain " that opium
produces sleep because it has a
soporific property " ; but if you ask
him how he knows it to possess
such a property, he can only an-
swer, from the fog of his vicious
circle, " because it produces sleep."
And such must ever be the virtual
avowal of utter ignorance as to the
nature of causation by the adhe-
rents of this obsolete school. And
could they thus solve, even to their
own satisfaction, the question of
secondary causes, they leave the ques-
tion of the First Cause untouched.

It therefore follows, in accord-
ance with all the rules of the most
rigid and thorough induction, that
the mathematical harmonies of the
universe furnish conclusive proofs
of an intelligent cause; and if we
reject this inference there is not,
and cannot be, the faintest sha-
dow of a possible hypothesis for the
explanation of natural phenomena.

I will next proceed to state my
second proposition : All natural
phenomena have the characteris-
tics of mathematical order and har-
mony to the exclusion of chance.

Now, it is evident that a general-
ization so sweeping and universal
as the above could only be made
good by an immense, an almost in-
finite series of inductions. Never-
theless, we are not bound to as-
sume an onus of such overpowering
magnitude. For as the syllogism
of our argument belongs to the
first figure, and we have to deal at
present with the minor premise,
that may well be particular ; and
the conclusion will be valid as to
everything embraced within its
terms, and that will be found suffi-
cient to warrant our conclusion.

As a preliminary, however, it be-
comes necessary to explain the
logical process for the exclusion
or mathematical elimination of
chance. Suppose there be two
dice in a box, what are the chances
of our turning an ace at a single
throw ? Obviously one-sixth, leav-
ing six chances minus one against
the probability ; while the chances
against our throwing two aces, or
any other equation, may be set
down, with sufficient accuracy for
the purpose of this argument, as
the square of the last number, or
thirty-six. The chances against
an equation of four dice are 1,296 ;
while against eight they amount
to the enormous sum of 1,679,616
an impossible throw, unless the
cubes have been loaded. And it
is manifest from this example how
very soon the multiplication of
coincidences indicative of order
must demonstrate causation to the
utter elimination of chance. I
will now commence with the par-
ticular cases of the general law an-
nounced in my second premise.

INSTANCE I. MYSELF.

I survey my right hand : it has
five fingers ; I look at my left : it
has five also the other member of

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

727

an algebraic equation. I then turn
to my feet, and behold a similar
equation of five toes on each. I
next turn to my bodily senses, and
again find the mystic five. The
wonder is increasing. And now
all the incalculable millions of my
fellow-men rise up and sweep be-
fore the eye of the mind, in all the
rich and radiant, or coarse and
unseemly, varieties of humanity;
and all these, too, present the iden-
tical God-announcing miracle, the
quintuple equation of fives.

Let us, however, apply the rigor-
ous rules for the calculation of
chances, not forgetting the judi-
cious remark of Whately : " That
the probability of any given sup-
position must be estimated by
means of a comparison with each
of its alternatives."

Now, there can be but two sup-
positions possible as to this uni-
form combination by which the
number five is five times repeated
in the human organism. The cause,
whatever that may be, which pro-
duces these invariable equations
must be endowed with intelligence
or not. There is no other con-
ceivable alternative ; for the abscissio
infiniti effected by the word not, in
logical division, always exhausts
the whole category of things, both
real and imaginary. Every object
must be rational or not rational
in tli ought and in fact.

Therefore all these millionary
equations of fives must have been
produced by a cause, or causes,
possessed of reason, or by a power
destitute of that attribute. If we
assume the first alternative there
will be no chances for calculation,
the efficient itself being amply ade-
quate to develop the mathematical
harmony.

But take up the other and only
remaining supposition, that the

causal agent producing the human
organism is mere blind force of
some unknown and unimaginable
nature; what are the chances against
such a hypothesis' ? We might say,
in all logical strictness, that as we
have no scientific knowledge of
any such unintelligent cause capa-
ble of effecting the given phenome-
na of order, while we are acquaint-
ed with an efficient fully competent
for the purpose, the chances against
the naked assumption of blind force
must be stated as infinity to zero.
The chances against the equation
of five fingers on each hand would
be twenty-five. Add the five toes
on each foot, and the chances will
be six hundred and twenty-five.
Then incorporate into the calcula-
tion the five senses, and the chances
are three thousand one hundred
and twenty-five. Let me procure
a larger sheet, as the measureless
sea of infinite and nameless num-
bers is flowing fast upon me. Next
reckon the chances in the case of
two persons, and they swell to the
vast sum of nine millions, seven
hundred and sixty-five thousand,
six hundred and twenty- five ; while
the chances for four men will be
the square of that number, and so
on for ever. But the enormous
sums soon overpower all the mag-
nificent processes of our algebra,
and no logarithmic abbreviations
can aid us to grasp what stretches
away into the unexplored fields of
immensity. The attempt to apply
the calculation even to the inhabi-
tants now living on the globe would
be as idle as the endeavor to enu-
merate the sunbeams shed during
a solar year. The arithmetic of
the archangel would perhaps be
insufficient for the mighty compu-
tation.

In reference also to a single in-
dividual the subject might be

728

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

pushed indefinitely farther to the
bones of the arms, head, feet, and
the convolutions of the brain ; for
everywhere, and all through the
physical framework, there runs a
wonderful duality, where the se-
ries of constant equations counter-
balance each other.

It must be borne in mind that I
have shown in my major premise
the necessity of rationality in the
cause which effects mathematical
order in the sequences of any na-
tural phenomena. Hence such a
cause is demonstrated for the whole
of humanity. But, apart from the
rigid logic of the argument, the
question presents itself to popular
apprehension-: Could a cause with-
out the intellect to perceive, the
faculty to calculate and arrange,
numerical relations, produce this
infinity of mathematical harmo-
nies ?

If it be answered that the effi-
cient is some unknown power or
secret quality involved in the facts
themselves or concealed beneath
them, the problem still remains un-
solved, and rebounds upon us with
accumulated force : Is that sup-
posed secret power or occult qua-
lity self-conscious? Hath it the
attribute of mathematical reason
competent to the calculation and
production of all these beautiful
and boundless equations ?

INSTANCE II. CHEMISTRY.

Let us take our next compari-
sons from chemistry, that youngest
sister of all the sciences, the splen-
did child of the galvanic battery,
whose birth was brilliant as that of
lightning.

Go analyze a cup of water.
You find it composed of two parts
of hydrogen to one of oxygen by
volume, and eight parts of oxygen
to one of hydrogen by weight.

Nor do these numerical ratios ever
vary. Freeze it into ice hard as
the crystal of the jewelled moun-
tains; dissipate it into vapor of
such exquisite tenuity that a mil-
lion acres of floating mist would
scarcely form a single dewdrop ;
bring it from the salt solitudes of
the ocean, or from the central
curve of a rainbow, and submit it
to the test of analysis ; and still
the pale chemist, as he watches the
evolutions of the perpetual wonder
from the depths of his laboratory,
calls out : " Two to one, and one
to eight, now and for ever !"

Let no one hope to estimate the
chances against the hypothesis of
the production of these mathemati-
cal relations by an unintelligent
agent, unless he can first reckon
the drops of a thunder-storm or
measure the capacity of the sea.

A similar numerical harmony
prevails in the atmosphere, which
contains twenty parts of oxygen to
eighty of nitrogen in every one
hundred by volume, very nearly;
the definite proportions never
varying. Can it be imagined that
the cause of this constant order,
which rolled the aerial ocean of
the breath of life forty-five miles
deep around the globe, is itself des-
titute of the reason to perceive the
ratios of its own wonderful works ?

But select as another example a
bit of limestone. You discover its
elements to bear a quadruple pro-
portion. There are twenty-two
parts by weight of carbonic acid,
and twenty-eight of lime. Lime
yields on analysis twenty parts of
the white metal calcium and eight
of oxygen gas ; while carbonic acid
is composed of sixteen parts of
oxygen to six of pure carbon.
And these fixed relations of num-
bers are the same in every particle
of limestone on the earth : in the

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

729

snowy stalactite torn from the roof
of coral caverns, in the ponder-
ous fragment hurled up from the
heart of the globe by the fiery hand
of world-rocking volcanoes, and
in the gleaming pebble which the
child picks up from the waters of
the brook. What a field is here
for the calculation of chances !
What a theme for devout and
transcendent wonder ! What a
magnificent Bible with leaves of
crystal is this among the old silent
rocks ! Must not such marvels of
mathematical order have been pro-
duced by an efficient endowed
with rationality a cause that, to
borrow the sublime language of
Hebrew poetry, had the skill " to
weigh the mountains in scales and
the hills in a balance " ?

But not only do we find numeri-
cal ratios here ; symbolical angles
are also detected. All the hun-
dred forms of carbonate of lime
split into six-sided figures, or regu-
lar rhombohedrons, whose alter-
nate angles measure 105 deg. 55
min. and 75 deg. 5 min. Let the
mathematician come with his trigo-
nometry fresh from the schools to
study this lofty lesson ; although
no science can avail for the com-
putation of the chances against the
hypothesis of an unintelligent
cause for this celestial geometry of
the crystal mountains.

INSTANCE III. BOTANY.

We will make our next induc-
tions in that study so charming to
all genuine lovers of nature. Not
over smoky furnaces or in darken-
ed chambers will we read this
division of our theme, but out in
the sunny fields, and in the green-
robed valleys, among the silken
sisterhood of vegetable beauties,
and beneath the radiant smile of
the blue-eyed heavens.

The first ten classes of Linnaeus
are arranged simply according to
the number of stamens presented
in each blossom. For example, let
us analyze a flower of the tobacco
plant. It is of the fifth class, and
of course has five stamens. But
the equation does not end here ;
its corol has five parts, and the
emerald cup of its calyx as many
points.

Now, suppose that every bloom
is produced by some efficient
which cannot count ; what are the
chances against this combination
of fives three times in a single
specimen? Obviously one hun-
dred and twenty-five; while for
two flowers they amount to the
sum of fifteen thousand, six hun-
dred and twenty-five. For four
blossoms the chances would be
the square of the last number, and
so on ad infinitum. What, then,
must be the chances against the
supposition of atheism in the flow-
ers of a solitary field, in all the
fields of a solar summer, in all the
summers of sixty centuries?

But similar equations hold with
all the vegetables to be found on
the globe, and in their fruit as well
as flower. Some blossoms are per-
fect time-pieces, marking the eter-
nal march of the celestial lights
in the firmament. Many open to
the morning sun ; some only to the
fiery kisses of noonday ; others at
purple twilight when the gentle
dews begin to fall ; and a few in
the depth of darkness, as it were to
gaze on the glory of the midnight
stars.

INSTANCE IV. LIGHT.

I shall not hazard a remark as to
the nature of that wonderful agent
whose coming at the dawn of every
day is like the sweet smile of some
viewless yet omnipresent divinity,

730

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

bringing with it the revelation of a
new world. At present we have
only to deal with mathematical evo-
lutions, and not with the substan-
tial essence of any fact or pheno-
menon.

The first law of light is an alge 1 -
braic formula : The intensity of the
fluid decreases as the square of the
distance increases, and vice versd.

The second law is equally math-
ematical : The angles of incidence
and reflection are equivalent for
every ray. Thus a sunbeam, fall-
ing on the table before me at an
angle of forty-five degrees, will be
reflected at the same angle.

Here, then, in the development of
these two general laws, we behold
the miracle of innumerable squares,
circles, angles, such as sweep over
countless millions of leagues in the
stellar spaces, with a regularity
that no Euclid or Legendre might
ever hope to trace. And can it be
possible that after all the great
cause which thus geometrizes
may be devoid of all geometrical
knowledge nay, of even the fac-
ulty of rationality? If so, then
might a blind mole, or the abstrac-
tion of a nonentity, compose a sys-
tem of beauty and order superior
in both accuracy and splendor to
the Principia of Newton or the
sublime theories of La Place !

You can scarcely commence the
estimation of chances in reference
to these luminous angles being con-
tinually formed all over the mate-
rial universe. Even imagination
reels before the immensity of the
conception. Think of all the fire-
beams that emanate from the sun
during one long summer day of
all the rays which flash out from
the high stars for only a single
night! Then let the mind travel
back over the march of dim and
distant centuries, gathering age

upon age, rolling cycle after cycle,
in those vast segments of eternity
where the Alps and Andes seem
evanescent as the snow-flakes that
ride on the gyrations of the whirl-
wind around their hoary summits ;
where Platonic years are fleeting
as the pulsations of the pendulum,
and even the starry galaxies come
and go "like rainbows." Then
bid your soaring fancy lift her
lightning-wings away from world to
world, and behold the horizon of
the space which hath no limits,
still opening for ever onwards and
upwards, and thickening all around
with serial columns of suns and
stars, and undulating like some
shoreless sea with its waves of
nebulous light. Then tell me the
number of rays that have shot
athwart this teeming expanse of
immensity since the sons of hea-
ven shouted their choral hymns in
the morning of creation. And an-
swer me, who shall calculate the
chances against the sceptical hy-
pothesis here ? Only a God of in-
finite intelligence may solve this
infinite problem.

INSTANCE V. ASTRONOMY.

The first law of the celestial mo-
tions discovered by Kepler, like
all the rest, expresses a mathemati-
cal formula : All the planetary
orbits are regular ellipses, in the
lower focus of which stands the
sun.

Now, as the ellipse contains an
infinite number of geometrical
points, it follows that the chances
against the repetition of this figure
by the progress of the same body
along the same path in space must
be infinity multiplied into infinity,
compared with zero.

The second law is equally deci-
sive. It may be stated thus : The
times occupied by a planet in de-

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

731

scribing any given arc of its orbit
are always as the areas of the sec-
tors, formed by straight lines from
the beginning and end of the arcs
to the sun as a common centre.
And here it cannot fail to be re-
marked that every term of the
enunciation is purely mathemati-
cal.

But the third law of Kepler is
still more astonishing. The squares
of the periods of the planetary
revolutions vary as the cubes of
their distances from the sun.

What amazing evolutions are
these to be the work of unthink-
ing masses of matter ! What an-
gel's music is this among the stars
'to be chimed by the choir of
tongueless atoms ! And well
might the inspired old man ex-
claim when the heavenly harmony
first broke upon his ear : " I have
stolen the golden secret of the
Egyptians. I triumph. I will in-
dulge my sacred fury. I care not
whether my book be read now or
by posterity. [ can afford to wait
a century for readers, when God
himself has waited six thousand
years for an observer."

We will not speak of chances in
the production of such a mathe-
matical marvel. We dare not ap-
proach the stupendous calculation,
unless we might borrow the geome-
try of the morning star.

But every region of astronomy
overflows with similar wonders;
yet I have only time to adduce
one more. The sun and all his
suite of luminous attendants rotate
from west to east, on axes that re-
main nearly parallel to themselves.
La Place has computed the pro-
bability to be as four millions to
one that all the motions of the
planets, whether of rotation or
revolution, originated in a common
cause. Is it, then, even so much as

conceivable that the efficient of
such an endless order should be it-
self destitute of all reason and
foresight ? For it is universally
conceded that the discovery and
quick perception of mathematical
relations evince intellect of the
most lofty character ; how incom-
parably superior, therefore, must
have been the rationality required
for the primary composition and
arrangement of these relations !
If to think geometrically demands
intelligence, can any cause work
geometrically without possessing
the attributes of thought ? We ad-
mire the genius of a Kepler and
of a Newton as almost superhuman,
because they were enabled to un-
derstand the harmonious laws of
the heavenly bodies ; what mad-
ness, then, must it be to deny the
existence of mind as the necessary
efficient for the production of
these very harmonies !

I might go on to career all over
the fields of science, and show
the prevalence of mathematical
ratios and equations in every de-
partment of approachable nature.
But on the strength of the instan-
ces already adduced I think we
are entitled to assume our minor
premise as thoroughly proven : that
all natural phenomena have the
characteristic of mathematical or-
der and harmony to the exclusion
of chance. And this induction,
although it only rests for support
on the canon of agreement per
ennmerationem simplicem^ ubi non
reperitur instantia contradictoria
nevertheless has as broad and firm
a basis as the philosophic axiom
that every fact has a cause. For
as we have never found a pheno-
menon without an efficient, so nei-
ther can we ever find one without
its relations of mathematical or-
der.

732

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

And now calling to mind our
major premise that every natu-
ral phenomenon having the char-
acteristics of mathematical order
and harmony must be the effect of
a rational cause it follows irresis-
tibly by the rules of logic, from the
conjugation of the two proposi-
tions, that all natural phenomena
are the effects of a rational cause.

But we are not yet justified in
dignifying the efficient of all these
natural phenomena with the name
of God. For the cause, though
demonstrated to be intelligent, may
be one or many, permanent or
transient, good or evil. We have
only inquired as to its existence,
without considering any other at-
tribute. However, we have not
far to go in the sequel of the in-
vestigation, as the laws of logical
inference founded on our previous
inductions will enable us to give a
speedy solution of the remaining
problems, at least so fully as they
may be susceptible of scientific ex-
planation.

On the subject of causal unity it
may be laid down as a general
principle : That in the same sphere
of time and space the identity of
an efficient is to be concluded from
the identity of the phenomena which
experience has shown it to be ca-
pable of producing. Thus we refer
all the electrical facts in the uni-
verse to a single imponderable
agent ; and we always predicate
the power of heat whenever we
witness its usual and well-known
effects. Nevertheless, these in-
stances are only analogous. But
the following are precisely in point.
The affirmation of a single human
being, the truth of his separate ex-
istence as a real and rational unit,
is inferred alone from his manifes-
tations as a cause in time and
space. He stands demonstrated,

present or absent, by the power
that he develops, or has developed,
in his individual sphere. His phy-
sical features may change, yet he
will still be revealed in his intelli-
gent actions. The divine pictures
of a Raphael or a Rubens may be
identified for long ages after the
hand that sketched the now im-
mortal lineaments of some mortal
face has been mouldering, like the
lovely original, in darkness and
dust. No two persons that is to
say, human causes present exactly
the same effects. Every fact evolv-
ed will differ more or less. And,
lastly, every cause is manifested as
a unit by its occupation or perva-
sion of a given space.

Applying, then, this axiom of
identity to the efficient of natural
phenomena, the unity of the great
Cause becomes at once apparent.
Everywhere we behold the same
laws of mathematical harmony.
The identical principle of gravita-
tion, which we have proved to be
the effect of a sublime rationality,
carries us away to the utmost limits
of the solar system, and shows us
one sovereign efficient, one pervad-
ing force, that we may henceforth
call God, all over those immeasura-
ble fields of infinite azure. And
when this path grows so dim and
distant amidst that far-off wilder-
ness of flaming worlds that we can
no longer trace the footsteps of at-
traction, there still remains hea-
ven's own highway of radiant light
to conduct us on and on towards
the centre, or perchance it may be
the circumference, of the universe,
revealing the same God enthroned
on every sun ; because every ray
that flashes from the great blue
deep of the firmament preserves
the same identical laws of reflec-
tion and refraction.

Who can elevate his mind to the

The Mathematical Harmonies of the Universe.

733

contemplation of these amazing
and magnificent depths of distance,
those profound caverns of space,
teeming and sparkling with worlds
like crystals ? That light which tra-
vels almost two hundred thousand
miles in a second does not reach
us from the star 61 Cygni until
after a journey of nine years and
three months ; and yet that is one
of the nocturnal luminaries which
may be termed the nearest neigh-
bors of our system. The number
of registered stars amount to two
hundred thousand ; while the en-
tire host accessible to the sweep
of the telescope have been reckon-
ed as a hundred millions, from
some of which it takes the lumi-
nous rays thousands of years to fly
down to the earth. What mathe-
matician, then, shall measure this
celestial expanse, brimming over
with suns and stars, and swarming
with galaxies of living flame ? Im-
agination stoops beneath such a
giddy summit, nor dares attempt
to scale those cliffs of golden fire.
Reason, faltering on the brink of
that boundless ocean of immensity,
recoils as from the verge of anni-
hilation. None but God can walk
the heights of those starry pinna-
cles, and the light that burns and
flashes around his feet falls down
to man as the proof of the divine
presence. In fine, if we had never
before known a Deity, the tele-
scope would have revealed him.

The unity of God being estab-
lished, can we predicate his eter-
nity? In the first place, all his-
tory bears witness to the perma-
nence of the same grand principles
of causation, since the primary

annals of the species; and then
geology takes up the subject, and
carries it back for countless ages
through those records inscribed on
the ancient rocks by the pencil of
central fire, or the fierce pen of
earthquakes and blazing volcanoes ;
and still everywhere we see the
evidence of the same mathematical
laws, the same attraction and gravi-
tation. Everything alike shows the
existence of the same all-creating
Deity as anterior to itself; and fur-
ther than this the canons of mere
induction cannot go.

Nor can the goodness of God be
demonstrated in the precise and
conclusive manner which has mark-
ed our previous propositions. The
beauties of nature and the blessings
of Providence are sufficient proofs
to the majority of mankind; and
for all the rest one must depend
on a priori reasoning, or look to
the clearer light of a divine revela-
tion.

It must be observed that the
foregoing argument differs essen-
tially from that of the celebrated
Paley. His is founded on the me-
chanical phenomena of the uni-
verse, but this on the mathemati-
cal relations of order and harmony
on the present as well as the past
physical evolutions in time and
space, thus proving the continued
agency of the supreme Cause, the
Deity, both in immanence and in
act.

But it is not my purpose to criti-
cise other theories, nor to answer
objections, which must be impo-
tent unless they can overthrow the
legitimacy of my inductions. Ac-
cordingly, I submit the whole.

734

Pearl.

PEARL.

BY KATHLEEN o'MEARA, AUTHOR OF " IZA'S STORY," " A SALON IN THE LAST DAYS OF THE EMPIRE," u ARE

YOU MY WIFE? " ETC.

EARLY next day Mrs. Montea-
gle sent down to the entresol to
know if Col. Redacre was well
enough to come up and see her, or,
if not, could she go down and see
him ; she wanted to speak to him
on a matter of importance. The
answer came on a card of Mrs.
Redacre's, written in pencil :

" I am so sorry ! Hugh is really
not able to see any one this morning.
I hope you will come down to-mor-
row> Yours affectionately,

"A.R."

Mrs. Monteagle was surprised.
There was nothing in the fact that
the colonel was not able to come
up-stairs Balaklava sometimes
made a great difficulty about stairs;
but why could she not go down to
him ? The hope that she " would
come down to-morrow " was clear-
ly an intimation that she was
not to go to-day. Why should
she not go and see Mrs. Redacre,
even if her husband was not in a
humor to see people ? The fore-
noon passed, and neither of the
girls came near her. She inquired
if the doctor had been sent for,
but the servants said not. M. le
Colonel had nothing the matter
with him ; he complained of Bala-
klava just as usual; there was no
question of such an extreme mea-
sure as sending for the doctor.
This made it all the more curious
why an old friend like herself
should be kept out for the day.
Mrs. Monteagle, however, was not
a gossip, and, after turning it in her

mind for a reasonable time, she
concluded that it was no business
of hers, and that it would be a nui-
sance, having friends living in the
same house with one, if one could
not be left alone for a day without
their seeing a mystery in it.

Late in the afternoon she went
out to pay some visits. It was
Mme. de Kerbec's day. Mrs.
Monteagle had rather a horror of
" days," but she was pretty regular
in attending this one. Mme. de
Kerbec was very particular about
people calling on her day, and apt
to take offence if they neglected
it. To her it was the grand re-
curring opportunity of her life.
She loved dress with a passionate
love, tenderly, humanly; and her
day was an opportunity for doing
it honor, making a kind of feast to
it. This was a trial to some of her
friends; they felt obliged to re-
spond to the challenge and come
always finely dressed, and many
were not inclined to don their first-
best costumes on so ordinary an
occasion. People, however, like
Mrs. Monteagle, who had passed
the age when society exacted this
kind of homage from them, found
great amusement in looking at the
fine fashions, laughing at them
very often, and at the mistress of
the house, who, fat, fifty, and not
fair, sat on her crimson satin sofa,
with the latest and most magnifi-
cent costume spread out over it.

To-day she was gorgeous in a
Bismarck-en-colere moire antique,
so trimmed that the original ma-

Pearl.

735

terial nearly disappeared under
elaborate passementerie, lace, and
fringe. Nothing pleased her like
being complimented on her dress ;
and Mrs. Monteagle, though she
was fond of snubbing people when
they deserved it, was fond, too, of
pleasing them, and occasionally
gratified this weakness of Captain
Jack.

*' How beautiful Mme. de Ker-
bec's dress looks !" said some one,
breaking a pause in the languishing
conversation.

"That's because it is beauti-
ful," said Mrs. Monteagle in her
literal way. " Where do you get
those splendid costumes, coun-
tess ? One does not know which
to wonder at most, their magnifi-
cence or their variety. I suspect
you have a Titania who works some
time of the night weaving those
lovely silks and making them up
into costumes."

" Oh ! no," said Mme. de Kerbec
gravely. " I never would keep my
maid up of a night working, and I
always tell the dressmaker that I
would rather wait any time than
have her keep those poor girls up
all night at my dresses ; but I
dare say she does it all the same
they are so selfish, that class of
people."

" Will you tell me the class that
is not selfish ?" said Mrs. Mont-
eagle ; but she happened to catch
Mr. Kingspring's eye, and there
was a dangerous twinkle in it
which made her look quickly
away and observe that there
would be a fine display of dresses
at the ball to-night, no doubt.

"Yes, I should think there
would be," said Mme. de Kerbec,
composing her countenance, as
she always did when dress was
spoken of, assuming that peculiar
gravity of manner which many

people put on when anything con-
nected with the life to come is
mentioned.

" It is a pity you don't go to
the Tuileries, countess," said Mr.
Kingspring ; " you would cut them
all out with your dress."

" It is a pity in one way," she
replied ; " but one has a principle
or one has not. It would make no
end of a scandal if we were to be
seen at this court. The count would
never be forgiven by the faubourg;
and I have to consider his posi-
tion before my own pleasure."

" Of course, certainly," said Mr.
Kingspring.

" It is to be an unusually bril-
liant affair to-night; the Redacres
are going, I believe," some one re-
marked.

"I fancy not; the colonel is
not well," said Mrs. Monteagle.

"The young ladies are going
with Mme. Leopold," said Mr.
Kingspring. "I met her just now,
and she told me Mrs. Redacre had
written to ask her to chaperone
them, as their father would not
go."

Mrs. Monteagle looked at Mr.
Kingspring as he announced this,
and she fancied there was a glance
of answering intelligence in his
eyes.

" The colonel is not seriously
ill?" inquired Mme. de Kerbec, who
was rather proud of her intimacy
with the Redacres.

" He's not ill at all," said Mr.
Kingspring.

" Then why is he sending his
daughters to the ball with Mme.
Leopold ?"

"I really can't say, unless it be
that he is not in a humor to go ; a
man does not always feel inclined
to go to a ball, especially a man
like Redacre."

" Ah ! to be sure. Balaklava is a

736

Pearl.

constant trial to him, poor, dear
man!" sighed Mme. de Kerbec.

" Have you seen him lately ?"
inquired Mrs. Monteagle.

" Yes," said Mr. Kingspring.
" I turned in there this morning
for a moment. What does M.
de Kerbec say of the ' situation,'
as they call it? Does he think
we shall have war?" This was to
Mme. de Kerbec.

" He never tells me what he
thinks," said the lady in an ag-
grieved tone. "I have, in fact, giv-
en up asking him. He only cares
to talk politics with men ; that is
the way with most of you."

Mrs. Monteagle began to be se-
riously mystified. This sudden
interest in M. de Kerbec's view of
the situation did not deceive her.
Mr. Kingspring evidently had
turned off the conversation from
Col. Redacre on purpose. And
why ? She was not a meddling
person or touchy, but really it
was enough to set her wondering,
this odd behavior of the Redacres.
They were distinctly keeping her
out of the way while Mr. King-
spring was allowed to come in !
And then Mrs. Redacre writing
to Mme. Leopold to chaperone the
girls to-night ! What did it all
mean ?

Suddenly it flashed on her that
they were anxious to bring about
a marriage between Pearl and
Leon, and had seized on the ball
to-night as an opportunity for sug-
gesting the same idea to the Leo-
polds. On the other hand, this
was such a thoroughly un-English
way of proceeding that it was
hardly fair to suspect the Redacres
of adopting it. Pearl, too, was the
last girl she knew who would be
likely to fall in with such French
manoeuvring. Altogether it was
puzzling. Mrs. Monteagle was an-

gry with Mr. Kingspring, turned
her back on him, and began to
converse with a French lady near
her. People were dropping in in
ones and twos, and Mme. de Ker-
bec was in high delight, sweeping
her glittering train behind her as
she rose to greet each new-comer.
Mrs. Monteagle took advantage of
one of these triumphant moments
to say good-by, and, without cast-
ing a glance on the offending King-
spring, made her exit.

Just as she reached her own
porte cochere Mr. Kingspring over-
took her.

"Are you going in to see the
Redacres?" he said.

"No; Mrs. Redacre sent me
word that she hoped I would go
to-morrow, which meant evidently
that I was not to go to-day."

" If I were you I would not
mind that ; I would go at once.
You are their oldest friend here ;
they will be the better for seeing
you."

" There is something amiss,
then ?" And Mrs. Monteagle for-
got her grievance in real concern.

" There is. I can't tell you any
more. They will tell you them-
selves ; you had better go in and
see them."

He shook hands and hurried
away, fearing to say more if he
loitered with her. Mrs. Montea-
gle went slowly up to the entresol,
and, after an interval of hesitation,
she pulled the bell. " The idea of
my being nervous at pulling Alice
Redacre's bell !" she said to her-
self.

It was answered quickly.

" Madame ne re$oit pas aujourd 1 -
hui" said the servant.

" She is not well ?"

" Madame is a little indisposed ;
M. le Colonel also."

Mrs. Monteagle left her compli-

Pearl.

737

ments and regrets, aivd went on
her way up-stairs.

"It is quite clear they do not
wish to see me," was her comment.
" What can it mean ? It looks
odd it is odd," she added, cor-
recting herself, as she was in the
habit of doing to other people for
the same inaccurate mode of speech.

Great was her surprise an hour
later to see the two girls going
out on horseback, accompanied by
an old general officer who some-
times replaced their father in this
way. Would they also go to the
ball, in spite of the something that
was amiss ? They always ran up
to show themselves to Mrs. Mont-
eagle in their ball-dress whenever
they went out ; but she did not
expect they would do so this even-
ing. At nine o'clock, however,
there was a ring, and in they came.
Pearl looked sad, though there was
no sign of .tears in her face ; but
Polly looked, as she always did on
occasions like this, a vision of tri-
umphant beauty. Her blue-black
eyes were all aglow with soft, ten-
der lightnings, her curved red lips
parted, her delicate skin bright as
tinted alabaster. If the combined
misfortunes of life had fallen on
her as she stood there in her ex-
ulting loveliness, Polly might have
defied them. She looked a creature
born to happiness, buoyant, sup-
ple, invulnerable ; you might as
well have tried to hurt the mount-
ing flame by sticking pins in it as

to quench the glory of her youth
in that royally beautiful maiden.

"Does she not look pretty?"
said Pearl, surveying the young
queen proudly.

" She is pretty, you vain puss !"
said Mrs. Monteagle. "But why
do you always wear white, my
dear ? Pink would suit your brown
eyes better, eh ?"

"White is Polly's color, and any
color does for me," said Pearl.

" Papa likes us to dress alike,"
said Polly ; " and pink does not go
very well with my hair."

"Tut, nonsense, child ! Duckady
mud would go well with your hair,"
said the old lady. "But Pearl
spoils you that's what it is."

" She does indeed !" said Polly
heartily, and she twined her love-
ly arms around Pearl and kissed
her.

A voice came from the stairs
announcing that Mme. Leopold's
carriage was at the door. The two
girls kissed Mrs. Monteagle and
hurried away, looking very like a
couple of swans as they floated off
with their waves of white tulle
round them.

" Come up early to-morrow
morning and tell me all about it,"
said Mrs. Monteagle in a sotto voce
to Pearl ; " of course it will be set-
tled to-night."

Pearl blushed up, and there was
a sudden look of distress on her
face as with an exclamation of pro-
test she hastened after Polly.

CHAPTER III.

CAPTAIN LEOPOLD INTRODUCES HIS FRIEND.

BLANCHE LEOPOLD was in great said, as they lightly tossed ; their
delight at having Pearl and Polly skirts over each other so as not to

crush them.

" Exactly, cheres enfants !" said

with her.

" We are just like three sisters,
are not we, petite maman ?" she
VOL. xxvii. 47

Mme. Leopold, with a smile at

738

Pearl.

both her protegees; but it was
Pearl's band she pressed, it was
Pearl's forehead that she stooped
to kiss, in answer to Blanche's
appeal.

" Is M. Leon to be at the ball ?"
inquired Polly.

" Of course he is ! What a ques-
tion, you wicked child!" said
Leon's mother ; and then she turn-
ed to Pearl and laughed, and
pressed her hand again.

Pearl's cheeks were burning like
two live coals, but nobody saw this
in the dim light of the carriage.

" I thought he was on duty at
the Etat Major this evening ?"
persisted terrible Polly.

" So he was, but he contrived
to get off," said Blanche.

" A higher duty called him to
the Tuileries to-night," said his
mother.

" Oh ! the emperor has named
him on his staff? How glad I am !"
said Polly, and Pearl longed to choke
her. " Yes, it will be very nice for
you to have him in the emperor's
service," went on the incorrigible
Polly, as innocent as a babe of
any mischievous intentions. " You
are sure to be asked to the Petits
Lundis now ; and we shall enjoy
them more for having you all there.
Are you very deep in engagements
to-night, Blanche ?"

They compared notes and dis-
cussed partners till they drew up
before the palace ; that is to say,
Blanche and Polly did. Pearl lay
back very silent all the way, and
when they alighted Mme. Leopold
noticed that she was very pale
and seemed provokingly out of
tune with the gay scene.

Who that has ever beheld it can
forget how gay it was, that brilliant
gathering in the old palace? the
blaze of light, the flashing uniforms,
the splendidly-attired women, all

the stars of fashion and wealth
forming a dazzling galaxy round
the beautiful Spaniard's throne, she
herself the centre of the firmament,
outshining all in grace and beauty
and magnificence of attire.

" There is Le"on !" cried Blanche
the moment they entered the Salle
des Marechaux. And Leon, obey-
ing the magnetic attraction that
we all know of, suddenly turned
round, and, across the crowd of
"fair women and brave men," es-
pied his mother and her maidens,
and at once made towards them.
He was very striking in his pictur-
esque hussar uniform with its
hanging dolman.

" // riest pas trop mal, won fils ?"
said Mme. Leopold, glancing from
him to Pearl and smiling at the
latter. But Pearl made no answer,
only crimsoned and looked away.

" How late you are!" exclaimed
Leon. " I have been on the watch
for you this last hour. Are you all
engaged, mesdemoiselles ?" bowing
in one sweep to the three young
ladies.

They all were, but their partners
were not to the fore yet, and they
might not meet for a long time.

" Les absents ont toujours tort"
said Leon; "so I claim the privi-
lege of replacing one of them."

It was to Polly he spoke; sh
responded by holding out herhan
and in a moment they were wheel
ing along in a waltz.

" That is a bit of masculine c
quetry; he fancies he will ma
somebody jealous," said Mme. Le
pold, trying to look as if the jok
amused her very much ; but she
was really annoyed with Leon.

Pearl set her face like a flint this
time, and, without blushing hap
pily, looked about her with an un-
concerned air. She and Blanch
were not left long waiting. Part

P-

:
"

Pearl.

739

ners quickly found them out, and
came up in a body, quarrelling over
their claim to priority. Before Pearl
had come to a decision Mr. King-
spring was at her elbow, and pro-
claimed his right to the first quad-
rille over all comers. She caught
at this with avidity and hurried
away with him.

"How I hate being here to-
night!" she said when they were
out of Mme. Leopold's hearing.
" I can't imagine why mamma in-
sisted on our coming. You could
tell me if you liked ?"

Mr. Kingspring was taken aback
by this direct appeal. He was very
fond of Pear], and she treated him
with a sisterly sans fagon that he
was proud of. They were friends,
in fact. He might easily put her
off with some platitude or prevari-
cation now, but he felt this would
not be acting as a loyal friend.

" Is it fair of you to ask me ? If
your father has not let you into his
confidence yet, it would not be hon-
orable in me to do so. It would
not be acting as one gentleman
should towards another. You would
not have me do this ? You would
not have one whom you call your
friend act otherwise than as a gen-
tleman ?"

" I can't imagine why there
should be a mystery about it," sigh-
ed Pearl. " If anybody was dead,
we should not have been sent to a
ball, I suppose ?"

Mr. Kingspring coughed and
muttered a vague assent.

" Is Cousin Darrell dead ?" asked
Pearl abruptly.

" No, no ; it is nothing about Dar-
rell."

" Is it anything about money?"

" Well, perhaps it may be ; but I
hope not. I mean I hope it will
turn out a mistake."

" Mamma was crying this morn-

ing," said Pearl; " she does not cry
for nothing."

" I hope there may be no real
cause for her tears. I believe my-
self there is not."

" Papa was in a dreadful state,"
continued Pearl. " I heard him
storming in his study for more than
an hour. Was it about a letter
he got from England ?"

"There was a letter. But don't
cross-examine me; don't, Pearl. It
is not fair, and I really must not
speak."

Pearl never remembered him
calling her by her name before,
though he declared he used to do
so when she was a baby.

" To think of their insisting on
our coming here to-night when
there is this horrible anxiety at
home !" she said, and her eyes be-
gan to fill in spite of her.

" There is no certain cause for
it so far," protested Mr. King-
spring. " Don't worry till you
know there is real cause for it ;
there is no use in saying good-mor-
row to the devil till you meet him.
Let us take a turn with the waltz-
ers ; you have done me out of my
quadrille."

They took a few turns down the
long gallery, now densely crowded,
and then he stopped to let her rest.

" Who is that Polly is dancing
with?" said Pearl, as she spied her
sister in the distance with a tall,
distinguished-looking man in the
uniform of the hussars.

"I don't know; probably some
fellow Leopold has introduced."

While they were still standing in
the embrasure of a window Leon
came up.

" May I claim the honor of a
dance, mademoiselle?" he said,
doubling himself in two before
Pearl.

" I don't feel a bit in the mood

740

Pearl.

for dancing/' said Pearl, " the rooms
are so hot and so dreadfully crowd-
ed. Do you know who that is that
my sister is waltzing with ?"

"Captain Darvallon, one of the
most distinguished officers in the
service, and quite the best fellow I
know ; he is a great friend of mine."

" Then it was you who introduc-
ed him to her ?"

" I was proud to procure him
that honor."

" Poor devil !" said Mr. King-
spring. "I suspect you have done
for him ; if he has such a thing as
a heart he will go home a miserable
man to night. I never saw Mile.
Polly looking so unmercifully pret-
ty. D'Arres-Vallon you say his
name is ? Does he spell it in one
word or two ? I used to know two
families of that name ; one spelt
it D'Arvalhon, the other D'Arres-
Vallon. Which is his ?"

"Neither; he writes it in one
word with a big D ; he does not
boast the noble particule"

" Then he is a man of no fam-
ily ?"

" None whatever. He is what we
call the son of his works ; he has
risen in his profession by sheer
force of intelligence and moral
worth. There is not an officer in
'the army more respected than Dar-
vallon."

Pearl looked again at Polly's
partner, and he struck her as still
more prepossessing than at the first
glance.

"Amongst military men I can
imagine its making no difference ;
but socially his low birth must sub-
ject him to disagreeables now and
then," observed Mr. Kingspring,
following the direction of Pearl's
eyes, and surveying the hussar with
the sort of interest one bestows on
a curious variety of animal new to
one's experience.

" The man who would subject
Darvallon to anything of the sort
would be either a fool or a snob,"
replied Leon coldly. " I suppose
there are plenty of both going
about the world; but men like
Darvallon have a sort of charm that
keeps them at a distance."

Mr. Kingspring felt that this re-
mark addressed to him. was not
that of a perfect gentleman ; it
sounded too like a snub. But the
Leopolds, as Mme. de Kerbec said,
were after all only Empire people,
Leon's grandfather having been
made a baron by the first Napo-
leon.

Pearl admired Leon for standing
up so bravely for his friend; there
was that in her which responded
instinctively to everything noble,
even when it was violently against
her own opinions or sympathies.

" He must be a nice man, as well
as clever," she said. " Introduce
him to me when he has finished
his waltz with my sister."

" Reward me beforehand for that
act of generosity by finishing the
waltz with me," said Leon.

And Pearl did, Mr. Kingspring
being left alone to meditate on the
low ideas of modern Frenchmen
and the strange inconsistencies of
well-born English maidens.

" Mademoiselle, may I have the
honor of presenting to you my
friend and brother officer, Captain
Darvallon ? "

M. Darvallon bowed low, and
when he looked up Pearl's soft
brown eyes met his with a glance
of interest so full and frank that, if
he had been a coxcomb, he might
have flattered himself he had slain
her on the spot.

Polly was a little tired and said
she wanted an ice, so Leon offered
her his arm to the buffet, and Pearl
followed with her new acquaintance.

Pearl.

741

He was a tall, powerfully-built man,
with a Gothic head set on broad
shoulders, and long, well-bred
hands and feet. Judging from his
hands and feet, Captain Darvallon
might have had the blood of the
Montmorencis in him ; not that he
needed this cachet of distinction to
redeem his appearance otherwise
or stamp him outwardly as a gen-
tleman. Pearl, even in the distance,
had "singled him out as somebody
above the common. His head,
massive as it was, had nothing
coarse about it ; his features, with-
out being handsome, were marked
by an expression of energy, intelli-
gence, and refinement that impress-
ed you more than mere good looks ;
and though the prominent charac-
teristic of his whole appearance
was power, it was too tempered by
gentleness to be alarming or repul-
sive. An array of stars and crosses
on his breast bore witness to his
prowess on the field, but his
manner had borrowed no tinge of
soldierly roughness from the camp;
it was, on the contrary, marked by
a courtesy towards the fair sex
rare enough in these days, when
the independence of women who
have rights is too often pleaded as
an excuse for forgetting that they
still have privileges.

"What a crowd there is to-
night!" said Pearl.

It was a silly remark, but she
wanted to say something that would
put her companion at his ease. It
was the first time that she had
been in the company of a man
who had risen from the ranks, and
she fancied the experience on his
side must be novel enough, too, to
be embarrassing.

"Just at this point the crush is
rather great ; but I don't think the
rooms are more crowded than usual.
Is it your first ball, mademoiselle ?"

" Oh ! no ; I came out last sea-
son in London. You have never
been to England, monsieur?"

" Pardon me ; I spent five months
there three years ago."

" Indeed ! And did you think
it a horrible place ? Was it rain-
ing all the time ?"

"No; it behaved very well in
that respect, and I liked the coun-
try very much, and London espe-
cially ; perhaps it was owing in a
measure to all the kindness I re-
ceived there."

Pearl wondered who the people
were who had shown him so much
kindness ; good-natured middle-
class people, no doubt, who thought
it rather fine to have a French of-
ficer to entertain.

" The English understand the
virtue of hospitality in a charming
way," continued M. Darvallon ;
" the mere fact of your being a
stranger opens every door to you."
" Whereas in France it shuts
them ?" said Pearl.

" I am sorry if that is your ex-
perience of us, mademoiselle."

" I don't say that ; I only thought
you meant to say so. But it is
true ; we are fond of foreigners in
England."

" Nothing is more delightful, cer-
tainly, than the way in which you
make them welcome. I was stay-
ing at our embassy I went over

with the Comte X as military

attache but it was merely a kind
of nominal headquarters ; I spent
most of the time in the houses of
English people. The Duke of

S was particularly kind to me.

I had known his brother in the
Crimea, and he made this a pre-
text for receiving me as an old

friend ; so did Lord B . I

spent two days at his place on the
Thames. What a little paradise it
is ! The grounds and the house and

742

Pearl.

the view combine to make it a per-
fect Eden. Some of the country
places of your old aristocracy are
the most magnificent residences in
the world, I suppose ; but they are
so home-like, there is such a ge-
nial atmosphere in them, that one is
not oppressed by the magnificence."
" I am glad to hear you say so;
one so often hears foreigners com-
plain of our morgue and stiffness."
" I saw none of it."
" Did you visit any of our pa-
laces ?"

" Yes ; St. James and Bucking-
ham I saw at once, of course. But
Windsor is glorious. We have no-
thing like Windsor in France. I
have seen the finest palaces in Eu-
rope, and to my mind Windsor is
the most beautiful of all. There is
such a prestige of historic interest
about it, added to its artistic beau-
ty ; then the grounds and the sur-
rounding country are so beautiful.
Nature and art have put forth their
best to make it a worthy abode of
royalty."

" And our royalties did you ap-
prove of them, too ?"

" Most highly," said M. Darval-
lon, smiling; "they are excellent
hosts, since we are on the subject
of hospitality. No one is overlook-
ed. La Reine Victoria has in a
high degree that royal faculty of
making all her guests, from the high-
est to the humblest, feel that they
are duly noticed in her salon."

So these were the middle-class
people who had been ostentatiously
civil to the French officer. Pearl
was laughing to herself at the false
hit she had made, and also at her
foolish idea that he needed to be
encouraged to be put at his ease.
It was impossible to be more en-
tirely simple and free from all shy-
ness and affectation than he was.
They had reached the buffet now,

and Leon and Polly were pushing
their way to get next to them.
This was not so difficult, for the
crowd fell back, as it instinctively
does for all royalties, and made
way for Polly as she advanced.
Pearl looked up at her companion,
and saw his eyes fixed on her sister
with an expression of admiration
so unfeigned, and so full of respect
at the same time, that she felt
quite tenderly toward the stalwart
hussar.

" Monsieur le Capitaine," said
Polly, as soon as they all came to-
gether round the ices, "he insists
that it was you who took Sebasto-
pol all by yourself!"

" Voyons, Leopold, don't push
modesty too far," protested M. Dar-
vallon. " You lent me a hand ; he
did, I assure you, mademoiselle."

"Don't believe him; he is a flat-
terer. It is a trick he learned at
courts," said Leon, and his solemn
black eyes stared Darvallon full in
the face without a smile ; but Pearl
detected an expression of almost
feminine fondness in them as they
met the gray eyes looking down on
him.

" I don't believe either of you
took it," she said, with saucy defi-
ance ; " it was my papa who took it.
Did M. Leopold tell you our father
is a soldier too, and that he lost a
leg at Balaklava ?"

"Col. Redacre's name and valor
were known to us all in the Crimea,
mademoiselle/' said M. Darvallon,
bowing deferentially.

Both the girls blushed with plea-
sure, and turned a smile of fullest
approbation on the speaker.

" I told you he was a flatterer,"
said Leon.

Before M. Darvallon could enter
a protest some one spoke from be-
hind him.

" I say, Leopold, you are going

\Pearl.

743

pac
he;

to catch it for staying away from
your mother so long with these
young ladies. She's very angry
with you."

" It's no fault of M. Leon's," said
Polly. " We stayed ourselves, danc-
ing ; that's what we came for."

"We had better go back to my
mother and make an ctcte de pre-
sence" said Leon. " Where is she,
Kingspring?"

"Where you left her, in the Salle
du Trone. I have just conducted
Mile. Blanche there after waltzing
with her."

Mr. Kingspring moved towards
Pearl,, as if he expected to conduct
her back; but M. Darvallon prof-
fered his arm, and she took it.

On their way through the long
ball-room they met Blanche waltz-
ing down on them with a slim, sal-
low-faced partner, of the type that
Polly called " scrubby." The part-
ners pulled up, and then she saw
that Blanche was radiant with
smiles, and listening with delighted
attention to whatever the scrubby
man was saying.

" Qui est ce monsieur?" Polly in-
quired of Leon.

" That monsieur is the Marquis
de Cholcourt, the greatest parti in
France just now."

" Is he amusing ?"

" I really don't know. I shouldn't
say he was, to look at him."

" Blanche is listening to him as if
she thought him so."

Leon made no remark, and they
went on till they reached the Salle
du Trone. There they saw Mme.
Leopold, just where they had left
her; but she had risen from her
velvet seat, and was expostulating
in an excited manner with M. Leo-
pold, who had just joined her, and
who seemed vainly endeavoring to
pacify her. Madame shook her
head, and opened and shut her fan,

talking all the time volubly, and
with a countenance disturbed by
no pleasant emotion. When she
caught sight of Leon and his com-
panion she became suddenly silent,
and awaited their approach with
an air of grave displeasure.

" Mesdemoiselles, you forget you
are not in England ; you must know
that it is not the custom here," she
began ; but the good-natured depu-
ty cut short the scolding, and broke
out into compliments to the two
delinquents: they were the stars
of the Imperial firmament to-
night ; every French girl in the
room was dying with jealousy, etc.

Mme. Leopold was not sorry to
have their attention drawn away
from herself for the moment, and
while this bantering went on with
Pearl and Polly she said in a sotto
voce to Leon :

" My son, you have behaved with
criminal imprudence. Have you
said anything to compromise you ?
Tell me the truth."

" Compromise ! What on earth
do you mean, mother?" said Leon
in amazement. " I have spoken to
no one but these two young la-
dies."

"That is just it! You have
been parading yourself with Pearl
for the last hour. Have you said
anything to lead her to hope

Leon began to understand, and
the look of indignant surprise that
answered his mother completely
reassured her.

" Thank Heaven !" she muttered
under her breath. " I knew you
were incapable of it, my son,
but"

Leon did not wait to hear more ;
he abruptly turned away, fearful
lest Pearl should have overheard
his mother's offensive insinuations ;
but a glance at her face showed
him she had heard nothing.

744

Pearl.

"Are you engaged for the cotil-
lon, mademoiselle ?" he said.

" No."

" Then may I claim your hand for
it?"

" Good gracious, my son ! you
are not so selfish as to want to keep
me here till four in the morning ?
I am worn out already I am in-
deed," protested the terrified mo-
ther, whom her son and everybody
else knew to be simply indefatiga-
ble when the duty to society was in
question.

"Pray don't 1st us detain you
here, madame," said Polly with a
certain asperity ; " we shall be glad
to go the moment you feel inclin-
ed." She saw that a change had
come over their chaperon, and
she was annoyed at the way she
snapped at Lon about the co-
tillon.

" Is it indeed true ? You would
not mind coming away now ? I
am so exhausted by the heat ! I
never knew the palace so over-
heated. But Marguerite wishes to
remain for the cotillon ?"

" I have not the least wish to re-
main for it, madame," said Pearl;
the sudden change from affection-
ate familiarity to being called
" Marguerite " showed that she had
in some way incurred Mme. Leo-
pold's displeasure.

" Then let us come," said that
lady, signing to her husband to
give his arm.

" And Blanche ?" said Leon.

" Good gracious ! It shows how
ill I am that I could have forgotten
her. Where is she ? It appears
that English manners are a la mode
everywhere to-night. Why is your
sister so long away from me ? Who
is she with ?"

"I saw her dancing with M. de
Cholcourt ; but it is some time
ago," said M. Darvallon.

" She was dancing with him again
then, five minutes ago," said Polly.

" M. de Cholcourt!" repeated
Mme. Leopold in a tone of un-
mistakable satisfaction. " Are you
sure ?"

" M. Leon told me that was his
name," said Polly. " I asked him
because Blanche seemed particu-
larly to enjoy his conversation."

" Dear child! I am glad she is
amused. I wonder if she has made
an engagement for the cotillon ?"
This was said interrogatively to
the two girls and the two gentle-
men with them.

Nobody knew. Meantime, Leon
had gone in pursuit of Blanche,
and it was not long before he re-
turned with her. She looked an-
gry.

" What is the matter with you,
mamma ?"

"Cherie, I am rather tired to-
night, and these good children are
anxious to get home."

"It was hardly worth coming to
go away so soon," said Blanche,
" and I have made an engagement
for the cotillon."

"With whom?"

" The Marquis de Cholcourt."

"Ha! My dear child, I am al-
ways ready to sacrifice myself to
your pleasure. ... If your young
friends don't mind waiting, I will
stay for the cotillon."

" Pardon, ma mere," said Leon,
"Blanche prefers your comfort to
her amusement ; she will go home
now."

" My son, you should consider
your sister. If she has made an
engagement . . ."

"I will make her excuses to
Cholcourt."

Mme. Leopold looked exceed-
ing displeased, and tried to convey
the full motives of her displeasure
to Leon through her eyes. But

Pearl.

745

Leon Would not see it. Blanche
saw there was a conflict between
the two, and she sided with her
brother.

"Yes, you will tell M. de Choi-
court," she said. " We had better
go at once, mamma, as you are not
well."

"What an angel she is!" said
the enraged mother, swallowing
her vexation under the fondest
smile.

The drive home was performed
almost in silence. Mme. Leopold
lay back with a pretence of utter
exhaustion, and never said a word.
Blanche and Polly sat opposite,
and had a little confidential talk
to themselves.

" Is he -nice, that marquis who
was dancing with you ?" inquired
Polly.

" Nice ! He is the greatest parti
in all France. He is heir to the
dukedom, and he has a fortune
now of two hundred and fifty thou-
sand francs a year; besides that he
is heir to his aunt, who has enormous
property in the south ; and I be-
lieve, only I am not sure, that the

Comtesse de V has left all the

family diamonds to him just
think!"

Blanche summed up all this in a
voluble whisper to her friend.

" What a catch he will be !" said
Polly. " I hope he may fall in love
with you, Blanche."

" Pas tant de chance, ma chere j my
dot will be a drop compared to M.
de Cholcourt's. I have not the
ghost of a chance of making a mar-
riage like that." And the young
French girl sighed.

" He might fall in love with you,"
suggested Polly.

" His family would never allow
him."

They drew up at Colonel Reda-
cre's door, and the two girls, thank-

ing Mme. Leopold for her kind-
ness, wished her and Blanche good-
night.

At a preternaturally early hour
next morning Mme. Leopold pre-
sented herself at Mrs- Monteagle's.
" I make no apologies," she said
on being admitted into that lady's
dressing-room. " The case is so
urgent that I could not delay an
hour. Did you speak yesterday to
the Kedacres about that absurd
idea of mine ?"

" You mean did I offer your son's
hand to Pearl?"

"Oh ! you have done it. We are
compromised !" exclaimed Mme.
Leopold in despair.

" Console yourself, madame ; I
had not an opportunity of doing
your commission "

" You have said nothing ! I
thank Heaven ! Then indeed we
have had a narrow escape. My son
is so chivalrous there is no saying
what folly he might have commit-
ted had he known it."
" Known what ?"
" That I had asked Pearl in mar-
riage for him. Happily, he has not
the faintest suspicion of anything.
But I am heartily sorry for the poor
child," continued Mme. Leopold,
finding room in her heart to pity
Pearl the moment her terrors for
Leon were allayed. "I feel deeply
for her. The disappointment will be
a terrible blow, she is so much in
love with my son. That is the
dreadful part of your English way
of doing things ; but it is no fault
of mine."

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Mrs.
Monteagle. " A terrible blow to
Pearl, you say ? My good lady, take
comfort ; Pearl is perfectly heart-
whole. Your son is the only person
to be pitied in the affair. Ha! ha!
ha! Capital! So you thought Pearl

746

Pearl.

was in love with him ? What an ex-
cellent joke !"

Mine. Leopold did not see the
joke, and was deeply offended by
this manner of treating the matter.

"I see nothing surprising in the
fact of my son's inspiring a senti-
ment/' she replied. "You your-
self seemed of that opinion yester-
day. As to Leon, he could not
deny it when I put it to him ; he
had to admit that it was true."

"True that Miss Redacre had a
passion malkeureuse. for him ? He
says so, does he ? Then I heartily
congratulate Pearl on escaping
him, "said Mrs. Monteagle, bridling
with the spirit of a gentlewoman
and a loyal friend. " I thought your
son was a gentleman; it seems he
is a cowardly coxcomb."

" Madame !" Mme. Leopold
stood up in wrath.

" I sincerely congratulate my
young frie.nd on escaping such a
husband !"

"You mean to insult me ?"

" I mean to speak my mind. I am
sorry if it insults you ; but you may
tell your son from me, madame, he
is stating what is false when he
says that Miss Redacre is in love
with him : it is a delusion of his
own vanity."

" He never said it," said Mme.
Leopold. "When I said so he did
not deny it; he feigned not to be-
lieve it ; but when I persisted in
affirming it he spoke in the kind-
est terms of Miss Redacre, and de-
clared he was ready to make any
sacrifice of his own inclination and
happiness if it was necessary to

" Pray tell him nothing of the
sort is necessary. I am sure it is
most kind of him," said Mrs. Mont-
eagle with a contemptuous chuck-
le. " He never will have the luck
to get such a wife ; he is not worthy
of her."

"Madame !"

" But since we are on the sub-
ject, may I ask why you have so
suddenly changed your views about
this marriage?"

" Have you not heard ? They are
ruined."

"Who? The Redacres?"

" Yes. Is it possible you have
not heard of it?"

Mrs. Monteagle stared at Mme.
Leopold with a troubled counte-
nance for a moment.

"Sit down, I beg of you, and tell
me what all this means," she said,
her tone changed in a second from
anger to one of intense and painful
interest.

Mme. Leopold was not sorry for
the change as regarded her share
in it ; she did not want to quarrel
with Mrs. Monteagle, and she felt
that the wrong had been on her
own side. She sat down and told
all she knew. It seemed that a let-
ter had arrived on the previous day,
by the early post, with news of the
death of some person, who by dy-
ing in this sudden way let Colonel
Redacre in for an enormous sum of
money in fact, utterly ruined him.
This was all that Mme. Leopold
knew. Who the man was, or how
the money was gone, she had not
heard ; but the main fact was posi-
tively true. M. Leopold heard it
from M. de Kerbec, who knew
more than he liked to tell ; Mme.
Leopold had heard it from her hus-
band at the ball last night. Mr.
Kingspring knew it too; he had
been to see the Redacres in the
morning. Apparently they want-
ed to keep the affair quiet for some
little time, and this was why the
door was closed yesterday on the
plea of the colonel's not being well.

" And this was why they sent the
girls to the ball, no doubt," said
Mrs. Monteagle. " It is a most

Pearl.

747

extraordinary affair. Do you know,
I am inclined to think there is
some mistake. I don't believe
Colonel Redacre ever speculated to
the extent of half a crown in his
life; in fact, he had nothing to
speculate with, as he tells you him-
self; the money is his wife's, and
that, I know, is bound up so^that he
could not touch it."

"I know nothing except that in
some way they are ruined," said
Mme. Leopold. "The letter fell
on them like a bombshell. I am
very sorry for them very."

" To me it is like a personal mis-
fortune," said Mrs. Monteagle.
"And to think of their not sending
for me at once ! How did M. de
Kerbec hear it, do you know ? But
I tell you there is some mistake ; I
feel certain there is. Those poor,
dear girls ! It is heartbreaking to
think of them if this be true. And
the boys what is to become of
them ?"

" Boys always pull through some-
how," said Mme. Leopold. " It is
the girls that my heart bleeds for.
I suppose they will have to go out
as governesses Pearl at least.
Polly's beauty would make it im-
possible for her to do anything; no
family would run the risk of letting
that face in amongst them."

" They sjiall never be asked to
run the risk so long as I can pre-
vent it," said Mrs. Monteagle
with a touch of her old asperity.
" While I have a home those chil-
dren have one."

" That is real friendship ; it
consoles me wonderfully to hear
you say so, chere madame."

Mrs. Monteagle made no an-
swer. She was speculating on the
possible truth of this story of sud-
den ruin, and it occurred to her
how mysterious Mr. Kingspring
had been on the subject of Mrs.

Redacre's not receiving the day
before.

"I will go down the moment I
am dressed," she said. " I can't
lose an hour till I know the truth."

Mme. Leopold rose to go.

" Have you breakfasted, or will
you stay and have a cup of tea
with me ?" said Mrs. Monteagle.

" Thank you ; I had my coffee
before I came out. You will not
mention that I have been here?
They think at home that I am
gone to see my poor people ; I al-
ways go early, because then they
do not interfere with my day."

Mrs. Monteagle hurried through
her breakfast and went down to
the entresol. She was admitted at
once.

" What is this ? What does it all
mean ?" she said, as Mrs. Redacre,
who was not lying on the sofa, but
actively sorting letters at a table,
stood up with an exclamation of
welcome and hastened to meet
her.

The colonel was standing with
his back to the fire.

" It means this : that we are beg-
gared," he said.

" Only for a few years, Hugh.
Don't speak in that despairing
way about things !" said his wife,
and she cast a look of tender en-
treaty at him.

" Tell me, for goodness' sake,
what has happened," said Mrs.
Monteagle. "I hear that some-
body has died and that you are
ruined by their death."

" That is about it," said the
colonel. " I put my name to a
bill for ^30,000 some five years
ago, and the man for whom I did
it is dead, and died a bankrupt,'
leaving me to pay the money."

"Thirty thousand pounds!" re-
peated Mrs. Monteagle.

"We can pay it, Hugh, and

748

Pearl.

Providence will come to our aid,"
said his wife.

" By sending us another income
when every penny has gone to
meet this bill ?"

" I don't know how ; but trust
me, dearest, help will come. If
only you won't break down under
it ! What does poverty or anything
matter so long as we are left to
bear it together ?"

He made no answer, but stoop-
ed down and gave the fire a sav-
age poke.

" What madness possessed you,
Redacre ? I always thought you
had a horror of speculation," said
Mrs. Monteagle, her resentment
against him rising at the sight of
Alice's gentle face of anguish.

" It was no speculation," said
the wife quickly ; " he did it to
oblige a friend. Any one would
have done it in his place."

" Any fool would," thought her
friend, but she said nothing.

" Fortunately we can meet it,"
Mrs. Redacre went on. " I thought
at first that it might have been
paid off at once with my fortune;
but it shows what a goose I am in
practical things," she said, trying
to laugh. " My money is so tied
up that neither Hugh nor I can
alienate the capital; all we can do
is to surrender the income for a
few years till the debt is paid off."

" She means that we must raise
the money to pay it off, and pay
back the loan by mortgaging our
income for about ten years."

"It may not be for half that
time, dearest. Providence may
shorten the trial for us unexpected-

iy."

"You mean that Darrell may
die. He is more likely to bury us
all. Those kind of men live for
ever. I am sure I don't want to
hurry him away; I have made a

point of wishing him a long life.
You have always heard me say I
hoped he might have a long life?
Of course, if the Almighty saw fit
to call him home, I could not but
feel that the loss would be also a
gain to me to you and the chil-
dren, that is ; for myself, I count
no man's money."

" Has he a very large property
to leave?" inquired Mrs. Mont-
eagle. Col. Redacre talked very
openly about his money affairs, but
in such a vague, exaggerated way
that one never knew what to be-
lieve about his prospects or his
difficulties.

" Broom Hollow is a glorious
old place," he said, " but it brings
in nothing ; that must come to me.
Darrell himself is a rich man, but
he may leave his money to whom
he pleases. As likely as not he
will leave it to pay off the national
debt. He is just the man to do a
thing of .that sort."

" My dear Hugh ! he told you
himself that you were to be his
heir; that he had made his will and
left you sole legatee !" said Alice.

"That's just it. When a man
tells you he has made his will in
your favor, be you sure you will
never see a penny of his money.
I make a point of never believing
what men say about their wills."

" The dean is not the least like-
ly to tell a falsehood, dear, even
about his will," said Alice.

" I don't say he is. I never said
he. was not a truth-telling man ;
but people have crotchety notions
about wills. However, we are a
long way off from the settling of
that question, I fear that is to say,
I hope ; I devoutly hope the poor
fellow may live for twenty years.
At the same time, if the Almighty
sees good to call him to his reward
sooner, and that he leaves me his

Pearl.

749

money, he will do as good an ac-
tion as he ever performed in his
life."

" Have you written to him about
this unfortunate business?" in-
quired Mrs. Monteagle.

** No. I will worry nobody
about it. What is the use ? We
are beggared, and there is an end
of it."

"There is no use making things
out worse than they are," said his
friend. " They are bad enough as
it is ; but, as Alice says, Providence
will pull you through somehow. I
may turn out of some use myself;
but we will come to those matters
by and by. The thing is, What
are you going to do now ? Is it out
of the question your getting
something to do ? You have
friends who have influence ; so
have I."

"What could they do for me?
Could they get me back my leg?
If it were not for Balaklava I
should not let this catastrophe cast
me down a bit; but it makes all
the difference when a man has to
face the world with one leg."

" Nonsense !" said Mrs. Mont-
eagle. " You have not half the
sense I gave you credit for, Red-
acre. What difference can it
make, your having one leg or two ?
I don't expect you to enter an
infantry regiment and go on the
march. There are appointments
to be had where legs are not want-
ed at all. My nephew, Percy Dan-
vers, has an appointment of fifteen
hundred pounds a year at the
Horse Guards."

" But Danvers has both his
legs?"

"But he doesn't write with his
legs, and the work he does is all
writing."

" How did he get the appoint-
ment ?"

" His father got it for him.
And, by the way, he had no legs
at all, poor fellow ; he lost one in
the Crimea and the other in China.
And he used to joke about it, and
say that the loss of his legs was the
best investment he ever made, and
the only one that* paid regularly."

" That's just it : if a man loses
both he is a hero ; if he loses only
one he is a cripple. Balaklava never
did anything for me but worry my
life out."

" That is a most excellent idea !"
said Mrs. Redacre, turning with a
look of sunny hopefulness to Mrs.
Monteagle. "I don't see why
Hugh should not get something at
the Horse Guards. We know so
many old generals, and some of
them are influential, and I am
sure all our friends will be kind
and anxious to help us. Hugh,
dear, we must lose no time in see-
ing about this."

" First of all, we have got to
pay this ^30,000. When that is
done, it will be time to think of
the other. But with the gov-
ernment we have now I don't ex-
pect we would succeed. They
are a beggarly lot. who toady all
the self-made men, as they call
them fellows who have risen
Heaven knows from what, and to
whom it is as well to throw a bone
to stop their mouths. I would see
them farther before I asked a fa-
vor of them if I had my two legs
to stand on."

" Where are the girls ?" said
Mrs. Monteagle; she was losing pa-
tience with these lamentations over
the missing leg.

" I sent them out for a ride be-
fore breakfast ; they may as well
enjoy it while they can, poor dar-
lings !" And the mother's voice fal-
tered a little.

"Have you told them ?"

750

Pearl.

" Not the whole terrible truth.
I prepared them for it yesterday
a little, and again this morning.
But they guess that worse is com-
ing, and they are very brave."

The noise of hoofs pattering un-
der the porte cochere announced
that the girls had come back. In
a few minutes they both entered
the room. The fair young things,
in their beautifully-fitting habits,
their complexions freshened by ex-
ercise in the morning air, their
features lighted up with the buoy-
ancy of youth hitherto untouched
by sorrow, made a pathetic and
striking contrast with the group
they broke in upon the father stern
and irritable, his fine face ploughed
into sudden furrows of care, the
mother courageous and tender, with
undried tears ,on her cheeks.
Pearl spied the tears at once, and,
taking a bunch of violets out of
her riding-habit, she went and
kissed the wet face lovingly and
fastened the flowers in her mother's
breast.

" My darling ! Have you had a
nice ride?"

" Yes ; but we had no heart to
care about it. I wish you would
let us stay at home with you, and
not send us off to amuse ourselves
while you are worried. It is not
kind of her, is it, Mrs. Montea-
gle ?"

Polly was standing at the table,
holding up her habit, and looking
from one to the other of them all,
with an expression of awakening
terror in her large, lustrous eyes.

" I don't know what it all means,"
she said. " Is it very bad ? Is it
going to last long? Papa, we are
not babies ; you ought to tell us
the truth,"

" I ought, my dear ; but I have
not the courage to do it. Ask your
mother."

"Redacre, you are a selfish
brute!" burst out Mrs. Monteagle,
glaring at him.

"Oh! don't," cried Alice, with a
look at once imploring and angry.
" Of course it is my duty, but
I am such a coward !" She let
hej head fall on Pearl's shoulder,
and sobbed aloud.

" For God's sake, Alice, don't
give way!" cried her husband. "I
can bear anything but that; I can
indeed, my love. It is quite true
I am a selfish brute. I ought not
to have asked you to tell them.
Come, now, don't ! It will all
come right, if you will only cheer
up and help me to bear it." And
he went over and laid his hand on
her shoulder.

" Help you to bear it !" repeated
Mrs. Monteagle ; but she checked
herself as she met Alice's eyes up-
lifted in supplication through her
tears.

** Come with me both of you,
children," said the old lady ; " I
know all about it now, and I will
tell you everything. Come, and
leave the colonel and your mother
to themselves a little ; they were
very busy when I came and inter-
rupted them."

The two girls kissed Alice with
many a tender endearment, and
followed Mrs. Monteagle up to her
own apartment. She told them
the truth as gently as possible,
but without disguising anything.

" Then we have nothing at all to
live on except papa's half-pay ?"
said Polly, her eyes wide open in
dismay, her lily-white hands lying
motionless on her knees.

" I fear not, my dear child ; but
I hope we will soon be able to get
an appointment for him. Mean-
time you must not worry too much.
I have some money lying by that
he can have and welcome; he

Pearl.

751

won't refuse me an old friend's
privilege at a moment like this.
You must both do your very best
to help him and your mother to
bear it. You will not let them see
you cast down."

" And the boys," said Pearl
" they must come home and grow
up dunces; that is the worst of all.
What is to become of the boys?"

" What is to become of any of
us?" said Polly. "What could
have possessed papa to promise
to pay such an enormous sum of
money for any one ? It was very
wicked of him." And the big tears
welled up and came streaming
dowYi the lovely face.

" Has he written to Cousin Dar-
rell ?" said Pearl.

" No," said Mrs. Monteagle. " I
asked him, and he said he would
not write ; that it would worry the
dean."

" But he might give us the money
to pay this, or some of it, at any
rate," argued Pearl. " I am certain
he would ; since we are to have all
his money by and by, he would not
refuse a portion of it now to do us
such a service."

" I would not be too sure of that,
dear Pearl," said her friend, with a
dubious shake of the head. " Giving
and bequeathing are very different
things. Still, I agree with you,
Colonel Redacre ought to write and
tell your cousin the truth; he owes
that to the dean and to you all."

"I will make him do it!" said
Polly, brushing away the tear-drops
and shaking back her head with a
resolute air ; " and if he won't write,
I will."

" You mustn't do it against papa's
will, Polly," said Pearl, a little
frightened by this unexpected dis-
play of will. Polly had always had
her own way hitherto without
making any effort to get it.

" I think we had better go down
now," she said, not answering
Pearl's remark. There was an en-
ergy in her manner and look that
amazed Mrs. Monteagle.

" Perhaps you had, dears," said
their friend ; she was anxious to
have a little private talk with Pearl
on other things, but she did not
venture to ask her pointedly to
stay.

" I will go to papa at once, and
tell him he must write to Cousin
Darrell," said Polly; and gathering
up the folds of her long habit, she
walked away, too absorbed in her
own thoughts to say good-by or
notice if Pearl was following her.
Mrs. Monteagle signed to Pearl to
stay.

The idea that this misfortune
was weighted to Pearl with a super-
added individual sorrow had been
in her friend's mind ever since Mme.
Leopold had announced the bad
news to her. When that lady de-
clared so emphatically that Pearl
was attached to her son, Mrs.
Monteagle had denied it and laugh-
ed to scorn the pretended compas-
sion of the manoeuvring mother.
This was clearly her duty as a
stanch friend, whether she believ-
ed or not that Pearl loved Leon;
but, indeed, she so earnestly desir-
ed at the moment not to believe it
that she concluded she did not,
that it was a delusion of Leon's
vanity or his mother's ; but now
there recurred to her Pearl's vivid
blush at the mention of Leon's
name, and her confusion when
Mme. Leopold was announced. It
was dreadful if the young heart
was to set out on the rude battle of
life with its bloom rubbed off and
all its brightness quenched. But
though she had a true woman's
heart, Mrs. Monteagle indulged lit-
tle in sentiment. If the mischief

752

Pearl.

was done, it must be undone as
quickly as possible, and Pearl was
a girl of rare sense. .

" My dear, did Leon Leopold
propose to you last night ?" said
the old lady when they were left
alone.

" No," said Pearl, looking her
straight in the face. " What put that
into your head ?"

" But he ought to do so. ought
he not ? He has been paying you a
great deal of attention."

"Leon!" The old innocent laugh
rang out in spite of all her trouble,
as Pearl repeated in amazement,
"Leon?"

" And you really don't care for
him?"

" Not I, and I should be very
sorry to think that he cared for
me ; but I am perfectly certain he
does not. If I were 2^. pot de confi-
ture he might."

"You relieve me immensely, my
dear," said Mrs. Monteagle, quite
at rest now on the score of Pearl's
heart. " It would have been dread-
ful had you been in love with that
young man."

" It would indeed," assented
Pearl. " I had better be going
now ; I don't like leaving mam-
ma alone without me, that is.
Poor darling mamma, if I could
take some of the worry off her !
What are we to do ? I'm sure I
don't know."

" Keep a cheerful spirit and a
brave heart ; that is all you have to
do for the present. I promise you
things will come right in good
time."

Mr. Kingspring called very early,
and was closeted a long time with
Col. Redacre. Pearl met him in
the hall as she was coming out of
her father's study, and whispered
to him :

"Make papa write to Cousin
Darrell."

Mr. Kingspring nodded yes and
went in.

It had got wind that the Red-
acres were ruined, and everybody
was very sorry for them. It was all
conjecture yet how the ruin came
about. The general belief was
that a banker with whom he had
lodged his money had " gone
smash." Mr. Kingspring and M.
de Kerbec were the only two who
had known the truth from the first,
and they were not communicative
as to details ; Mr. Kingspring from
innate discretion, M. de Kerbec
from friendly desire to shield Col.
Redacre from the ridicule which
awaited a man imbecile enough to
fool away his money by signing a
bill.

"No, I can't write to Darrell,"
said Col. Redacre in answer to
Mr. Kingspring's urgent advice
that he should at once apply to his
rich cousin. " Darrell is a man who
never did a foolish thing in his life,
and he despises people who do.
If he knew I had been idiot enough
to put my name to a bill, he would
disinherit me for a fool; he is a
most eccentric fellow."

" But he is sure to hear of it,"
said Mr. Kingspring, "and he will
be more likely to resent it if you
seem trying to hide it from him."

" I don't see that he need ever
hear of it. He never sees any one,
never writes to any one, I believe,
except his medical man, and his
lawyer perhaps; he leads the life
of a hermit down there with his
books. If he does not hear of this
miserable business from ourselves,
he is likely never to hear of it."

Mr. Kingspring could not press
the point after this. Pearl, mean-
time, was on the watch to catch
him when he left the study, and in

Pearl.

753

answer to her eager "Has he pro-
mised to write ?" Mr. Kingspring
only replied, " No; lie says it would
do no good ; and I think he is
right." Pearl was disappointed,
and took the news to her sister, who
was awaiting it in her own room.

" It is nothing but pride that
prevents him," said Polly, angry
and impatient; "it is cruel and
selfish of papa to sacrifice us all to
spare his own pride."

" He is sacrificing himself as well
as us," said Pearl; "and I don't
believe it is pride. I am sure papa
has some good reason for it; he
knows Cousin Darnell -better than
we do."

" Do you write to him," said
Polly ; " he is your godfather, and
he pretends to be greatly interested
in you. Tell him you will have to
go out as a governess if he won't
come to papa's help."

" I could not write against papa's
will," said Pearl.

"Stuff! Then I will." And
Polly tossed back her head, and
her almond-shaped eyes had a light
of dangerous wilfulness in them as
she rose .and went towards her
writing-table.

" O Polly ! you must not do
that ; papa would be so angry,"
pleaded Pearl.

" He will fojfgive me when Cou-
sin Darrell sends the money." And
Polly sat down and opened her
dainty blotting-book and prepared
for action.

" Polly, you sha'n't. I will go
and tell mamma of it. I won't be
a party to your defying papa in
this way," said Pearl resolutely,
moving towards the door.

Polly started up.

" Come back ; you need not play
tell-tale. I won't write," And she
shut the blotting-book and flung
the pen angrily aside.

" I am sure it is better not, dar-
ling," said Pearl. " We can't know
as well as papa in a matter of this
kind." She went over to Polly and
would have kissed her; but Polly
repulsed the caress with an impa-
tient movement of her head. Pearl
did not force the kiss on her, but
she felt the tears rising as she
turned away and left the room. If
misfortune was going to change
Polly like this, it was a worse sor-
row than anything she had antici-
pated.

TO PE CONTINUED,

VOL. XXVII. 48

754 The Espousals of our Lady.

THE ESPOUSALS OF OUR LADY.* ,

(SCENE: Before the Temple?)
ST. JOSEPH.

FROM boyhood up I had but one desire :]

To live alone with God as 'much alone

As wholesome concourse with my fellow-men,

And scope of humble traffic, would allow :

Not sullenly churlish with a helping hand

For others' need but peacefully obscure.

And so, when came the glow of youth, and thoughts

Of woman's love dawn'd roseate, I upraised

My heart to Him who was indeed to me

The Good Supreme, the Beauty Infinite,

And made, at once, a vow perpetual

Of perfect chastity; and straightway knew

'Twas He had drawn me to it.

Strangely, then,

Sounded the High-Priest's message, summoning
The unwed of David's lineage who had claim,
By sacred right of kinship, to espouse
Its sole surviving maiden bidding them
Bring each a wand, whereby the Lord might show
Whom he had chosen and, among them, me,
Nearest of kin, but hoping to lie hid
Half-way in the fifth decade of my years !
But, ever wont to obey the voice divine,
Within heard or without, I came, and stood
Unseemly 'mid the suitors. Then the wands
Were laid upon the altar the High-Priest
Seeking the sign to Moses given of yore,
When, in the wilderness, the tribes rebelled
'Gainst privileged Aaron. f So we knelt, and went,
And waited on the Lord.

And I, that night,

Like Joseph, son of Jacob, dream'd a dream.
I saw a maiden, robed in purest white,
Sit throned where once, in Solomon's vanished fane,
Reposed the Ark beneath the Mercy-seat,
Within the Holy of Holies. While I gazed,

* Written for a children's "May Cantata." t Numbers xvii.

The Espousals of our Lady. 755

Behold, a sudden vista of long light
Opened as into heaven; and, swiftly, a dove
Descended on the maid, yet settled not,
But o'er her head hung brooding ! Then a voice
Said softly : "Fear not, Joseph, for thy vow.
Bride of the Dove is she ; and thou, her spouse,
Shalt guard her for her Spouse." Whereat I woke,
Astonished : and to find, upon the morrow,
That one of the rods had budded in the night
Budded and blossom'd ; and that rod was mine !

SINGS :

Though the dream brought me peace, there is mystery still :
But in time He will solve it, the Lord of my love.

'Tis enough that I know I am wedding His will
Beheld in this maiden, the " Bride of the Dove."

Ah, who can she be there enthroned as a bride
Where the Ark of the Covenant rested of old ?

Is it She for whose advent our fathers have sigh'd-
The long-promised Virgin Isaias foretold?

And what was the Dove ? When the voice said " her Spouse,"
Did it mean that Jehovah had seal'd her his own?

Has she too, like me, made the sweetest of vows
To live evermore for Divine love alone ?

But she comes : and I feel that the angels are here.

Their charge to be mine ! They will share it, then, still.
And the dear God himself, was He ever so near ?

Be at peace, O my soul ! Thou art wedding His will.

MARY (SINGS).

My God, to Thee I bow:

Thy will is ever mine.
Thy grace- inspired the vow

That made me wholly thine.

If Thou dost bid me wed,

Thou canst but guide aright.

I follow, darkly led,

Till break the perfect light.

I take my chosen lord,

And plight him troth for Thee.

So find thy sovran word
Its handmaid still in me.

75 6

The Bollandist Act a Sanctorum.

MAY, 1878.

CHORUS.

All hail, blest pair, all hail !

As yet ye little know
What words that cannot fail

To after-times will show.

Not angel eyes command
The glorious lot that waits,

As, meekly, hand-in-hand,
Ye leave the temple's gates !

THE BOLLANDIST ACT A SANCTORUM.

FOR many reasons the Bolland-
ist series of saints' lives is one of
the most remarkable works that
ever issued from the pen of man.
As a serial publication, what other
work of the kind extends over a
period of nearly two centuries and
a half, comprises upwards of sixty
volumes in large folio, and is still
advancing, with upwards of one-
sixth part of the whole remain-
ing to full completion ? Or as a
monument of devotion to the saints
of God, as a vast storehouse of ex-
ample and instruction in the way
of eternal life, there is nothing
that can be put in -competition
with it. Even this view of it is
narrow, as compared with other
claims to regard which it possess-
es, and which are fully recognized
by literary men, even among those
who have little or no sympathy
with the religious side of this great
work. The whole range of history,
from the foundation of Christian-
ity, forms an essential portion of it.
The lives of the apostles demand
the investigation of all that is
known of that remote period ; a
large proportion of the Roman

pontiffs are among the canonized,
and their records belong to the
history of the Christian world, in-
cluding that of the middle ages.
The sainted founders of religious
orders, from Benedict to Ignatius,
from Anthony to Paul of the Cross,
cannot be described without en-
tering at length into the origin and
progress of their holy institutes,
many of which were asylums and
homes of refuge for letters and learn-
ing during the darkest and mos
troubled periods of European histc
ry, and others served as traininj
places, whence the confessors am
martyrs of the Christian faitl
went forth to the ends of the eart
to propagate divine truth and
at the sacrifice of everything ths
humanity holds dear, even of lil
erty and life itself. Or, if it
question of kings and emperoi
whom the church venerates
saints, the secular history of th<
dominions naturally falls within
the scope of their biographies : as
of Hungary under St. Stephen ; of
Germany under Henry II.; of
England under Edward the Coi
fessor ; of Denmark under Canut

The Bollandist Ada Sanctorum.

757

IV.; of Spain under Ferdinand
III.; and of France under Louis
IX. Not unfrequently the biogra-
phy of a saint comprises the his-
tory of his age : as of the fourth
century in the life of St. Athana-
sitis; of the eleventh in that of
St. Gregory VII. ; of the twelfth
in that of St. Bernard ; and of the
thirteenth in those of St. Dominic
and St. Francis of Assisi. The
limits of the Acta are not confined
to Europe; they are as wide as our
globe itself. Wherever the seed of
the Gospel has been sown or wa-
tered by the blood of martyrs,
among every race of mankind,
from China to Paraguay, from
Lima to Japan, nothing' is foreign
to the Bollandists' pen ; their work
embraces, incidentally or formally,
all the history of all nations.

Intimately connected with the
historical researches of their work
are several auxiliary branches of
knowledge which largely enter in-
to it and cannot be overlooked
in estimating its scope and value.
The aid of geography, for exam-
ple, had to be called in to settle
the boundaries of episcopal sees,
of provinces, of kingdoms ; to re-
concile history with topography
by determining the obsolete or
corrupted names of certain places,
about which different authors may
have held different opinions. Sev-
eral treatises on chronology enter-
ed into the general scheme. Ar-
chaeology furnished the means of a
minute and complete examination
into ancient manners, rites, laws,
arts, and the rudiments of langua-
ges, and of a comparison among
the sacred and secular monuments
of various nations. Then, again,
the art of employing the materials,
characters, and other portions of
ancient MSS. for the determina-
tion of dates engaged the attention

of the Bollandists, and of Pere
Papebroch in particular ; and this
father, with the frankness insepa-
rable from true genius, did not
hesitate to acknowledge his debt
to the illustrious master Rei Dip-
lomatics, the Benedictine Mabil-
lon. As might have been expect-
ed, theology, canon law, and ec-
clesiastical history are largely rep-
resented in those sixty volumes.
The teaching of the holy fathers,
the decrees of councils, the laws of
the church constantly demanded
scientific statement and vindica-
tion, as also did the perpetual
glory of miracles, of prophecy, of
celestial revelations, and the undy-
ing gift of the loftiest contempla-
tion, as against a class of critics
who, while affecting to patronize
letters, assume that the lives of
saints must be nothing more than a
tissue of idle tales and old women's
fables, or at least speak of them as
if they thought them so. In the
judgment, however, of several emi-
nent critics of the modern school
even the legends of saints, regarded
as popular beliefs in a remote and
half-instructed age, have their value
as evidence of the ideas, manners,
and customs of the people in the
middle ages. M. Gu.izot was at
pains to count twenty-five thousand
legends in the Bollandists' work ;
and these, he remarks, were the
real literature of the first half of
that period, and served for aliment
to the intellectual, moral, and aesthe-
tic life of those ages, and, from a
historian's point of view, were on
that account beyond all price. An-
other French critic, M. Renan, also
regarding the Acta from an exter-
nal point of view, expresses himself
in language of eulogy little to have
been anticipated : " Quelle incom-
parable galerie, en effet, que celle
de ces 25,000 heros de la vie desin-

758

The Bollandist Act a Sanctorum.

teressee ! Quel air de haute dis-
tinction ! quelle noblesse ! quelle
poesie ! II y en a d 'humbles et
de grands, de doctes et de simples ;
mais je n'en connais pas un seul qui
ait 1'air vulgaire. Tons m'appa-
raissent tels que les pose Giotto,
grandioses, hardis, detaches des
liens terrestres, et deja transfigures.
Us plaisent peu an sens positif, je
1'avoue ; mais qu'ils out, apres tout,
mieux compris la vie, que ceux qui
I'ernbrassent comme un etroit cal-
cul d'interet, comme une lutte insi-
gnifiante d'ambition et de vanite."

Such being the character of the
Acta, who conceived the compre-
hensive scheme and gave it actual
form and being ? The names of its
originator and early continuators
are preserved in the following lines :

Quod Rosweydus preparaverat,
Quod Bollandus inchoaverat,
Quod Henschenius formaverat,
Perfecit Papebrochius.

Herbert Rosweyd, a native of
Utrecht in Holland, entered the
Society of Jesus in 1589, at the age
of twenty, and taught philosophy
and theology successively at Douay
and Antwerp. He was a man in
whom great learning was united to
great piety. He composed and
edited many works in Latin and
Flemish, and among the rest pub-
lished an edition of the Oriental
ascetic Moschus' Spiritual Meadow,
and an original treatise on the Imi-
tation of Christ to prove its author
to have been Thomas a Kempis.
Eleven years before his death, in
1629, Pere Rosweyd published the
Lives of the Fathers of the Desert,
in a folio volume, at Antwerp. It
may be regarded as a first instal-
ment of the Ada Sanctorum. While
he was engaged on one of his books
the idea occurred to him to collect
in some twelve volumes the lives
and acts of the beatified and ca-

nonized saints of the Catholic
Church. At the time when he first
conceived his great plan he was
too deeply committed to other lit-
erary works to take it up at once ;
but the idea never was abandoned,
and death alone prevented him
from at least commencing it. When
the project was mentioned to Car-
dinal Bellarmine, he inquired if
Pere Rosweyd expected to live two
hundred years ; such was the car-
dinal's estimate of the magnitude
of the undertaking an estimate ful-
ly borne out by the result. Yet, as
we shall presently see, in the first
century and a half of the work not
a dozen only but four times that
number of volumes were published ;
and if twelve volumes could have
comprised it the end would have
been reached in little more than
forty years from its commencement.
What Papebroch said of Bolland
may be said of Rosweyd : It was
providential that he who first start-
ed such a work could not foresee its
vast extent. Who but a rash man,
or one assured by divine revelation
of his success, would otherwise
ever have dared to extend his plans
and hopes to an age beyond his
own, or counted upon the co-opera-
tion of future authors yet unborn
in an association of labor up to
that time without a parallel in the
history of letters ? It was probably
only in the bosom of a religious
order like the Society of Jesus, in
which years count for days and
centuries for years, that such a
scheme could ever have been car-
ried out.

Rosweyd, then, was dead, but
his conception survived him. The
duty of giving effect to it devolved
on John Bolland (Latinized, in the
style of the period, into Bollandus),
after whom the whole body of suc-
ceeding editors has since been

The Bollandist A eta Sanctorum'

759

named BOLLANDISTS. * Bolland
was by his birth, August 13, 1596,
a native of Tillemont, in Flanders.
At the age of sixteen lie entered
the society, and professed the four
solemn vows January 27, 1630.
His studies had been distinguished,
and as a professor he stood high in
many various attainments, in let-
ters and in Oriental and other lan-
guages. But, better still, his piety
and religious fervor kept equal
pace with his other acquirements.
Even after his appointment to
carry on the work suggested by Pere
Rosweyd, Pere Bolland would never
intermit the duties of the confes-
sional in the church of St. Ignatius
attached to the house of the profess-
ed fathers of the society at Ant-
werp now the church of St.
Charles Borromeo, at the corner of
Wyngard Street and the Katelina
Rampart. It was only the spare
time unoccupied by hearing con-
fessions that he gave to sacred lit-
erature.

A glance at what had been pre-
viously done in the way of saints'
lives will enable us the better to
understand the plan now adopted
by Pere Bolland. Of the acts of the
martyrs and the other saints the
very earliest form is the record of
St. Stephen's origin, arrest, trial,
condemnation, and martyrdom,
contained in the Acts of the Apos-
tles. Similar records besan to be

* Nothing could give a truer idea of the fog of
misconception and ignorance that envelops every
subject connected with Catholicity in England
than an incident which occurred to the writer in
the course of last summer. He had applied to the
editor of an influential monthly of high standing,
published in London, for permission to contribute
a paper on the Bollandist A eta. The editor in re-
ply said that he should be happy to receive an arti-
cle on such a subject, adding, '* They were old friends
and benefactors of mine." The phrase was some-
what puzzling ; but it was fully explained to the
writer by a literary friend of great experience as
referring to the respectable family of the late Baron
Bolland, a judge of the English Exchequer Court.
The Catholic Bollandists were strangers even in
name to the popular editor.

kept first of all in the Roman
Church by order of Pope Clement.
Notaries were appointed for the
purpose of collecting and authen-
ticating the acts of martyrs. The
testimony of eye-witnesses was tak-
en down, and, when duly attested,
the records were submitted to the
judgment of the pope. Similarly
the martyrologies took their origin
from the burying-places of the
martyrs in the catacombs. When
a martyr was carried to his rest
from the Amphitheatre an inscrip-
tion was placed beside him, a name,
a date, a title, a palm-branch or a
clove, perhaps a monogram. Such
were the rudiments of the earliest
martyrologies. The Roman mar-
tyrology, in a few lines, each day
records the names of the martyrs
of the day under the favorite term
of Depositio. The earliest calen-
dar of the Roman Church is com-
posed of a list of depositions cop-
ied as it were from the galleries
of the cemeteries. These honored
names thence passed into the dip-
tychs, and were read aloud to the
Christian assemblies on public oc-
casions. Separate churches had
their own diptychs, and frequent-
ly exchanged them with one anoth-
er. At first martyrs only were ad-
mitted among the select number;
but in the fourth century in the
Western Church the first exception
was made in favor of St. Martin.
In the East the lists were opened
to confessors somewhat earlier in
favor of SS. Ephrem, Athanasius,
Hilarion, and Antony. As regarded
confessors, the acts were in fact
an authenticated narration of their
lives. In this way the martyrolo-
gies and acts of the martyrs and
other saints assumed the form we
now know, subject to the scrutiny
of the bishops of particular sees,
till a later date, when the admis-

760

The Bollandist A eta Sanctorum.

sion of a new name into the calen-
dar was reserved for the Supreme
Pontiff. During the middle ages
the literature of saints' lives was in
great part the work of the monas-
teries. Eusebius, the ecclesiasti-
cal historian, at an earlier period
laid the foundation of this class of
composition. Prudentius, in the
third century, celebrated in verse
the martyr's crown of victory.
There was the Spiritual Meadow of
Moschus, and the Mirror of Vin-
cent of Beauvais ; and, most cele-
brated of all, the Legends of the
Saints, composed by Da Varaggio,
or De Voragine, Archbishop of
Genoa a work better known by
its title of the Golden Legend, given
it by its admirers. This collection
was by far the most popular of all
the works of the kind, and was
translated into nearly every Euro-
pean language. It was one of the
earliest books printed in England
by Caxton, in 1483, in folio. To
a somewhat later period belonged
Surius the Carthusian, from whose
Lives, in seven folio volumes, we find
Charles Kingsley admitting that he
had picked up his knowledge of
ecclesiastical history. After Surius
came Pere Ribadeneira, the Spanish
Jesuit, author of the Flower of
Saints Lives. The work contem-
plated by Rosweyd and put in
hand by Bolland was different,
from everything of the kind that
had gone before it. The new
scheme aimed at the collection and
publication of the original acts and
lives of all the saints in the order
in which they stand in the Roman
calendar and martyrology. Diffi-
cult and obscure passages were to
be elucidated. It was adopted as
a general rule that no testimony
could be admitted which the edi-
tors had not thoroughly examined ;
that, in adducing an important

witness, the age he lived in, his
trustworthiness and judgment as
an author, should be rigorously es-
timated. Nothing which tended
to fuller acquaintance with any
saint was to be slurred over with-
out discussion ; no place to be
deemed too obscure, no people too
ignoble, no country too remote, to
which a saint had at any time be-
longed ; and, in a word, no lan-
guage too rude to occupy their
careful attention, as far as either
the intervention of published and
unpublished authors, or correspond-
ence, or the agency of ubiquitous
friends could utilize human labor.
Their plan was not simply to write
a history of the church in numer-
ous countries, strenuously as they
meant to labor for that ; its scope
included the particular foundations
of bishoprics, of cities, of monas-
teries, and of religious orders, the
successive stages of whose histories
they professed, to the full extent of
their powers, to investigate.

Pere Bolland's first care was to
collect materials for so extensive a
work. He opened a correspond-
ence with churches and monaste-
ries all over Europe and beyond
its limits, inquiring in all direc-
tions for offices peculiar to differ-
ent places, and for copies of the
rarest archives of the religious
houses. These he gradually accu-
mulated, until the foundation of a
valuable library and museum was
established, which long occupied
the upper floor of a detached
building in the professed house at
Antwerp. Out of these materials
Pere Bolland then commenced to
form his Acta for the month of
January. Six years he toiled sin-
gle-handed ; but in 1635 a coadju-
tor was given him in Pere Godfrey
Henschen, S.J., a native of Guel-
dres, in Holland, then in the thir-

The Bollandist A eta Sanctorum.

7 6i

ty-sixth year of his age and the
sixteenth of his religious profes-
sion. The fathers prosecuted the
work in company for eight years,
and in 1643 the first two volumes
were published, comprising the
saints belonging to the month of
January, to the number of upwards
of twelve hundred. Pere Bolland
struck the keynote of his great
work at a sublime height in these
few words of dedication :

SANCTO SANCTORUM

JESU CHRISTO

^ETERNO PONTIFICI

EIUSQUE INTER MORTALES VICARIO

URBANO OCTAVO
ROMANO PONTIFICI.

It was no exaggeration of the
fact when Pere Paul Oliva, after-
wards elected father-general of
the Jesuits, thus addressed Pere
Henschen : "Your reverence and
your coadjutor are dwelling, in
your every thought and with your
pen, in the church in heaven."
The success of the January vol-
umes was from the first assured,
and went on increasing after the
publication of the February saints,
in three volumes, followed in 1658.
Pope Alexander VII., the reigning
pontiff, recorded his opinion that
" a work more useful to the church
of God or more glorious for her
had never been accomplished, or
even begun, by any one." About
the same time a second coadjutor
was taken into the work in Pere
'Daniel Papebroch, S.J., a native
of Antwerp. His family was ori-
ginally from Hamburg, but at the
Reformation his father removed
to Antwerp, where Daniel was
born in 1628. At the end of the
usual studies he entered the Soci-
ety of Jesus in 1646, three of his
brothers eventually following his
example. Pere Papebroch was or-
dained in 1658, and called from

the chair of philosophy at Ant-
werp to assist PP. Bolland and
Henschen in the Acta. After the
February volumes appeared the
pope invited the Bollandist Fathers
to Rome. Pere Bolland himself
was too infirm to accept the invita-
tion, but his younger coadjutors
went instead of him. They left
Antwerp July 22, 1660, old Pere
Bolland accompanying them as far
as Cologne. Their literary tour>
which lasted about two years and
a half, was eminently successful.
They visited monasteries and li-
braries without number all over
Germany, Italy, and France ; every
door, every drawer was thrown
open to them. Hundreds of pre-
cious documents were copied by
them and for them ; their library
and museum were enriched, be-
yond the expectation of the most
sanguine, with manuscripts and
books ; with missals, breviaries,
martyrologies, sacramentaries, ri-
tuals, graduals, antiphonaries, and
other similar works of many vari-
ous rites or "uses," such as the
Mozarabic in Spain, the Ambro-
sian at Milan, the Sarum in Eng-
land, and its Aberdeen daughter in
Scotland. When at its best this
library possessed some twelve
thousand volumes, and in value
and rarity is believed to have sur-
passed either the Barberini in
Rome or the Mazarine in Paris
collections especially noted for
their pre-eminence in similar work?.
Pere Bolland, who was now ap-
proaching his seventieth year, sur-
vived the return of his coadjutors
from their tour only a few months.
To the last he took part in the
work of the museum, while the
fervor of his regular and holy life
seemed to increase. The 29th of
August, 1665, was the last day he
visited the working-room, but on a

762

The Bollandist Act a Sanctorum.

proof-sheet being put into his hand
he was forced to lay it aside and
retire to bed. He lingered about
a fortnight, and then expired, after
receiving all the sacraments of the
dying. In his life and in his death,
as well as with his indefatigable
pen, he proved how well he had stud-
ied the saintly models he had been
for upwards of thirty years daily
contemplating.*

The next issue of the Acta, in
three volumes, comprising the
saints for March, appeared in 1668,
the joint work of PP. Henschen
and Papebroch. It was memora-
ble for more reasons than one.
With it began one of the customs
of the Bollandists, to open a new
volume with a biographical notice
of any of their number who had
died since the issue of the last.
The first volume for March opened
with an Eloge of Pere Bolland, ac-
companied by an excellent engrav-
ing of his fine head, taken from a
portrait of him executed by Fruy-
tiers, a pupil of Rubens. The first
difficulty that beset the undertak-
ing arose from passages in the
same volumes, in which a favorite
opinion of the Carmelite Order,
that their founder and first general
was the prophet Elias, was quietly
ignored. Not only had Baronius
and Bellarmine anticipated the Bol-
landist view of the question, but it
had already been taken for granted
by two preceding authors belong-
ing to the Carmelite Order itself.
The Flemish Carmelites, however,
took umbrage at Pere Papebroch's
opinion, and a quarto volume soon
afterwards appeared in opposi-

* Among the numerous errors in the few lines
devoted to the Bollandists in the new Encyclope-
dia Britannica, not the worst is the statement
that Pere Bolland was only a short time engaged
on the Acta. More than one-half of a life of sixty-
nine years was spent in the production of five folio
volumes for his own share, besides superintending
the preparation of others.

tion, the first in a tolerably long
series of publications resulting from
this curious controversy.* The
Bollandists took no notice of their
opponents until the publication of
the saints' lives for April, in three
volumes, in 1675, afforded an oppor-
tunity of repeating and confirming
their view of the actual origin of
the order in question in the twelfth
century of the Christian era. The
Flemish Carmelites again asserted
the more ancient origin ; and when
it was known in 1680 that three
volumes of the May saints' lives
were about to appear, containing
the life of another Carmelite saint,
the order addressed an unusual re-
quest to Pere Papebroch that a copy
of the life might be shown them be-
fore publication. After some diffi-
culty the Bpllandist forwarded a
copy to his father-general in Rome
to be shown to the general of the
Carmelites ther-e. For a long time
no answer was returned; three of
the May volumes were ready ; the
bookseller was impatient; and Pere
Papebroch was on the point of
leaving home for Westphalia. He
therefore permitted the volumes to
be issued for sale. He had hardly
gone when Pere Henschen received
an order from Rome to suppress
the life of St. Angel, and despatched
it to Pere Papebroch. But by this
time many copies of the Bollandist
May lives had got into circulation ;
it was too late to attempt the sup-
pression of the life in question, and
his father-general accepted Pere
Papebroch's apologies. The result
was another large volume from a
Carmelite pen. Up to this time the
dispute had been restricted to the
Flemish province of the Carmelites,
but in 1682 its area was extended

* Particulars may be found in the Ribliothcque
des Ecrivaitts de la Comp. de Jdsus, of the Peres
de Backer, S.J. Liege, 1854. Also in Niceron,
Histoire des Homines Illustres, II.

The Bollandist A eta Sanctorum.

763

to France by the casual discovery
of an opinion favorable to the
Bollandist view, expressed by Du-
cange, the illustrious archaeologist,
in a private letter to a friend. The
provincial of the Flemish Carme-
lites next called on Pope Innocent

XI. to interpose his authority in the
matter ; and Pere Janning, a youn-
ger member of the Bollandist body,
was sent to Rome to watch the pro-
ceedings. In 1690, two-and-twenty
years after the dispute began, Pere
Papebroch was summoned to the
tribunal of Pope Innocent XII.,
who referred the matter to the
Congregation of the Index. Rome,
however, did not move fast enough
for Carmelite zeal. The Acta were
denounced, 1691, before the Spanish
Inquisition as a work originating
within the dominions of the Ca-
tholic king. Four years later a
decree of the Inquisition condemn-
ed the March, April j and May vol-
umes of the Acta as " containing
erroneous propositions, scenting of
heresy, dangerous to faith, scanda-
lous, impious, offensive to pious ears,
schismatical, seditious, presump-
tuous, offensive," etc., etc.

That this was abitter trial to Pere
Papebroch and his coadjutors can-
not be doubted. All the learned
men of Europe were on their side,
and the Jesuits succeeded in ob-
taining a subsequent decree of the
Inquisition, 1696, permitting the
Bollandists to appear and answer
the charges ; for the former decree
had been pronounced in their ab-
sence. Upon this Pere Papebroch
produced a categorical defence of
everything laid to his charge, in
three volumes (1696-1699). The
Carmelites also were quite as busy.
Meanwhile, also in 1696, Innocent

XII. forbade the disputants to at-
tack each other. The Carmelite
general, little satisfied with a neu-

tral decision, petitioned His Holi-
ness to end the dispute by a positive
decree. After consulting the Con-
gregation of the Council the pope
decided to impose silence on the
whole question regarding the ori-
gin of the Carmelites, and issued a
brief to that effect, dated November
20, 1698. The judgment of the
Spanish Inquisition, June IT, 1697,
prohibited all the books relating to
the dispute, but presumably ex-
cluding the Acta themselves ; for in
1707 an index of forbidden books,
published at Madrid under the au-
thority of the Inquisition, made no
mention of the Bollandist lives.

For thirty years, then, Pere Pape-
broch had to bear this unwelcome
interruption ; and forty years after
his death circumstances made it
desirable to restate his defence.
In 1755 a Supplementiim Apologeti-
cum took its place in the Bollandist
series, containing all the apologetic
volumes published in defence of Pere
Papebroch 's view in his Carmelite
controversy. The successors of
the early Bollandists had a noble
opportunity, and used it nobly, to
bury all former rancors, in the first
volume of their revived wor-k, in
1845, and the fifty-fifth of the series.
The Life of St. Teresa, the great
Carmelitess, occupies nearly the
whole of its seven hundred folio
pages the largest scale on which
any one life had hitherto been exe-
cuted by the Bollandists. It was the
solitary work of its author, Pere Van-
dermoere, and was illustrated by
drawings of places in Spain con-
nected with the saint, and engrav-
ed in the highest style of art.

Pere Henschen lived to see the
first three May volumes issue from
tne press in 1680, and the follow-
ing year closed his useful life, of
which forty-six years had been de-
voted to work as a Bollandist. Pere

764

The Bollandist A eta Sanctorum.

Papebroch was no\v at the head of
the work, and had for his assistants
PP. Janning and Baert. It went
steadily on, and before his death,
in 1714, Pere Papebroch saw five
volumes of the month of June, and
of the series twenty-four, complet-
ed. For five years preceding his
death he was nearly blind, and
when it occurred he had reached
the age of eighty-seven. This sec-
ond founder of the great series
was the author of several other im-
portant works, such as the Annals
of the City of Antwerp and the
Acta Vitcz Scti. Ferdinandi Regis
Castilltz.

It would protract our sketch be-
yond all reasonable limits if we
were to follow the progress of the
great work, during the sixty years
following Pere Papebroch's death,
with as much detail as we have
hitherto given. Let it suffice to
say that it was prosecuted by
fifteen Jesuit fathers in succession
in addition to those already named;
and when the work was suspended
in 1773, the year in which the So-
ciety of Jesus was for the time sup-
pressed, fifty volumes of the Acta
had appeared, and the fiftieth was
the third of the month of October.
The plan of the work had indeed
grown and expanded since Rosweyd
estimated its contents at twelve
volumes, since Bolland found two
sufficient for the month of January.
February, March, and April had
each of them occupied three, August
six, June and July seven, May
and September eight. The chief
sources relied upon for the heavy
expenses of such a work were at
first the gifts of private persons,
bishops, abbots, and others, the
patrimony of Pere Papebroch and
his sister forming no inconsiderable
item in the account. Afterwards
the sale of the volumes ensured a

limited annual profit ; and in 1688
the court of Vienna granted the
fathers a pension, but burdened
with the condition that subsequent
volumes should each of them be
dedicated to some member of the
imperial house. Hence, after that
date, every volume bears at the
head of it an engraved portrait of
an emperor or empress, of an arch-
duke or archduchess. The Bol-
landists also enjoyed a certain reve-
nue from their monopoly of the sale
of classical books in the Jesuit col-
leges of Belgium.

A word as to the place where
they lived and worked. Travel-
lers who have visited Antwerp
must remember the handsome
Renaissance tower of St. Charles
Borromeo's Church, on the corner of
the Katelina Rampart and Wyn-
gard Street. That church was ori-
ginally dedicated to St. Ignatius,
the great first Jesuit, and was
once a museum of Rubens' art. At
the suppression of the society its
best ornaments were removed to
Vienna, where many of them may
be seen in the public gallery. The
church itself perished by fire in
1718, but soon rose again as be-
fore. The small square it stands
in is formed on two sides by mas-
sive buildings, formerly the Ant-
werp house of the professed fathers
of the society. In the upper floor
of the building opposite the church
Pere Bolland established his muse-
um and printing-press, and there
the work was carried on for nearly
one hundred and fifty years. Few
places in the history of Christian
literature have a better title to be
remembered with honor. In an-
other article we shall trace the
progress of the Bollandist Acta af-
ter the suppression of the Jesuit
fathers until the long suspension
of the work itself consequent on

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

765

the French Revolution. We shall
then give our readers an account
of its revival some forty years ago,
together with a description of the

new museum and library in the
College St. Michel, Brussels, which
the writer had the honor of visiting

a short time ago.

TOMBS OF THE HOUSE OF SAVOY.

" Let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings." Shakspere.

ONE of the most secluded and
picturesque valleys of Savoy is to
be found about twenty miles north
of Chambery, shut in, as by cyclo-
pean walls, among gray jagged
rocks, height piled on height
Mont du Chat on the one hand,
and the mountains of Beauges on
the other, while away to the north,
through the gorges that give pas-
sage to the arrowy Rhone, is the
dark Jura range, and to the south-
east, rising into the very clouds,
shine the everlasting glaciers of the
Alps. At 'the base of Mont du
Chat, which here rises abruptly
fifteen hundred feet from the shore,
is the beautiful lake of Bourget,
clear, calm, and pure as the bright
summer sky which is reflected in
its bosom. It is the lac enchante
of Lamartine, who opens his im-
passioned romance of Raphael
upon its shores, and under the in-
spiration of the glorious scenery
wrote his poem of u Le Lac," in which
he calls upon the hours on these
enchanted waters to suspend their
course, and thus prolong a bliss
which, to use his expression,
neither time nor eternity could
ever restore. In the fulness of
delight and feeling he cries;

41 Assez de malheureux ici-bas vous implorent,

Coulez, coulez pour eux,
Prenez avec leurs jours les'soins qui les devorent,

Oubliez les heureux !"

The lake of Bourget winds for
several leagues in and out among
the capes and headlands, forming
a beautiful series of bays and inlets
which wash picturesque cliffs and
verdant slopes covered with vines
and fig-trees and' fields of waving
corn. Towards one end is the
little islet of Chatillon, with an old
manor-house that seems to grow
out of the rock, the seat of an
ancient race, flanked with towers,
and surrounded by gardens with
steps cut in the rock leading from
terrace to terrace where grow fruitful
espaliers and the fragrant jasmine.
Further soi^Jh is the promontory
of Saint-Innocent, with its granite
cliffs and ancient chateau jutting
into the lake, of which it com-
mands the entire view. Not far
from the eastern shore is Aix les-
Bains, whose hot sulphur springs
were frequented in ancient times
by the Roman emperors, and are
still resorted to for health or
pleasure. Between Aix and the
lake is the verdant hill of Tres-
serves, that rises almost perpendic-
ularly from the water, covered
with enormous old chestnut-trees.
To the south you can see the
mountains gradually descending
towards the Arcadian valley of
Chambery, with many a village
spire peering forth amid the dark

;66

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

walnut groves, or the tower of
some ancient castle with battle-
ments still frowning, though they
now only serve to point a moral
and adorn the landscape, if not,
perchance, a tale. On the other
side, at the foot of Tresserves, is
the chateau of Bon Port, oversha-
dowed by trees, near a sheltered

floating in the sun, the quivering
leaves and shimmering lights, and
the dark pile of the abbey with its
shadowy cloisters on the further
shore.

At length we land on the terrace
at the foot of a tall, octagon tower
that looks like a pharos, and, in-
deed, serves as one. The vast

bay where boats are to be found for buildings that constitute the abbey,

crossing the lake. Every one goes

over to the western shore, where

in the gloomy shade of Mont du

Chat, which veils it from the glare

of the sun the greater part of the

day, is the royal abbey of Haute- are well worth a visit.

combe, the ancient bu rial-place of

the house of Savoy. The pro-
found solitude, the grandeur of the
scenery, varying from stern moun-
tain height to fair, sunny slopes and
luxuriant valleys, and the pure,
limpid waters of the tranquil lake
giving expression to the landscape,
render it one of the most lovely as
well as peaceful spots in which to
rest after life's fitful fever. The
luminous sky, the purple, light on
the mountains, the stately colon-
nade of the pines with their solemn
shades, the lulling sound of the
torrents and cascades, the wind
murmuring through the defiles, the
sunny terraces where the eye passes
from gloom to light, as the soul
from darkness to joy, all dispose
the heart to peace.

Hautecombe may be reached in
less than an hour, but there is a
delicious charm in floating idly
around this gem of a lake, all blue
and gold, giving one's self up to
dreamy thought, breathing the
mountain air, listening to the gen-
tle waves as they break against the
shore and to the melancholy songs
of the boatmen, and looking at the
chalets on the hillsides, the mea-
dows and pastures, the herds with
their tinkling bells, the insects

the Gothic church with its painted
walls, its storied windows, the
tombs and cenotaphs on every
side, and the three hundred statues
that people its chapels and aisles,
More than

one tomb tells of the brave ex-
ploits of a valiant race, the glori-
ous part its chiefs took in the Cru-
sades, their attachment to the
Holy See, for which they often
shed their blood in the continual
wars of Italy, and their prowess on
every battle-field of Europe. All
these monuments of white stone,
and these pale statues standing in
niches or lying on tombs, have a
somewhat ghastly, ghostly look that
is the more striking from the
groundwork of black schist. The
house of Savoy, which gradually
rose by the bravery, policy, and
fortunate alliances of its counts,
first ruled over a sterile domain in
the Cottian Alps of which Cham-
bery was the principal town.
These princes were remarkable for
their political sagacity and gallan-
try on the battle-field. This was
in part owing to their peculiar po-
sition. Savoy was in the middle
ages a border-land which forced
its knights to live in the saddle
and hold themselves in readi-
ness to meet the enemy, whether
on the side of France or the
vast domain of the German Em-
pire. And when not needed at
home they were always at the ser-
vice of their allies, so that they

Tombs of tJie House of Savoy.

767

took part in all the wars of the
times, and led a life of knight-er-
rantry that often bordered on ro-
mance. Humbert aitx Blanches
Mains, the first count, was a de-
scendant of Duke Witikind, a con-
temporary of Charlemagne. His
benefactions to the churches of
that day are. still on record. The
line of counts ended with Amedee
VIII., who was created duke in
the fifteenth century. The ducal
line extended through three centu-
ries, when the peace of Utrecht in
1713 recognized Victor Amedee as
King of Sardinia.

The abbey of St. Mary of Haute-
combe was founded in the year
1125 by Count Amedee III.
through the influence of St. Ber-
nard and St. Guerin, with whom he
had intimate relations. Combe is
an old French word signifying a
valley between two mountains.
The Cistercians generally built
their con vents in a valley. The first
abbot was St. Amedee d'Hauterive,
of a distinguished family in Dau-
phine, who passed his youth at the
court of the Emperor Henry of
Germany, but afterwards became
a monk at Clairvaux, and was ap-
pointed abbot of Hautecombe by
St. Bernard himself. The Emperor
Conrad II. held him in such esteem
that he made him a member of his
council, and Frederic I., his chan-
cellor. And when, in the time of
the Second Crusade, preached by St.
Bernard, Count Amedee took the
cross at Metz in presence of an
immense multitude, and set forth
with his nephew, Louis VII. of
France (in 1147), he left both his
son and estates to the guardianship
of the holy abbot of Hautecombe,
who proved himself fully equal to
the trust. He was an able writer
also, and left eight homilies in
honor of the Blessed Virgin, which

still form part of the collection of
the fathers. They used to be read
on certain days of the year in the
churches of Lausanne,, of which he
died archbishop in 1158. His tomb
is still to be seen in the cloister at
Hautecombe.

The second abbot was St. Vivian,
likewise a disciple of St. Bernard's.
By his exalted sanctity he gave ad-
ditional renown to the abbey, which
so prospered that when St. Ber-
nard visited it a few years after
its foundation it already numbered
two hundred monks. Many emi-
nent prelates have sprung from this
house, two of whom were elevated
to the pontifical chair Geoffrey de
Chatillon in 1241, under the name
of Celestin II., and Nicholas III. in
1277, who belonged to. the Orsini
family. It was the latter who gave
the highest sanction to the devo-
tion of the scapular of Mount Car-
mel by the beatification of Simon
Stock, who died at Bordeaux in
. 1265, in the hundredth year of his
age.

Hautecombe dees not seem to
have been at first intended as a
place of sepulture. Count Amedee
III. died two years after his depar-
ture, on the isle of Cyprus, of some
epidemic in the camp. His son,
Humbert III., succeeded him.
This prince was an able ruler, as
brave as he was pious, and valiant-
ly defended his domains against
Guy IV. of Dauphine. He also
distinguished himself at the siege
of Milan, and was always the ally
and ardent defender of the rights
of the Holy See. The religious
education he had received from St.
Amedee gave him a proper estimate
of earthly things, and he would
have gladly renounced the world
and become a monk at Haute-
combe, had it not been for the
remonstrances of his people. He

;68

Tombs of tJie House of Savoy.

often retired here for a season, as
well as at Notre Dame des Alpes,
and when he felt his life was draw-
ing to a close he took the holy
habit and died a few days after with
a reputation for sanctity which
time has not dimmed. Pope Geo-
gory XVI. authorized public honors
to be paid him, and Savoy cele-
brates his festival on the 4th of
March, believed to be the day of
his death. It was he who conceiv-
ed the idea of making Hautecombe
the burial-place of his family, and
he was the first to find a grave here.
The statue on his tomb represents
him in the Cistercian habit with
sabots on his feet.

Two brothers of Humbert the
Saint, as he is called, Peter and
John, and a sister named Margaret,
embraced the monastic life and
died in the odor of sanctity. Sev-
eral other members of the house of
Savoy have also been raised to our
altars. A grandson of Humbert's,
buried behind the high altar at
Hautecombe, was beatified by Pope
Gregory XVI. in 1838 under the
name of the Blessed Boniface. His
festival is on the i3th of March. He
was styled, when young, the Absa-
lom of the age, on account of hisper-
sonal beauty, but he early sought ref-
uge from the seductions of the world
in the Grande Chartreuse, where he
took the habit of St. Bruno. He
was subsequently called forth from
his cell and appointed archbishop
of Canterbury and primate of Eng-
land. Pope Innocent IV. conse-
crated him at Lyons. He was not-
ed for his charity, and was at once
an able theologian and juriscon-
sult. He defended the rights of
the church against Henry III. with
energy, and showed equal zeal in
supporting the royal authority amid
the disaffections of the times, there-
by inspiring so much confidence in

the king that he appointed him re-
gent when he went to France in
1259. Having gone to Savoy in
1270 to visit his brother, Count
Philip, Archbishop Boniface fell ill
and died, after an episcopate of
twenty-five years, at the castle of
St. Helene, in the valley of the
Isere, and was buried at Haute-
combe. The statue on his tomb
represents him with a serpent at
his feet, emblem of prudence, and
a bas-relief depicts him defending
the rights of the church before
Henry III.

Count Amedee IX. and two
princesses of the house of Savoy
are also invoked as saints. There
is a statue of St. Margaret of Savoy
in the chapel of St. Felix at Haute-
combe, representing her in a mon-
astic dress, her hands meekly cross-
ed on her breast. She was a daugh-
ter of Amedee, prince of Achaia,
and after the death of her husband,
the Marquis of Montferrat, having
been wholly converted to God by
the preaching of St. Vincent Fer-
rer, she entered a monastery and
devoted herself to the care of the
sick in a hospital. She was can-
onized by Pope Clement X.

The Blessed Louise of Savoy was
an angel of piety from her child-
hood, and after the death of her
husband, Hugues de Chalons,
prince of Orange, she being then
twenty-seven years of age and
free from all obligations to her
family, was solemnly veiled a nun
in the convent of the Clairists at
Orbe, which had been founded by
a princess of her husband's fam-
ily early in the fifteenth century,
and still observed the rule in all
its primitive rigor. Here she died
in 1503 at the age of forty-two.
Fifty years after her death the
Calvinists of Switzerland overthrew
the altars of the conventual church,

Tombs of the House of Savoy*

769

and gave the nuns the choice of
going into exile or renouncing the
monastic life. They chose the
former, but before quitting the
cloister they sent a crier through
the streets to proclaim at the sound
of a trumpet that if they had of-
fended any one whomsoever they
humbly begged his forgiveness, and
declaring that for the love of God
they forgave the offence committed
against themselves in being banish-
ed from their monastery. They
were nineteen in number. They
to.ok with them some chalices, or-
naments, and rich vestments they
owed to the liberality of the Prin-
cess Louise, and a Madonna of
carved wood, called Notre Dame
de la Grace, which she had given
the convent at her entrance into
religion. At Ouchy they embarked
in three small boats for Evian, on
the southern shore of the Lake of
Geneva, then faithful to the device
on one of its gates : Deo regique
fidelis perpetuo gates opened more
than once, at that disastrous period,
to exiles of the faith. The sky was
clear when the nuns set forth, but
a sudden tempest sprang up which
threatened destruction to their
frail barks. The boatmen them-
selves were alarmed, much more
these timid doves just driven from
their nest, and to lighten the boats
they threw all their effects into the
water. They succeeded, however,
in getting ashore, and the magis-
trates and people of Evian came
forth in procession to meet them,
the bells meanwhile ringing out a
peal of welcome. A few nights after
some fishermen found Notre Dame
de la Grace gleaming among the
cliffs of Meillerie, and the people of
Evian went forth again with white
banners to receive and convey it
to the church. Some years later
Count Emanuel Philibert built
VOL. xxvii. 49

these exiles a convent at Evian,
where this Madonna was preserved
for more than two centuries ; but in
1792 the nuns were again dispersed
and the Virgin concealed. The
convent is now used as a Petit
Seminaire, but people from all the
country around still go to the cha-
pel to pray before the Madonna of
the Blessed Louise of Savoy.

Another princess, but not of the
house of Savoy, is specially hon-
ored at Hautecombe- St. Erine,
daughter of the Emperor Licinius,
and niece of Constantine the Great.
She was taken captive in the East
by the army of Sapor II. of Persia,
and martyred because she would
not renounce the faith. Her body
was afterwards taken to Patras, and
Anselmo, a bishop of the Morea in
the thirteenth century,who had great
devotion to her, gave a portion of
her remains to the abbey of Haute-
combe, which, in spite of many
vicissitudes, is still preserved here
in a reliquary of silver given by
Charles Felix, King of Sardinia..
The boatmen on the Lac du Bour-
get invoke St. Erine in perilous
storms, and many miracles are at-
tributed to her intervention through-
out the valley. On Whitmonday
her relics are solemnly exposed to
veneration in the church.

In one of the aisles at Haute-
combe is the tomb of Beatrice,
daughter of Count Thomas I., and
granddaughter of Humbert the
Saint one of the most beautiful
and accomplished princesses of
that age. She married Raymond
Berenger, the last count of Pro--
vence, and was not only one of the
most brilliant queens of the Court
of Love, but rivalled the trouba-
dours themselves in the Gai Sci-
ence. One of her songs, addressed
to her husband, has been pre-
served :

770

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

" I fain would think thou hast a heart,
Although it thus its thoughts conceal,

Which well could bear a tender part
In all the fondness that I feel ;

Alas ! that thou wouldst let me know,
And end at once my doubts and woe.

"It might be well that I once seemed

To check the love I prize so dear ;
But now my coldness is redeemed,

And what is left for thee to fear ?
Thou dost to both a cruel wrong :

Should dread in mutual love be known ?
Why let my heart lament so long,

And fail to claim what is thine own ?" *

What is unique in history, this
Beatrice of Savoy had fo'ur daugh-
ters and three granddaughters who
were all queens or empresses. As
Dante says :

" Four daughters were there born
To Raymond Berenger ; and every one
Became a queen, and this for him did Romeo."

It was this Romeo de Villeneuve,
the able minister of Count Ray-
mond, whom Dante finds worthy
of a place in his Paradise, who is
said to have first foreseen the
grandeur of united France, and who
negotiated the grand alliances of
his master's daughters. One mar-
ried St. Louis of France ; another,
Henry III. of England; a third,
Richard of Cornwall, afterwards
Emperor of Germany ; and the
fourth, Charles of Anjou, King of
Naples and Sicily. As for the
granddaughters, Beatrice of Sicily
became Empress of Constantinople ;
Margaret of England, Queen of
Scotland ; and Isabella of France,
'Queen of Navarre.

Beatrice of Savoy was first bur-
ied at Echelles, where a magnifi-
cent tomb was erected, on which
she lay, surrounded by the statues
of her children and grandchildren
with their consorts twenty-six in
number, all of white marble ; but
the tomb was destroyed at the Re-
volution, and her remains after-
wards transported to Hautecombe,

* Costello's translation.

or at least what was saved of them,
and placed in a new tomb.

It was her daughter, the fair
Eleanor of Provence, a princess of
remarkable beauty and talent, who
married Henry III. of England.
Through her influence her uncle
Boniface, of whom we have spoken,
was appointed successor of St. Ed-
mund of Canterbury. The English
historians do not speak so favora-
bly of Archbishop Boniface, but
the number of foreigners who fol-
lowed Eleanor to England gave
great offence to the people. Many
of them married rich heiresses, and
several families, like the Fletchers,
Butlers, and Grandisons, can trace
their descent from a Grandson,
Boutillier, and La Flechiere of that
period.

That part of London called the
Savoy was so named from another
uncle of Queen Eleanor's Peter,
brother of Archbishop Boniface,
who was created earl of Richmond,
and had this tract of land given
him by the king in the Strand,
where he built a palace. This was
afterwards rebuilt on a grander
scale by the first duke of Lancas-
ter, and became a place of historic
interest. It was appropriated to
the use of King John of France
while a captive in England (1356
1364), and "thyder came to see
hym the kyng and quene often
tymes, and made hym gret feest
and cheere." And here, by the
way, King John brought his Bible
in the vernacular, and thumbed it
well too, it appears, for in the ac-
count of his expenses is recorded
t}ie sum of thirty-two pence paid
" Margaret the bindress " for a new
cover with four clasps. In the
Savoy, too, lived John of Gaunt,
" time-honored Lancaster," to whom
the place descended, and here the
poet Chaucer was his frequent

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

771

guest. One of the scenes in Shak-
spere's ." Richard II." is supposed to
be laid here, though at that date
the palace had been sacked and
destroyed by Wat Tyler's followers.

This Peter, Earl of Richmond,
who gave the name to the Savoy,
was called the Petit Charlemagne
on account of his valor and other
eminent qualities. He acquired
great influence over Henry III.,
but returned to his native land at
the death of his brother, to whom
he succeeded in the government,
being then sixty years of age. The
abbot of St. Maurice, in gratitude
for his services in behalf of the
Valaisans against their suzerain,
who oppressed them with his ty-
ranny, gave him the celebrated
ring of St. Maurice, that was hence-
forth used as the symbol of inves-
titure by the counts of the house
of Savoy. Count Peter died at the
castle of Chillon in 1268. His
tomb, the richest at Hautecombe,
has ten pale mourning figures
around it, called pleureuses, and
a bas-relief represents him as am-
bassador at the court of Louis IX.,
arranging a treaty of peace between
France and England. Over his
tomb is painted on the wall the
burial of Christ, and near by is
the raising of Lazarus, with their
lessons of hope beyond the grave.

Archbishop Boniface, Beatrice,
Countess of Provence, etc., were
the children of Count Thomas I.,
whose first wife, Beatrice of Gene-
va, is buried here. She was called
the Mater Comitum, or the Mother
of Counts, because three of her
sons, Amedee IV., Peter, and Phi-
lip, all succeeded to the govern-
ment of Savoy. It was she who,
being at Susa when St. Francis of
Assisi passed through, promised to
build a convent of his order if he
would give her a piece of his habit.

He tore off one of the sleeves
and gave it to her. It was long
preserved in the chapel of the
princes of Savoy, whose descend-
ants have driven the Franciscans
of these days from their homes.
This relic is still preserved in the
church of the Capuchins at Cham-
bery. At Hautecombe, too, is
buried Beatrice Fiescha, wife of
Count Thomas II., and niece of
Pope Innocent IV. She belonged
to the great Genoese family from
which afterwards sprang the mys-
tic St. Catherine of Genoa. It was
her son, Amedee V., surnamed the
Great, whose large tomb, inscribed
Belli Fulmen, stands on one side as
you enter the nave. His is the
most glorious name of the house
of Savoy. He was famed for his
deeds of valor, which read like a
chapter from the old romances of
chivalry. He is said to have taken
part in twenty-two pitched battles
and thirty-two sieges. His most
famous exploit was his expedition
to Rhodes to aid the Knights of
St. John in defending the island
against the Turks. At the request
of the grand master he took the
white cross on a red shield* in-
stead of the eagle, the original
cognizance of the house of Savoy.
He likewise assumed the famous
device, F. E. R. T., which is
generally interpreted, Fortitude
ejus Rhodum tenuit His valor sav-
ed Rhodes. He was on intimate
terms with his royal kinsman of
England, was present at the mar-
riage of Edward II. with Isabella
of Valois and at Edward's corona-
tion, and was employed in negotia-
tions between England and France.
Here, too, lies his daughter Agnes,
with her recumbent statue on the

* The white cro^s of Savoy, won by a chivalric
knight of the ages of faith, but which one now
learns to loathe in Italy the cross of torture : crux
de cruce for Pius IX. of blessed memory.

7/2

tomb, clasping a crucifix to her
breast, remarkable for pose and
expression.

Count Aimon comes next. He
and his wife Yolande lie on a tomb
in the Chape lie des Princes, his feet
on a lion, hers on a dog, beneath
a baldachin, surrounded by saints
and quaint pyramids. He was the
second son of Amedee V., and
destined at first to the ecclesias-
tical state, but, his elder brother
having died, he succeeded to the
title and displayed great military
ability on the side of the French in
their wars with England and the
Netherlands. He protected the
poor, loved justice, established
courts of assizes, and founded hospi-
tals and churches. Pope Benedict
XII. had a special esteem for him,
and gave him and his successors
the first place after crowned heads
at the coronation of the Sovereign
Pontiffs. He married Yolande de
Montferrat, of the imperial family
of Palaeologus.

Amedee VI., son of Aimon, call-
ed the Comte Vert, or Green
Count, was one of the most chival-
ric knights of the fourteenth cen-
tury. His whole life was spent on
the battle-field, and he rendered
his name immortal by his courage
and gallant deeds. He gained the
battle of Abrets against France,
aided Pope Gregory IX. and the
Emperor Charles IV. in crushing
the Visconti, and rescued the
Greek Emperor John Palaeologus
from the hands of the Bulgarians,
who held him prisoner at Gallipo-
lis, and replaced him on the throne
of Constantinople. The tourna-
ment he gave at Chambery in 1348,
on the Place de Verney, was cele-
brated by the poets and romancers
of the day. The colors he wore
on this occasion, as well as his fol-
lowers, and evenjhis steed, procured

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

for him the name of the Comte
Vert. He founded the supreme
order of the Annonciade, one of
the most ancient known, in honor
of Our Lady, consisting of fifteen
knights; and built a Carthusian
convent at Pierre-Chatel for fifteen
monks, whose duty it was to say a
daily Mass in honor of the fifteen
mysteries of Our Lady's life, for
the fifteen knights of the order.
Charles III. of Savoy afterwards
added fifteen golden roses, part
enamelled red and part white, to
the collar, and the medal of the
Annunciation.

The king of Sardinia is still
grand master of the order, and its
collar is the most glorious decora-
tion he can confer. Two of the
original collars, presented by the
Comte Vert, were long preserved
at Hautecombe. Ame"dee VI. also
created a charitable office called
the Advocate of the Poor, still kept
up a magistrate supported by the
government for gratuitous services
to the poor, whom he is bound to
defend at court when their cause
is just. Like all the old knights,
Amedee was devout to Our Lady,
and has left a monument of his
piety

" Ou les grands chataigniers d'Evian penchent
1'ombre."

the church of Notre Dame, which
stands in a beautiful spot overlook-
ing Lake Leman. He died of the
plague at Naples in 1383, but his
body was brought to Hautecombe
for burial. Twenty-four prelates
and a host of lords from Savoy and
the surrounding countries attended
the obsequies. His wife was Bonne
de Bourbon.

Amedee VII., styled the Comte
Rouge, or the Red Count, from the
color of his hair, was the son of the
Comte Vert. He married Bonne

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

773

de Berry, daughter of John of
France, Duke de Berry. He add-
ed Nice and Ventimiglia, and the
valley of Barcelonette, to the do-
mains of his ancestors, thus extend-
ing them to the sea. The gradual
acquisitions of the house of Savoy
gave rise to the witty saying that
the kingdom thus formed was like
an artichoke that had been plucked
leaf by leaf. The Conte Rosso
was remarkable for personal ad-
dress and valor, which he loved to
display at jousts and tournaments.
He made his first essay at arms
against the sire of Beaujeu, and at
a tournament at Bruckberg defeat-
ed the earl of Huntingdon with the
lance, and the earls of Arundel
and Pembroke with sword and bat-
tle-axe. His judgment and pru-
dence caused him to be repeatedly
chosen mediator by the sovereigns
of Europe. He was a patron of
letters and founder of the Univer-
sity of Turin. He died in his
thirtieth year at Ripaille, some say
of a fall from his horse; others,
that he fell a victim to poison or
the medicaments of a Bohemian
quack, who promised him a luxuri-
ant head of hair and an improved
complexion. The statue on his
tomb represents him in armor, rest-
ing on his sword after victory. In
a bas-relief he is fighting for
Charles VI. of France, at the head
of seven hundred Savoyards, against
the English and Flemish at the
siege of Bourbourg.

The Conte Rosso's widow.
Bonne de Berry, left Savoy in 1395
and married her cousin- german,
Bernard VII., Count of Armagnac,
who became head of the Orleans
faction when his daughter Bonne
married the young Duke Charles,
and was murdered in a frightful
manner by the Burgundians at
Paris in 1418. Her first husband

poisoned, her second murdered,
Bonne de Berry amply expiated
her strong ambition and ended her
days at Rhodez in the practice of
the most heroic piety. She left in
Savoy, besides her son Amedee
VIII., two daughters, one of whom
married Louis, the last prince of
Achaia, at whose death in 1418
Piedmont was united to Savoy.
This princess, named Bonne, like
her mother and grandmother, left
one of the most curious legacies on
record a bequest for a daily Mass
of Requiem in the chapel of the
princes of Achaia, in the church of
the Franciscans at Pignerol, for
twelve thousand years ! She evi-
dently thought the end of the
world very remote, and had great
confidence in the stability of hu-
man affairs and the scrupulous
fidelity of her heirs.

One of the chapels at Haute-
combe was founded by the Count
de Romont, a natural son of the
Conte Rosso. He went to the
Holy Wars, and was a captive seven
years among the Saracens. The
shield on his statue is sown with
crescents, and here and there
on the border of his garments is
the Arabic word Alahac God is
just recalling his exploits in the
East. Twenty-eight princes and
princesses of the house of Savoy
have been buried at Hautecombe,
but the place lost its prestige when
Turin became the capital. In 1793
the monks were driven out, and
the lands sold as part of the na-
tional domains. The republican
commissioners went down into the
vaults, opened the tombs, and car-
ried off all the precious objects
they could find ; among others the
ducal crown from the tomb of Duke
Philibert in the caveau of the Cha-
pelle des Princes. The ancient
resting-place of sovereigns was

774

Toinbs of the House of Savoy.

turned into a fabrique de faience,
and the buildings had partly fallen
to ruin when they were redeemed
by Charles Felix, King of Sardinia,
in 1824, from his own private
means. He began the restoration
of the church, and peopled the ab-
bey again with Cistercians. And
here he was buried, at his own re-
quest, in May, 1831. His wife,
Marie Christine, completed the
work and found a grave here in
her turn.

Amedee VIII., the son of Bonne de
Berry and the Red Count, was not
buried at Hautecombe, but at Ri-
paille, on the southern shore of Lake
Leman. Few travellers visit this
place, though it is one of the most
interesting excursions to be made
from Geneva. It stands on a
point of land projecting into the
lake just beyond Thonon, but
seems so low and hidden from the
water that it might be taken for a
mere grange and its dependencies
in the midst of orchards and
woods. A pleasant walk from
Thonon brings you to a grove of
linden-trees that shade a monastic-
looking establishment with pepper-
box turrets and long corridors
leading to monk-like cells. Con-
nected with it is a church of the
Renaissance, with pillars of gray
marble in front, and above is the
cross of Savoy serving as a support
to the tiara and keys of the Papa-
cy ! Here was buried the first
duke of Savoy, the last of the anti-
popes, the " bizarre Amedee/' as
Voltaire calls him ; "the Solomon
of his age," as he is styled by
others.

Ripaille seems to have been a
place of great antiquity, for Roman
inscriptions and remains have been
found here, as well as ornaments of
the time of the Merovingians, but it
was only a maison de plaisance in

the time of Amedee VI., who left
it to Bonne de Bourbon. Amedee
VII. made it a hunting-lodge and
here died. It was Amedee VIII.
who gave it a world-wide celebrity,
and by his life here unwittingly add-
ed a new expression to the French
language. He married Mary of
Burgundy and had nine children.
He united Savoy and Piedmont,
over which he ruled forty years.
He entertained the Emperor Sigis-
miind with such splendid hospitali-
ty on his way to Italy that he ele-
vated him to the rank of duke.
This was in 1416. After the death
of his wife, but still while in the
height of his influence and pros-
perity, he suddenly retired from
the world to Ripaille, taking with
him six noblemen who had parti-
cipated in the most important
transactions of his reign. He re-
built the old manor-house, sur-
rounded it with moats, and flank-
ed it with seven seigneurial towers,
with a suite of apartments con-
nected with each, communicating
with each other by a long corridor.
The tower next the lake was lofti-
er than the others, and connected
with a square edifice of villa-like
pretensions reserved for his own
use. The others were for the six
lords who accompanied him. To
the east was a park planted with
oaks in the form of a star, still to be
seen, venerable and broad-spread-
ing. This park was surrounded by
a wall and laid out with alleys and
winding paths. Amedee and his
companions did not retire here to
become monks, nor did he at first
give up the reins of government, as
some have declared. But he laid
here the foundation of the order
of chivalry known as the Knights
of St. Maurice a semi religious
establishment in his day, under
the direction of the canons of St.

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

775

Augustine. Its members assumed
a particular costume, consisting of
a gray habit and cowl, and a gold
cross suspended from the neck.
They divided their time between
religious exercises and affairs of
the state. They constituted, in
fact, a permanent senate to man-
age the government, for which
they fitted themselves by medita-
tion and prayer. And Amedee
wished his successors to have re-
course to the Knights of St. Mau-
rice on all important occasions.
They were always to be seven in
number, and recruited from the
highest class. Here the duke mar-
ried his son, gave judgment in cer-
tain cases, and showed by numer-
ous acts that, though he had ap-
pointed his son lieutenant-general,
he had by no means abdicated.

Of course the world took it up.
There were two reports. Some said
the duke had given himself up to
mortification and penance with a
view to the Papacy. Others de-
clared he and his followers led a
life of debauchery. The expres-
sion faire ripaille* is said to be de-
rived from the unfavorable reports
spread abroad respecting their
manner of life. But it was not
used in IMS time, nor, indeed, till
the seventeenth century. These
imputations are not derived from
any writer of the day, unless we ex-
cept Monstrelet, who in his Chroni-
cles thus speaks of the duke's life
at Ripaille : " He and his followers
are served, not with roots and
water from the fountain, but with
the best wine and best meats that
can be found." This is by no
means a proof of sensuality, and, as
the knights were under no vow to

* The more ancient writers use this expression in
the sense of enjoying the pleasures of the country or
making good cheer, without any invidious meaning.
Voltaire is one of the first to imply by its use a life
of luxurious and sensual indulgence.

live on roots and pure water like
the hermits of Thebaid, there was
no reason why they should not se-
lect the best meats and use the
purest wine at their repasts. What
would have been a simple, abste-
mious life for a prince and his
courtiers might seem luxurious to
the peasantry around, who perhaps
gave rise to such reports. But
Monstrelet, who had been made
governor of Cambrai by the duke of
Burgundy a prince exceedingly
hostile to Amedee would be like-
ly to take an unfavorable view of
the life at Ripaille. This is why
Guichenon considers his chronicle
untrustworthy in everything relat-
ing to the history of Savoy. And
he was too far distant to have a
personal knowledge of what was oc-
curring there. Oliver de la Marche,
who also belonged to the court of
Burgundy, is not so unfavorable to
Amedee. He says "he governed
so wisely in the time of French
divisions that Savoy was the rich-
est, safest, and most productive of
any country around." Two other
writers are more explicit as to the
duke's manner of life. Raphael
Volaterra, speaking of the election
of Amedee as pope under the title
of Felix V. by the Council of Bale,
says he was "chosen on account of
the fame of his mortifications."
Jean Gobelin, the duke's secretary,
declares he led a very austere life.
Onofrio Panvini, an Augustinian
monk, says his life was " angelic."
The Pere Daniel, a conscientious
historian, after examining the case,
says it is certain he led an innocent
life here, without any scandal.
And .^Eneas Sylvius, secretary of
the Council of Bale, eminent as
a writer, and who became pope un-
der the name of Pius II., visited
Amedee at Ripaille and bears this
testimony : " The one who had

77<5

Tombs of the House of Savoy.

more votes than the rest was the
most excellent Amadeus, Duke of
Savoy, dean of the Knights of St.
Maurice in the diocese of Geneva.
The electors, considering that he
was leading the life of a celibate,
and that his conduct was that of
a religious, thought him worthy of
governing the church," and, after
eulogizing the duke at some length,
adds that " he only wore what gar-
ments were necessary to protect
him from the cold, and only ate
enough to keep him from dying of
hunger." When the members of
the Council of Bale wished to set up
a pope of the Gallican race in op-
position to Eugenius IV., it is evi-
dent that they would only choose,
after serious consideration, a per-
son of irreproachable life. In fact,
they did make the most minute in-
quiries, which led to the explicit
statement that the duke, though
not in orders, had "always been
regular in his habits, assiduous at
the offices of the church, and exact
in saying his breviary."* It was
Voltaire who made the calumny
popular. The calumnies concern-
ing Amedee have been caught up
and perpetuated by a school always
glad to find an ecclesiastical digni-
tary, even if an anti-pope, suspect-
ed of excesses, and have led some
grave historians like Duclos to state
that the duke and his followers led
a voluptuous life at Ripaille.

Amedee certainly should not be
excused for yielding to the solici-
tations of the Council of Bale and
usurping the tiara. Pere Monod
says he resisted for a while and
shed torrents of tears, dwelling on
the difficulty of the oaths to be
taken, and even pleading the cause
of his competitcr, Eugenius; but
the members made him believe it
would be for the welfare of the

* ^Eneas Sylvius.

church, and he yielded. A depu-
tation from the council came to
Ripaille to offer him the tiara, and
he was enthroned with great pomp
in his church December 17, 1430,
on which occasion he abdicated
the government in favor of his son
Louis, drew up his will, and gave
the Knights of St. Maurice a new
dean, or prior, chosen from their
number. But he atoned for his
weakness a few years after by the
voluntary resignation of his usurp-
ed office, and retired a second time
to Ripaille, as cardinal of the title
of St. Sabina, legate of the Holy
See, and administrator of the dio-
ceses of Lausanne and Geneva,
thus restoring peace and unity to
the Catholic Church. After spend-
ing two years in retirement he
died, and was buried in his church
at Ripaille. The eventful life of a
prince who by turns had been
count, duke, anti-pope, cardinal, and
bishop, who was married, a widow-
er, and a cenobite, is not without a
certain dramatic interest that needs
not the shading of calumny.

A grandson of Amedee VIII.,
Louis II., the dethroned king of
Cyprus, came also to Ripaille to die.
He married Charlotte de Lusig-
nan, heiress of the king* of Cyprus,
and she and Louis were crowned
as king and queen of Cyprus, Je-
rusalem, and Armenia high-sound-
ing titles that soon became a mere
name, for they were forced to fly
before James, a natural son of the
late king, who had married Cathe-
rine Cornaro of Venice, and was
aided by the soldan of Egypt.
Queen Charlotte made a solemn
donation of Cyprus to her nephew
Charles, and died a guest of Pope
Sixtus IV. at Rome in 1487, the
last of the illustrious house of Lu-
signan, which had ruled over Cy-
prus far three hundred years.

A True Lover. 777

In 1536 Ripaille was devastated of St. Maurice, which Gregory
by the Bernese that is, the abbey. XIII. united to that of St. Lazare
They respected the chateau. The three years later. When St. Fran-
tomb of Amedee VIII. was broken cis de Sales was Bishop of Geneva
to pieces, and his remains at a later he placed Carthusians at Ripaille.
day were taken to Turin. In 1575 Now it belongs to a private gen-
Ripaille was restored to the order tleman.

A TRUE LOVER. -

AT her heart's door he knocked and cried,
" Love ! art them there ?

So long to find thee I have tried.
Sweet Love ! dost hear ?"

But Love sat silent all the while,

Nor did he give
One token neither tear nor smile

That lie did live.

That knock so light it might have chanced

Love heard no sound,
And in so fair a place entranced

In sleep lay bound.

For sure no deepening of her cheek

That touch awoke ;
No drooping of her eyelids meek,

Love's light to cloak.

He knocked more loudly than before :

" Dear maid, give ear.
Lo ! here I wait at thy heart's door

This many a year.

" First did I seek from thy true eyes

If love dwelt there;

I saw in them sweet thoughts arise

Love had no share.

" Oft from the rose of thy pure cheek,

In my sad quest,
Did I an answer's shadow seek,
But none possessed.

778 A True Lover.

" From thy sweet mouth I thought to win

Some trembling sign, ,
If that love's life could but begin
Thine linked with mine!

"The even sunshine of thy lips

Too calmly fell ;
If love sat there in sweet eclipse
I could not tell.

" In thy pure speech's spotless gold

Some link I sought

Wherewith the love I begged, to hold,
But gathered naught.

" No thrill unconscious in thy hand

Wherein Love spake,
Too calm and gracious didst thou stand
My touch to wake.

" Lo ! I have asked of hand and cheek,

Dear mouth and eyes ;
Now in thy very heart I seek
If Love there lies.

"Ah ! Sweet, my life is not misspent

Because I wait

Like soldier in his camping tent
At thy heart's gate :

" Each day my life's work still goes on,

My duty done,

For thee, as time comes and is gone,
Each honor won;

" And bears my life, though sadly weak,

A pure renown :

With honor must I honor seek
Thy love, my crown !

"I dare not, if in things most high

I held no part,

E'er win such love as sure must lie
Within thy heart.

" I seek thy blessing on my life;

Lo ! here I wait

That holy gift for strength in strife
At thy heart's gate."

St. Paid on Mars Hill.

779

He knocked more loudly than before,

And Love awoke,
Soft loosed the latch of her heart's door,

And softly spoke ;

Quick speeding unto cheek and eyes,

All unforbid,
Trembling in speech so pure and wise,

No more heart-hid.

Her lover waits no more to win,

Early and late ;
Love-crowned, he proud hath passed within

Her pure heart's gate.

ST. PAUL ON MARS' HILL;

OR, THE MEETING OF CHRISTIANITY AND GREEK PHILOSOPHY.

THERE is, perhaps, no other epi-
sode in the adventurous journey-
ings and heroic life of the Apostle
Paul so full of interest as his visit
to Athens. To all those whose ac-
quaintance with Grecian history
enables them to take in the pecu-
liar surroundings and associations
of that visit it certainly affords the
most fascinating incident in con-
nection with the progress of the
Christian faith ; and it has always
been regarded as the most inte-
resting event in the heroic age of
Christianity. For what other event
presents such striking antithesis?
the newly-established religion of
Jesus of Nazareth face to face with
the intellect and cultivation of
Greece, the disciple of a crucified
Galilean come to dethrone the
disciples of Plato, a semi-barbarian
Jew come to teach the mighty
Athenians, who had taught the
world.

The historical outline of the sub-

ject is thus given in the seventeenth
chapter of the Acts of the Apos-
tles :

" And they that conducted Paul,
brought him as far as Athens, and re-
ceiving a commandment from him to
Silas and Timothy, that they should
come to him with all speed, they depart-
ed. Now whilst Paul waited for them
at Athens, his spirit was stirred within
him, seeing the city wholly given to ido-
latry. He disputed therefore in the sy-
nagogue with the Jews, and with them
that served God, and in the market-
place, every day with them that were
there. And certain philosophers of the
Epicureans and of the Stoics disputed
with him, and some said : What is it
that this word-sower would say? But
others : He seemeth to be a setter-forth
of new gods : because he preached to
them Jesus and the resurrection. And
taking him they brought him to Areo-
pagus, saying : May we know what this
new doctrine is which thou speakest of?
For thou bringest in certain new things
to our ears. We would know therefore
what these things mean. (Now all the
Athenians, and strangers that were there,
employed themselves in nothing else

St. Paul on Mars' Hill.

but either in telling or in hearing some
new thing.) But Paul standing in the
midst of Areopagus, said : Ye men of
Athens, I perceive that in all things you
are too superstitious. For passing by
and seeing your idols, I found an altar
also on which was written : ' To the un-
known God.' What therefore you wor-
ship, without knowing it, that I preach
to you. God, who made the world and
all things therein, seeing he is Lord of
heaven and earth, dwelleth not in tem-
ples made with hands. Neither is he
served with men's hands as though he
needed anything, seeing it is he who
giveth to all life, and breath, and all
things : and hath made of one, all man-
kind, to dwell upon the whole face of
the earth, determining appointed times,
and the limits of their habitation. That
they should seek God, if haply they may
feel after him or find him, although he
be not far from every one of us : for in
him we live and move and are : as some
also of your own poets said, ' For we are
also his offspring.' Being therefore the
offspring of God we must not suppose
the divinity to be like unto gold or sil-
ver, or stone, the graving of art and de-
vice of man. And God indeed having
winked at the times of this ignorance,
now declareth unto men, that all should
everywhere do penance. Because he
hath appointed a day wherein he will
judge the world in equity, by the man
whom he hath appointed, giving faith to
all, by raising him up from the dead.
And when they had heard of the resur-
rection of the dead some indeed mocked,
but others said : We will hear thee again
concerning this matter. So Paul went
out from among them. But certain men
adhering to him, did believe: among
whom was also Dionysius the Areopa-
gite, and a woman named Damaris, and
others with them."

St. Paul went to Athens direct
from Beroea in Macedonia; he had
had a most successful apostolate
among the Berceans, and had no
intention of quitting the place so
soon, were it not that his old ene-
mies, the Jews of Thessalonica,
came down upon him and compel-
led him to flee for his life. It was
only seventeen miles to the coast,
and some of his Bercean converts

conducted the persecuted apostle
as speedily as possible to the sea.
From where they embarked it was
a sail of three or four days in a
small boat to the Pineus. If the
great apostle of the Gentiles had
an eye for the beautiful in nature,
if scenes consecrated by historic
association had any charm for him,
he must have revelled in this quiet
sail on the Interior Sea. As soon
as he cleared the headlands of the
Macedonian shore he saw Mount
Olympus towering close above him ;
and as he drew near the Thessa-
lian Archipelago Mount Athos and
the picturesque coast-line of Atti-
ca began to be visible. For a dis-
tance of ninety miles on his voy-
age the long island of Eubcea
forms the outer boundary of the
narrow sea, and every spot on
either shore is classic ground, hal-
lowed by some association of the
past. On the northern shore of
Euboea itself is the pass of Ther-
mopylae ; opposite the southern
extremity, on the coast of Attica,
are the plains of Marathon ; and
when the little vessel rounded the
cape of Sunium, ^Egina, Salamis,
and the beautiful isles of Greece
were in full view. But although
one can scarcely imagine St. Paul
to have been wholly insensible
to the surpassing beauty of such
scenes, the historic associations
which they recalled gave him but
little concern, for he was going to
Athens to preach Jesus Christ and
him crucified, and this was his all-
absorbing thought.

How little did the fishermen who
tended their nets on the ^Egean
Sea think what destiny the white
sail that passed them bore to Atti-
ca ; and how little did the people
who came down to the beach to
see the strange vessel come in ima-
gine what a conqueror they had

St. Paul on Mars Hill.

781

received on their shores ! After
landing at the Piraeus St. Paul
at once sent back to Bercea for
Silas and Timothy. And it might
appear from the account given in
the Acts as if he were afraid to
begin work in Athens alone ; but
if he had any such hesitation his
natural courage and burning zeal
soon overcame it, and he lost no
time in entering upon his labors.

Over the ruins of the long walls
which in the days of Pericles were
the bulwark of Greece, Paul of
Tarsus passed on to Athens. As
he entered the gates of the city a
sight met his eye which " stirred
up his spirit within him," and in-
flamed the passionate ardor of his
zeal for the knowledge of the one
true God. Evidences of the gross-
est idolatry everywhere met his
view. Turn which way he would,
statues of Minerva, Jupiter, Apollo,
Bacchus, and the Muses were be-
fore him ; on every street-corner,
in every portico, he saw altars rais-
ed to the false gods of Greece.

It was the custom of St. Paul,
as, indeed, it was of all the apostles
whenever they entered a strange
city, to seek out the Jews who were
even then scattered all over the
civilized world and to begin his
public teaching in the synagogue.
And it may have been with this
object in view that he went to the
Agora, or market-place, for he well
knew where the trading proclivi-
ties of his countrymen would make
them apt to congregate. But the
Agora of Athens was a place of
pleasure rather than of, business ;
ideas were the chief commodities
exchanged there, and it was far
more th2 resort of philosophers
and sophists than of merchants
and money-changers. It was, in
fact, a sort of City Hall park filled
with statues and fountains and

plane-trees, and, as a matter of
course, with loungers ; and in those
degenerate days nearly all the men
of Athens were loungers, and did
little else than loll around the
Agora, inquiring after news and
discussing the events of the time.

Such was the market-place of
Athens, where St. Paul disputed
every day for we know not how
many days.

Let us picture to ourselves the
great apostle of the nations, clad in
the toga of a philosopher visiting the
Agora from day to day to break the
Gospel tidings to all who would listen
to him. At one moment we can fancy
him seated under a plane-tree ir!
earnest conversation with a venera-
ble Israelite, who nervously strokes
his beard as the apostl-e insists that
Christ was the true Messias, and in
him was the fulfilment of the pro-
phecies and the only hope of Israel.
At another moment he is in the
midst of a group of scoffing sophists,
hotly disputing with them the unity
of the Godhead and the immortal-
ity of the soul. And again we can
picture him walking alone through
the market-place, absorbed in his
thoughts, and with an expression of
sadness on his countenance as he
contemplates the gross errors that
surround him in the " city wholly
given to idolatry."

The monuments of Athenian
glory, the masterpieces of Athe-
nian art, the works of Phidias, of
Praxiteles, in the midst of which
he moved, had no charm for Paul
of Tarsus ; they but " stirred up
his spirit within him." He longed to
sweep them all away and plant in
their stead the rude cross of Jesus
Crucified. Renan, in his life of
St. Paul, works himself up into a
rhetorical frenzy over the feelings
awakened in the apostle by the
beautiful statues of Greece. He

St. Paul on Mars Hill.

makes an apostrophe to them and
warns them of their danger. " Ah !
beautiful and chaste images," he
writes, "true gods and true god-
desses, tremble. Here is one who
will raise the hammer against you.
The fatal word has been pronounc-
ed ye are idols. The error of
this ugly little Jew will prove ygur
death-warrant."*

The popular religion of Greece
was a religion of the senses ; it had
little or no hold on the soul and
none at all on the intellect. In its
first -developments it was the re-
ligion of patriotism patriotism ele-
vated into a divine sentiment. Its
gods and goddesses were the sup-
posed founders and promoters of
the state. In its later develop-
ments it was the religion of beauty
and art an adoration of the ideal
in form and feature and its gods
and goddesses became the gods and
goddesses of beauty ; hence the
production of those masterpieces
in architecture and art which are
still so despairingly inimitable. If
art alone could ensure the perpetuity
of a religion, the religion of Greece
would still remain. Neither the
eloquence of St. Paul nor the sub-
lime maxims of the Gospel which he
preached would have been able to
supplant it. But God has implant-
ed in the mind of man the desire
for the true as well as for the beau-
tiful ; and the possession of truth
alone can satisfy the soul.

The Athenians were always in
great unrest on religious matters ;
they were ever inquiring, ever dis-
puting, ever seeking out new gods
and new forms of worship, and of
course were never satisfied. How,
indeed, could they be satisfied,
seeing that their religion had no
foundation in reason, and hence no
foundation in truth ? It is one of

* Renan. Vie de Saint Paul, chap. vii. p. 126.

those strange, unaccountable phe-
nomena in the history of the devel-
opment of the human mind that a
people so intellectual as the Athe-
nians, and having such a grand phi-
losophy, should have held to such
an absurd, unreasoning system of
religion. Reason and religion in
their minds appeared to have been
wholly separate. Philosophy had
its sphere, religion had its sphere,
and there was little or no contact
or relation between them. In this
connection M. Renan makes a re-
mark which is unusually profound
and is well worth quoting. Speak-
ing of the philosophers of Athens,
he writes : " The aristocracy of
thinkers cared very little for the
social wants which made their way
through the covering of so many
gross religions. Such a divorce is
always punished- When philoso-
phy declares that she will not oc-
cupy herself with religion, religion
replies to her by strangling her.
And this is just ; for philosophy is
nothing, unless it points out a path
for humanity unless it takes a se-
rious view of the infinite problem
which is the same for all." *

But although Greek philosophy
did not seek to reconcile the popu-
lar religion of Greece with reason,
which in truth it would have been
vain to attempt, it did effect a
reconciliation of supreme import-
ance to mankind it reconciled the
mind of Greece and of the civiliz-
ed world to some of the fundamen-
tal doctrines of Christianity, and so
prepared the way for the coming of
Christ and tl%e preaching of St. Paul.

It will hardly be a digression
here to look a little into the ori-
gin of Greek philosophy and the
glimpses of truth to which it at-
tained.

Socrates was the father of Greek

* Renan, Vie de Saint Paul, c. vii. p. 135.

Si. Paul on Mars' Hill.

philosophy. There were philoso-
phers before him and there were
far greater philosophers after him ;
but those who preceded him, such
as Thales and Pythagoras, were
physicists, and their speculations
were almost wholly confined to
the material universe ; and those
who succeeded him were his pupils,
and simply followed up the new
field of investigation he had thrown
open to them. Socrates was the
sage par excellence, the first to
turn his looks within and explore
the regions of the soul. He was
the true founder of moral philoso-
phy, the first to lay down the
great maxim that "the proper
study of mankind is man." The
human mind, its powers and mo-
ral perfectibility, was the one great
subject of all his speculations.

Socrates was born in Athens
469 B.C., and he died there 399
B.C. He died a martyr the first
great martyr in the cause of moral
truth and liberty of conscience.
His father was an indigent sculp-
tor, and for a time he himself fol-
lowed the same profession, but he
early abandoned it for the pursuit
of wisdom. He was a self-taught
man, and the means that he took
to discipline his will and obtain
the mastery over his passions and
senses were almost the same the
saints have used. He practised
self-denial and mortification in a
remarkable degree ; and the for-
bearance and long-suffering he ex-
ercised towards his violent-tem-
pered wife, Xanthippe, betoken the
sublimest patience.

The apostle of wisdom, Soc-
rates went about the streets and
squares of Athens day after day
for many years, questioning, cate-
chising, reasoning with all who
would listen to him, insisting ever
on the wisdom of his great maxim,

783

aeavrov know thyself.
He felt himself commissioned by
the gods to teach the higher laws
of conscience to the Athenians.
Nor was he so very far astray in
this, for we cannot fail to recognize
the providence of God in the mis-
sion of Socrates. He undertook
the direction of individual con-
sciences, and his relations towards
some of his friends more nearly
resembled those of a father con-
fessor than anything else. The tie
that bound the brilliant Alcibiades
to the uncouth philosopher was
peculiarly tender. Socrates saved
his life at the battle of Potidsea,
and he in turn saved the life of
Socrates at the battle of Delium.
The friendship that grew up be-
tween the profligate youth and
the austere sage was a strange one.
It was the wonder of all Athens;
and whenever they appeared to-
gether in public Alcibiades was
jeered at by the youth of the city.
Socrates for a time exercised the
greatest influence over his young
friend, and restrained those pas-
sions in him which seemed ungov-
ernable. Such was the power of
Socrates over minds the least dis-
posed to receive his moral teach-
ings and submit to their restraints.
But what were the moral doctrines
of Socrates? And in what way
were the teachings of this sage a
preparation for Christianity, so that
he should merit to be called the
precursor of St. Paul at Athens ?
In the first place, Socrates laid
down those principles of moral
ethics which are also in part the
basis of Christian ethics. He
taught that the supreme good of
man lay in the path of wisdom
and virtue, and he declared fidelity
to conscience to be the highest
law of life. With him began that
new departure in philosophy which

784

Paul on Mars Hill.

directed the attention of mankind
to mind rather than matter. The
pleasures and possessions of the
world are contemptible when com-
pared with wisdom and virtue and
the perfection of the soul, in the
teachings of Socrates as well as
in the teachings of St. Paul. In
his system, too, every other con-
sideration must yield to the law of
conscience and of God. " The
word of God," he says, "ought
to be first considered " ; and in the
exhortation which he is represent-
ed in the Phcedo as making to his
friends to care for their souls he ap-
pears to strike the key-note of the
Gospel. " O my friends," he said,
" if the soul is truly immortal, should
we not take the greatest care of her,
not for the short period of life but
for eternity ? And the danger of
neglecting her eternal destiny does
appear dreadful " (Phced. 107).
Were not these words the remote
echo of the great question of the
Gospel, "What doth it profit a
man . . . " ? The language of re-
proof which Socrates addressed
to the gross-minded and sensual,
whose only aspiration in life is
self-indulgence and sensuality, re-
minds one of the energetic rebukes
of St. Paul to those who make a
god of their bellies and their pas-
sions. And the declaration of lib-
erty of conscience which Socrates
made before his judges when his
life was trembling in the balance
was worthy of a Christian martyr.
" A man who is good for any-
thing," he said, " ought not to cal-
culate the chances of living or dy-
ing. He only should consider
whether in doing anything he is
doing right or wrong, acting the
part of a good man or a bad one "
(Mem. ii. i. 28).

Besides these moral teachings,
Socrates maintained the existence

of a Supreme Being, who exercised
a care over all things and preserv-
ed harmony in the universe. He
did not, however, break through
the pagan influences that surround-
ed him sufficiently to hold to the
belief in one only God, but, while*
he accepted the doctrines of poly-
theism, he maintained that there
was one Supreme Lord, who exer-
cised a universal providence over
all things; and he further taught
that in the eyes of this Supreme
Being all men were equal and there
was nothing meritorious but virtue.
This was a bold innovation when
we remember the Athenian notions
of race and caste. He was also of
opinion that the gods exercised a
watchful care over men and fre-
quently inspired their actions ; and
the demon of Socrates, about
which we hear so much, appears
to have been a sort of guardian
spirit, whose promptings, though
always negative, he constantly
looked for and never disregarded.
These certainly were somewhat
Christian conceptions of morality
and of God, and although they are
rather offset by other teachings
and views of the Greek sage, yet
in the main his doctrines foresha-
dow the light of the Gospel. Were
it not, however, for the great disci-
ple who immediately followed up
his teaching and threw the light of
his genius around it, the system of
Socrates, if it can be called a sys-
tem, would have accomplished lit-
tle in the way of preparation for
Christianity.

For the last eight or nine years
of his life Socrates had had Plato
for his disciple, and it was through
Plato that his teachings were trans-
mitted and developed into that
sublime system of philosophic
truth which St. Augustine so great-
ly admired and approved.

Si. Paid on Mars Hill.

785

Plato, the prince of human intel-
lects, by his unaided reason at-
tained to the knowledge of many
of the truths of revelation. The
notion of a Supreme Being which he
received from Socrates he develop-
ed into an almost Christian con-
ception of God and his attributes.
In his system the Supreme Deity is
not merely the source of the har-
mony of the universe, but he is al-
so the Father who created out of
goodness ; and he is in himself so
good and perfect that no unright-
eousness, no imperfection can be
conceived as existing in him. Pla-
to even appears to have had some
notion of the trinity of Persons in
the Godhead, though of course
vague and indistinct. His specu-
lations on the destiny of man and
the immortality of the soul are
wonderfully luminous. He recog-
nized after a fashion the fallen na-
ture of man and the need of some
divine mediation or redemption
to raise him up ; but in his theo-
ry of Fall and Redemption moral
and physical defilement and regen-
eration are strangely and some-
what incongruously blended. Pla-
to's conception of virtue was exalt-
ed and his definition of it sin-
gularly Christian. "Virtue," he
said, " is the resemblance to God
according to the measure of our
ability." "Be ye imitators of
Christ," " Be ye God-like," says St.
Paul ; and to become God-like is
to become " holy, just, and wise,"
according to Plato.

He also held the doctrine of
future rewards and punishments,
and he gave it as his opinion that
the rewards and punishments of
this life are as nothing compared
to those " that await both the just
and the unjust after death." He
encouraged the just to be patient in
all their trials and afflictions in
VOL. xxvii. 50

life, assuring them that everything
would work together unto their
good, for the gods would have a
care over them and see to it that
no enduring misfortune should
happen to them, and the only great
and irreparable evil, after all, was
"to go to the world below having
a soul which is like a vessel full ot
injustice and impiety."

The lofty speculations of Plato
in the domain of religious truth
have led many to suppose that he
was acquainted with the Jewish
Scriptures and drew some of his
inspiration from them. And this
is by no means improbable. The
Jews were wanderers and exiles as
early as Plato's time ; and if he did
not himself read their law, he cer-
tainly, in his extensive travels,
must have met and conversed with
those who were acquainted with
the teachings of the Hebrew Bible.
At all events he must have known
something of the primitive tradi-
tions of mankind ; and we are not
forbidden to think that, though a
pagan, such a pure and lofty soul
may have had some light from on
high to enlighten him.

It is well known what a harmony
Philo Judaeus and the Alexandri-
an school established between the
teachings of Plato and the princi-
pal doctrines of the Jewish dispen-
sation ; and what a near approach
Neo-Platonism made to Christian
philosophy in the first centuries of
the Christian era.

Next to Socrates and Plato the
man who did most to create Greek
philosophy, and change the current
of thought of the ancient world in
the direction of Christianity, was
undoubtedly Aristo-tle. Though a
disciple of Plato, he did not follow
in the wake of his great master, but
struck out a new course for him-
self. The genius of Aristotle was

;86

Paid on Mars Hill.

neither so lofty nor so speculative
as that of Plato, but his intellect
was, if possible, more acute and
his mind far more systematic.
He made a complete analysis of
the human understanding, and laid
down those rules of logic and
principles of certainty which are
to guide men in the search after
truth. He reduced all knowledge
to a system, and made the grasp
of the principles of all science
possible to the human mind. His
grand argument for the existence
of a Supreme Being from the neces-
sity of a prime mover Primus mo-
tor has never been surpassed, and
has done good service in every
age for the cause of theism.

The moral doctrines of Aristotle,
though not so much in harmo-
ny with Christianity as those of
Plato, were on the whole not ad-
verse to it, and they exerted at
least a negative influence, in pre-
paring the minds of men to receive
the morality of the Gospel.

Greek philosophy reached its
acme in the schools of Plato and
Aristotle ; after them there were
no more great creative minds.
The philosophers who succeeded
them did but borrow from them ;
they were the sources whence all
future philosophic wisdom was
drawn ; they were the recognized
masters of human thought, not
alone to the Greeks but to the
Romans, to the civilized and in-
tellectual world ; and the influ-
ence they exerted in giving direc-
tion to the current of thought of
the ancient world can scarcely be
over-estimated.

Here, then, four hundred and fif-
ty years before St. Paul set foot
in Athens, were three great pio-
neers of truth who prepared the
way for him. They were raised
up by the providence of ,God, in

the midst of the darkness and su-
perstition and sensuality of the
pagan world, to remind man of his
destiny, to teach him that he was
made for wisdom and truth.
They were set up as the partial
teachers of truth to the gentile
world until the divine Teacher
should come who would teach them
all truth.

During four centuries their doc-
trines of the existence of a Su-
preme Being, of the providence of
God over men, of the immortality
of the soul, of moral responsibility
and fidelity to the law of con-
science, filtered through the genera-
tions, until in the fulness of time
Paul of Tarsus came to engraft
their wisdom on the divine philoso-
phy of Jesus Christ. That we should
not hesitate to recognize the spe-
cial providence of God in the
development of Greek philoso-
phy, that we should not refuse to
Socrates, to Plato, to Aristotle a
providential mission in the ancient
world, are opinions for which some
of the greatest doctors of the
church have contended. Their phi-
losophy certainly tended to do away
with polytheism and to establish
the unity of the Godhead. It led
the human intellect in the pursuit
of wisdom and the search after
truth. It created a lofty ideal of
intellectual wisdom and morality,
and by elevating the moral above
the material, the future above the
present, it prepared the way for the
spiritual reign of Christianity.

" Plato and Aristotle," says a
Protestant author, " have had a
great work appointed them, not
only as the heathen pioneers of
truth but as the educators of the
Christian mind in every age. The
former enriched human thought
with appropriate ideas for the re-
ception of the highest truth in the

St. Paul on Mars Hill.

787

highest form. The latter mapped
out all the provinces of human
knowledge, that Christianity might
visit them and bless them " (Cony-
beare, Life of St. Paul).

And here we skip over four hun-
dred years of the reign of Greek
philosophy, and come at once to
the actual meeting of Christianity
and Greek philosophy in Athens.

The schools of philosophy that
were dominant in Athens at the
time of St. Paul's visit were the
Stoics and Epicureans. The Stoics
were pantheists, and the Epicureans
were not far removed from atheists
poor representatives both of the
noble systems of Plato and Aristo-
tle. In their hands Greek philoso-
phy was rapidly declining. Athens,
which in the century before had
been the school of Caesar and Bru-
tus and Pompey, whither Cicero
and Atticus and Horace had gone
to receive instruction, had now no
higher wisdom to impart than the
philosophy of pleasure and pride.
Nothing could be more opposed to
the spirit of Christianity than the
system of Epicurus, which made
the highest good of man to consist
in the pursuit of pleasure alone,
denying the immortality of the
soul and rejecting all notion of a
hereafter, and having for its first
principle, " Eat, drink, and be mer-
ry, for to-morrow we die." Nor
had the system of Zeno and the
Stoics very much in it that was in
harmony with Christianity, although
there were some points of affinity.
The Stoics taught that God was
merely the soul or mind of the
universe ; that the soul of man
was corporeal, and after death
would be consumed by fire or ab-
sorbed in the infinite. The high-
e^t aspiration of man in the Stoic
system should be to attain to the
state of complete apathy, perfect

indifference to all things. There
should be in the human breast
neither passion nor pity, no sense
of pleasure or pain. Their moral
doctrines, however, were based on
those of Socrates, and hence they
inculcated a practical rule of life
and morality, and they laid great
stress on fidelity to the dictates of
rea-son. This, and the heroic spirit
of fortitude which the Stoic disci-
pline strove to impart, were its only
points of affinity with Christian
teaching. To be sure some of
the later or Roman Stoics, such as
Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and Epic-
tetus, made a very near approach
to Christianity in many things,
but then they lived more in the
light of Christian truth. The
worst feature in the Stoic philoso-
phy was the view it took of suicide.
Self-destruction was not only per-
mitted but was positively approved
by the Stoics, and nearly all the
great leaders of the sect set the
example of it.

Such were the philosophers with
whom St. Paul disputed every day
in the market-place of Athens.
The doctrines of the Stoics at least
were not new to him ; for Tarsus
in Cilicia, where Saul was born and
educated, was a great centre of
Stoic philosophy, and 'from his
youth up he must have been more
or less familiar with the salient
points of the Stoic system. The
"Painted Porch," the headquar-
ters of the Stoics in Athens, was sit-
uated in the Agora, and the Garden
of the Epicureans was close at
hand, so that in the market-place
St. Paul was in the midst of the
rival sects of philosophers in fact,
on the battle-ground. We can
have little doubt of the kind of
reception the Epicureans would
give him. It was a part of their
system to make light of everything,

;88

St. Paul on Mars Hill.

and to treat nothing seriously ex-
cept their dinners. He spoke to
them about " Jesus and the resur- "
rection." Of course they called
him a " word-sower " or a " babbler,"
though fi.enan will have it that they
called St. Paul a "babbler" because
he spoke bad Greek. The Stoics
were grave men, however, and they
gave him a respectful hearing. He
knew the current of their thoughts
and how to address himself to
them ; and his doctrines must have
excited their curiosity, if not their
interest. They it was, doubtless,
who invited him to the Areopagus,
the supreme tribunal, where every
important question in religion, law,
and philosophy was heard and pro-
nounced upon. It was an exceed-
ingly great mark of respect for St.
Paul and his opinions that he
should be invited from the vulgar
discussions of the Agora to speak
before the most ancient and most
august assembly of Greece; it
shows the impression he must have
made by his learning and eloquence
on the cultivated men of Athens,
and it is a proof that after all St.
Paul must have spoken pretty good
Greek. The Areopagus, or "Coun-
cil of Twelve," was a tribunal set
up in the earliest days of Grecian
autonomy to try capital offences.
Solon, 600 B.C., made it a sort of
high council of state and bestowed
upon it the power of veto. Only
men of unblemished reputation,
who had rendered signal services
to their country, were eligible to be-
come members of it. The Athe-
nians regarded it as the most sa-
cred institution of their state, and
it was, in truth, the most venera-
ble tribunal of the ancient world.
Though it had been stripped of
many of its prerogatives, it still re-
tained its prestige and took cog-
nizance of all matters relating to

religion and education in Greece.
Had St. Paul been invited to ad-
dress the Roman Senate in
the days of its greatest glory, lie
would have spoken before a more
powerful but not a more august
assembly than was the Areopagus
the day that he stood before it on
the summit of Mars' Hill.

It was one of the great events
that mark an epoch in the world's
history when Christianity, in the
person of St. Paul, was summoned
to appear for judgment before that
high tribunal wherein all the cul-
tivation and wisdom and intelli-
gence of the gentile nations were
concentrated. It was a solemn mo-
ment for the Christian cause, and
what must have been the feelings of
the great apostle as he ascended
the long flight of stone steps that
led him up to Mars' Hill and
into the midst of the sacred circle
of the Areopagus ? The curious
multitude pressed after him ; the
twelve venerable judges, seated
in benches hewn out of the rock,
awaited him, impatient to dispose
of this " setter-forth of new divi-
nities." It was a scene around
which was gathered the glory of
the ancient world and the expec-
tation of the new. From the sum-
mit of that hill which overlooked
Athens St. Paul could, as it were,
survey all the wisdom and philoso-
phy and religion of the past. His
eye could rest on the spot of the
Academy where Plato taught, and
on the Lyceum where was the
school of Aristotle. Right be-
fore him stood the Temple of
Mars and the Pantheon of Miner-
va, and rising close above him was
the Colossus of Athens, cast out of
the brazen spoils of Marathon.
The Acropolis, Athens, Greece were,'
before him, and they summed up
nearly all that was great in the past.

St. Paul on Mars Hill.

789

It was not the first time that St.
Paul had preached Christ before a
great assembly, and we may be as-
sured that he entered upon his
subject with his accustomed bold-
ness. Standing up in the midst of
the Areopagus, with outstretched
hand, he began his abrupt exor-
dium. Even the pagan poet Lon-
ginus, in his list of the orators of
Greece, includes the name of
" Paul of Tarsus, the patron," as
he says, " of an opinion not yet
fully proved." And St. Paul's
speech on this occasion must have
called forth the full powers of his
oratory. By all accounts the per-
sonal appearance of the great
apostle was not striking, and we
can hardly conceive of him as
possessed of the graces of oratory;
but these count for little in ad-
dressing popular assemblies. His
power lay in the divine earnestness
of his faith and his burning zeal
for its propagation. He always
spoke with the light that struck
him blind on the road to Damas-
cus shining in upon his soul, and
the Voice that he heard ringing in
his ear. Jesus Christ and his Gos-
pel were an actuality to him, and
he made them an actuality to all
who heard him. There was no
doubting the sincerity of his con-
viction every tone of his voice,
every expression of his counte-
nance, every motion of his bcdy
was a declaration of the supreme
power of the faith that possessed
him. It was a novel experience to
the free and easy Athenians, who
were never thoroughly in earnest
about anything, to have a man so
consumed with earnestness make
an appeal before them, and it must
have impressed them not a little.
They must have been a good deal
taken by surprise also by the man-
ner in which St. Paul introduced

his subject. Instead of feeling his
way timidly in the presence of so
august an assemblage, he made a
bold dash, carried the war at once
into the enemy's country, fought
them on their own ground and
with the weapons they themselves
had furnished him. The people of
Athens were so religious or so
superstitious, or both, that they
wanted to make sure that no god
should be left unhonored in their
city; and after raising an altar to
every god of whom they had heard,
they bethought themselves that
there might still be some god of
whom they had not heard, and so
they raised an altar and dedicated
it " To the unknown god." Pau-
sanias states that there were seve-
ral such altars in Athens, and Pe-
tronius declares that so bountiful
were the Athenians in providing
altars and statues for the gods
" that it was far easier to find a
god in Athens than a man." St.
Paul might take it for granted that
every false god was honored in
Athens by name, and the only god
who was " unknown " was the one
true God whom he came to preach
to them. This gave him at once
an opening and a way to escape
the accusation that he was a " set-
ter-forth of strange divinities,"
which would have been prejudicial
to his cause before the Areopagus.
It was a master-stroke, and in it we
discover a good illustration of that
cunning of the serpent which the
apostles were told to imitate. It
is supposed that we have only the
outline of St. Paul's speech on
Mars' Hill preserved to us in the
Acts of the Apostles ; and yet
the outline is in itself complete
and perfect in its adaptation to the
audience. The Athenians were
above all things proud of their city,
and St. Paul told them that he

S/. Paul on Mars Hill.

was struck by its aspect ; he notic-
ed the religious feeling manifested
in the setting up of so many ob-
jects of worship; and after having
thus engaged the attention of the
people he proceeded to lay before
them the Christian conception of
the Supreme Being, which must
have recalled to the philosophers
present the highest flights of Plato
and commanded their attention.
He struck directly at the atomic
theory of the Epicureans by as-
serting the creative act of God and
the divine Providence that rules
the universe and orders all things.
He spoke of the " God in whom
we live, move, and be." And the
Stoics were full of interest ; he ap-
peared to side with their pantheis-
tic notions of the Deity; he even
quoted one of their poets Aratus
of Cilicia and we can almost fancy
some of the grave philosophers of
this sect rising to applaud him.
But in the next breath he crush-
ed them, for he declared that God
is a personal being, that he is
equally the Father of all men, and
that there is only one way to ap-
proach him the same for all
the philosopher must, come down
from his high conceits and do
penance just the same as the poor
and illiterate. He broke down
the barrier of race and national
pride by declaring "that God made
of one blood all the nations of
mankind," and the past times,
however glorious they might ap-
pear, were in reality times of igno-
rance when the truth was not
known. And to their utter aston-
ishment he makes the "foolish-
ness" of Christ and his resurrec-
tion the basis and proof of all
religious truth and righteousness.
This was the least philosophical
part of St. Paul's discourse and
created the most opposition ; but it

was the most irresistible, for it
was a fact.

Athens had heard great orators
before, but this wns the most im-
mortal speech ever uttered in her
hearing; even apart from its sa-
cred character it would hold its
own for eloquence and skill among
the greatest productions of the
past. It is the true model of
Christian eloquence, and illustrates
that economy in the way of pre-
senting divine truth which is the
most striking feature in the teach-
ing of St. Paul. " Instead of utter-
ing any invective," says Dr. New-
man, " against their polytheism, he
began a discourse upon the unity
of the divine nature, and then
proceeded to claim the altar con-
secrated in the neighborhood to
the unknown god as the property
of Him whom he preached to them,
and to enforce his doctrine of the
divine immateriality, not by mira-
cles but by argument, and that
founded on the words of a hea-
then poet."

But the speech was not well re-
ceived, nay, it was interrupted,
cut short, and, powerful as it was,
only a very few persons in that
large assembly were converted by
it, and of these two only are men-
tioned Dionysius, a member of
the Areopagus, and the woman
Daman's, of whom nothing is known.
It created a profound impression,
nevertheless. It took the philo-
sophers of Athens completely by
surprise; they were wholly unpre-
pared to meet it, and the only part
to which they could make an im-
mediate objection was the Resur-
rection, and they took advantage
of this to postpone the discussion
and so escape the relentless logic
of St. Paul.

Nor did they give him another
hearing, as they had promised.

St. Paul on Mars Hill.

79 1

They were insincere ; like the mo-
dern triflers with truth, they were
afraid they might hear too much,
and so took refuge in evasion.
Such are still the tactics of flippant
philosophers and men of bad faith
all the world over. They simply
do not want to know the truth,
and hence they mock at it and
evade it. But even the conversion
of one member of the high council
of Greece was a great gain for
Christianity. Dionysius was a con-
quest worthy of St. Paul, and to
have given to France her glorious
St. Denis was a result that well
repaid the highest effort of Chris-
tian eloquence.

Thus it was that Christian phi-
losophy encountered Greek philo-
sophy on the summit of Mars' Hill,
and silenced and dethroned it;
and during twenty centuries thus
has it silenced and dethroned every
system that has come in conflict
with it ; and although its supre-
macy has been constantly disputed,
it still remains supreme in the do-
main of reason and of truth. In
cultivated Athens we behold the
highest point to which unaided
human reason can attain, and it is
in cultivated Athens that we first
find Christianity asserting its claim
to be the gospel of reason as well
as of faith.

Christianity is the only system
of religion that has made philoso-
phy its handmaiden and used it
to elucidate its doctrines. It is,
in fact, the only religious system
that can confidently appeal to the
higher powers of reason, and hence
it is the only creed that has ever
made really intellectual conquests,
that has ever compelled rational-
ism and scepticism to pause before
it and believe, or at least doubt.
Christianity alone, among all the
religions of the world, has been

able to exact the complete homage
of the minds as well as the hearts
of cultivated men.

But although philosophy to a
certain extent prepared the way
for Christianity, and Christianity
constantly uses philosophy and
appeals to it, it is a great mistake
to suppose that philosophy played
a very important part in the for-
mation and propagation of the
Christian faith. The religion that
bears the name of Christ is not a the-
ory gradually developed, but from
the very first a definite system of
religious teaching resting on facts.
The logic of facts, not of philoso-
phy, has propagated Christianity.
St. Paul appealed to philosophy in
Athens, and he converted two per-
sons. St. Peter appealed to facts
in Jerusalem, and he converted
eight thousand. This is about the
proportion of the relative influence
of philosophy and fact in the pro-
pagation of the Christian religion.
Jesus and the Resurrection, the
facts at the bare mention of which
the Athenians mocked, were the
facts that a century later convert-
ed Greece when the tide of human
testimony spread on from Judea
and confirmed them. Philosophi-
cal theories have never founded a
religion, they have never wrought
any great revolution in the belief
of mankind ; facts alone can pro-
duce wide-spread conviction and
change.

The rationalism of our day af-
fects to treat Christianity as a
theory of religion, a mere phase in
the development of the religious
thought of mankind, and as such
to judge it and dispose of it ; it
feigns to ignore altogether the Chris-
tian religion as a system resting
on facts. This is certainly a crafty
move ; for it is easy to get rid of a
theory, but facts cannot well be

792

St. Pattl on Mars Hill.

explained away. Once they are
well established, facts are invinci-
ble. And the evidences of Chris-
tianity are facts well-established,
invincible facts that can neither
be ignored nor explained away. The
Christian religion is a philosophical
religion, inasmuch as it is in com-
plete harmony with whatever is
sound in the philosophy of any age ;
but it is also an historical religion,
and in its origin and progress rests
on the certain basis of human tes-
timony.

The divine Founder of Christian-
ity did not appear in a remote age
of darkness and obscurity, but in
an age of intellectual culture and
enlightenment in an age when his-
tory had already attained to its full
purpose and perfection. So that
the life and doctrines of Jesus
Christ, and the progress of the re-
ligion he founded, at once dropped
into the stream of history and be-
came a part of it. This is shown by
the fact that so many contemporary
pagan historians have in their writ-
ings referred to Christ, his miracles,
his doctrines, and his sufferings.

The Great Teacher who came to
give true light to the world was not
afraid of the light ; and it was with-
out, doubt a part of the eternal de-
sign that he should appear in an
era of intellectual activity and cul-
ture and criticism, so that human
reason might have no excuse for

rejecting him, and the future ene-
mies of Christianity could not up-
braid it with being a system hatch-
ed out in darkness and obscurity.
Here is a point we should particu-
larly insist upon: Jesus Christ has
his place in history as much as
Caesar or Napoleon or Washington
or any other great man of the past.
His miracles are as much matters
of history as the victories of Cae-
sar; his law is as much a matter of
history as the Code of Napoleon ;
and the kingdom of Christianity
which he founded is as palpable
a fact to-day as the republic of
George Washington.

Christianity is only a theory, say
the rationalists. What a barefac-
ed falsehood in the face of all his-
tory ! Christianity an effect with-
out an adequate cause, say they.
What an outrage on reason ! Ver-
ily, the theories by which the ration-
alistic school would account for
Christianity are on a par with the
Hindoo theory of the world, for
they also rest on nothing at all.

Christianity is not a natural out-
growth or development of Judaism ;
it is not a skilful adaptation of
Oriental liturgy and Greek philoso-
phy ; but it is a religion of reason
and truth, resting on the eternal
facts of the Incarnation, Passion,
Death, and Resurrection of Jesus
Christ, the only-begotten Son of
the God of all truth.

One to One. 793

ONE TO ONE.

" The one soul to the one God." REV. HENRY GIESEN, C.SS.R.

" ONE unto one !" O Jesus, can thy creature
Be truly one to one with thee, her King?
Can the poor sinful heart for which thine suffered

To thee alone in love and sorrow cling?
To thee, the Son of God, the Word Eternal,

So dreadly pure, so infinitely just ?
" One unto one"! My God, when I would say it,
'Tis answered me, " Remember thou art dust."

" One unto one " ! O Jesus, meek and loving.

And humbled down to Bethlehem for me,

Humbled to own a human heart and nature,

Jesus, my Saviour, now I come to thee !
I see thee on thy Virgin Mother's bosom

An infant, though a God, a Judge, a King:
" One unto one " ! Ah ! yes, my infant Saviour,
To thee at last I dare my love to bring.

Again, in prayer and sorrow I behold thee

Prostrate beneath the olive-trees' dark shade,
The blood of agony for us outpouring,

The burden of our sins upon thee laid.
" One unto one " ! Yes, here too may thy creature,

With all her sins before her, bring her heart
Near unto thine ; for she is only asking

That in thy agony she may have part.

" One unto one " ! The thorny crown, the scourges,

The gall, the nails, the cross, the cruel spear,
The death-swoon, and the last dear words O Jesus!

" One unto one " how can / say it here?
Only thy Mother with her priceless dolors,

Methinks, can rightly say this daring word ;
She who shared all thy passion, meekly standing

Beside thy cross, soul-pierced with Simeon's sword.

Dead is the Son of God, the Son of Mary ;

Dead for our love for very love of me !
" One unto one " ! O Jesus, my Redeemer,

Grant that my life may die for love of thee.
Grant that thy cross may be my only treasure,

Thy blood my riches, and thy grace my prize ;
Until, my penance done, my sins all pardoned,

" One unto one," to thee my spirit flies !

794

His Irish Cousins.

HIS IRISH COUSINS.

MR. EUGENE PERCIVAL was
seated in the dining-room of the
Garrick Club, London, engaged in
discussing a quiet little dinner
consisting of a plate of real turtle,
a red mullet, and a pin-tailed duck,
preparatory to turning into Co-
vent Garden to hear Titiens in
Semiramide, when a servant ap-
proached him, bearing two letters
upon a silver salver.

" Irish mail, sir."

" For me?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Percival quietly finished his
glass of pale sherry and ordered a
clean plate ere he troubled him-
self about his Hibernian corre-
spondence.

"Irish letters!" he murmured.
" Who could write to me from that
out-of-the-world country ? Jack
Hotham, possibly. His regiment is
quartered on some solid bit of bog
called the Curragh." He leisurely
took up the nearest epistle. " A
woman's hand, by Jove ! And such
a hand. How she does scatter the
ink ! Place aux dames. Now, ma-
dam, I am prepared for the worst."
And throwing himself back in his
chair, he proceeded to open the en-
velope. The letter ran as follows :

" BALLYBO, Co. MAYO, June i, 187-.

" DEAR COUSIN : A very nice young
man, who says he is intimate with you,
has been stopping here for a few days for
the salmon- fishing. By the merest acci-
dent your name came on the tapis, and I
immediately claimed you as a kinsman,
my mother and your father having been
second cousins. As kinsfolk should at
least become acquainted with one an-
other, I take this opportunity of letting
you know that my eldest boy, Charley,
and his sister Geraldine, are going to
visit London next week, when any at-
tention.you can show them will be most

gratefully received by your affectionate
cousin,

" MARTHA MARY GRACE DEVEREUX.

" P. S. They will stop at the Charing
Cross Hotel. Charley is twenty-three
and Geraldine four years younger."

" Of all the cool epistles I ever
read this is the coolest," muttered
Percival, holding the letter at arm's
length, as though it were combusti-
ble. " / never heard of Martha
Mary Grace Devereux before. /
have no relations in Ireland. The
idea of having a hulking savage
with a brogue that would peel a
potato, and dressed like a navvy,
and an awkward, dowdy, gawky
girl, thrust upon me is rather too
good. No, no, my Irish friends.
I respect you at Bally Bally-what-
you-may-call-it, but in Picca-
dilly not quite." Here lie com-
menced his ripe Stilton. "The
idea of my being seen in Mayfair
with Pshaw ! it's too good." He
turned the second letter over with
his knife.

"A school-boy's hand. I sup-
pose this is from Charley, with a
modest demand for a box at the
opera for himself and his sister for
every night during their stay, seats
on one of the Four-in-hand Club
coaches, tickets for the Zoo for
Sunday, invitations to swell balls.
I know what Irish cousins mean,
and, per Bacco ! I'll keep the Chan-
nel rolling between us. Let's
see what Charley says. A mono-
gram, C. D. Gorgeous ! Who'd
have thought of so much civilization
in Mayo wherever that may be ?"

" BALLYBO.

" Mr. Charley Devereux' compli-
ments to Mr. Percival " that's
civil at any rate " and begs to

His Irish Cousins.

795

say that in order to oblige his
mother " whose mother ? My poor
mother died when I was toothless
"he writes this note. Mr. C D.
doesn't believe in bothering people
who don't care about him " come,
now, tin's is a sensible lad "and
he doesn't care for people whom he
doesn't know" sensible again.
" If Mr. Percival wants to see Mr.
C. D., he will find him at the Cha-
ring Cross Hotel on and after
Monday next."

" I say, Minniver, just come over
and take your Lafitte here. I have
such a bon bouche for you!" said
Percival, addressing a gentleman
seated at a neighboring table.

" What's the row ?" demanded
Mr. Minniver, a tall, aristocratic
man, whose hair was parted in the
centre and whose eye-glass was the
sole occupation of his life.

" Two letters from Ireland."

"No!"

" Fact."

" Take my glawss and decanter
over to Mr. Percival's table," said
Mr. Minniver, addressing a waiter.

" Shall I read 'em to you, Min-
niver ?"

"Are they in Irish?"

"Oh! dear, no."

" Then let me have the two
barrels."

"Congratulate me, old fellow."

"On what?"

" I have been claimed by Irish
cousins."

" What antiisance !" observed Mr.
Minniver in a tone of intense dis-
gust, and letting his eye-glass fall on
the table with a click, whilst he
took a sip of the rich, tawny wine.

"That's not enough. To claim
me does not fill their cup of hap-
piness. They are coming over to
see me."

"By Jove!" wiping the glass

carefully and screwing it hard into
the corner of his eye.

" Yes. Just read this letter.
This is the one that claims me,
that takes me into the fold, and
here's another that repudiates me."

" That's a very extraordinary
document, Percival," observed Mr.
Minniver with an owl-like glance,
solemn, important, but vacant
withal.

"Read this now; it's from Char-
ley."

" Why, this ought to be framed
and glazed. How old Thackeray
would have chuckled over this in
the smoking-room ! You must let
us have it in the smoking-room ;
the fellows are infernally dull just
now."

"Take both, my dear boy."

" Thanks. What are you going
to do?"

"Preserve a masterly inactivity."

"You'll reply?"

" I think not."

" Drop a pasteboard at the
Cross ?"

"Cards are expensive luxuries
just now. You forget it's the
height of the season, Minniver!"

"The* you'll let it sink?"

" Most unquestionably."

" I s'pose you're right."

" Well, rather. I can stand a
good deal but Irish cousins. As
the Princess Huncomun says in
'Tom Thumb,' ' I shudder at the
gross idea.' "

" It would never do, Percival
never, never." And wagging his
empty head sagaciously, Mr. Min-
niver again dipped his beak in the
juice of the grape.

Mr. Eugene Percival is a swell
of the first water; a bureaucrat in
the most exalted sense of the term ;
a clerk in the Foreign Office, with
expectations of a third secretary-
ship at no distant date. His mo-

79<5

His Irish Cousins.

ther, an heiress, died in giving him
birth ; his father, a captain in the
Seventeenth Lancers, fell in the
bloody ride of death at Balaklava.
A guardian took possession of the
boy, and, having placed him at
Eton, later on transplanted him to
Cambridge, where he took a degree,
making a fair fight for honors. The
failure of the banking firm of Over-
end & Gurney, of Lombard Street,
deprived Percival of over half his
property, and then he resolved
upon work.

" I cannot live upon fifteen hun-
dred a year and idleness," he said.
" I could live, and live well, on a
hundred a year with work."

Through the influence of no less
a personage than Benjamin Disraeli
he was installed at the Foreign
Office at a nominal salary, and the
evening upon which this story
opens he was twenty-five years of
age, five feet eight inches in height,
with yellow hair closely cropped, as
is the fashion amongst the golden
youth of the present hour, his
eyes dark blue, his nose a delicate
aquiline, his mouth and teeth un-
exceptionable, and the whole man
bearing the unmistakable stamp of
gentleman.

A few days subsequent to the re-
ceipt of his Irish letters Mr. Eu-
gene Percival strolled from the
Garrick into Covent Garden Mar-
ket, but little altered in its appear-
ance since the days when Sam
Johnson and Topham Beauclerk
went on a rouse amongst the vege-
table wagons, and at unhallowed
hours, as the worthy lexicographer
subsequently and sorrowfully-
admitted.

Taking the central arcade, the
bureaucrat stopped to admire bou-
quets that would have brought
tears of envy into the pretty eyes
of Mile. Louise of the Marche aux

Fleurs, so fearfully and wonderful-
ly were they made up, so delicious
in their harmonies, such veritable
tone-poems in their lustrous yet
satisfying effects. Stepping into a
flower-shop, he invested in a two-
shilling moss rosebud reclining up-
on the petals of a sprig of stefa-
notis, attached to his coat by a
young lady who addressed him by
name.

"Mr. Pommery 'as just been
'ere, Mr. Percival."

" What ! another bunch of vio-
lets ?"

" Yes, sir," she replied with a
saucy laugh.

" Why, -he must be spending a
small fortune."

" These wiolets come from Al-
giers."

" And he sends a bunch every
day?"

" Every day, sir."

" And you are sworn to se-
crecy ?"

" Yes, sir."

" And you won't tell to whom
those violets go ?"

" Not for anything."

" Where do they go ?"

The young lady shook her head.

"It is refreshing," laughed Per-
cival as he quitted the shop, " to
find one woman who can keep a
secret."

He strolled down the arcade,
gazing at the flowers and fruits, and
the bizarre crowd that gently surg-
ed hither and thither, from the
costermonger who came for his
salad and radishes, to the " Book"
who sought his five-guinea bouquet ;
from the weedy-looking woman,
smelling horribly of gin, who shell-
ed peas, to the countess in search
of an orchid to make up her price-
less collection.

He was standing opposite a win-
dow wherein lay exposed a basket

His Irish Cousins.

797

of Belle Angevine pears labelled
"^30 a dozen," when a hand was
laid on his shoulder and a cheery
voice exclaimed :

"Not thinking of that lot, Perci-
val?"

" Not quite, Pommery. They're
a cut above me. My buying price
is sixpence, and I falter at anything
above that lordly sum."

" They're not much, these Ange-
vines. I had a cut into one last
night at a little dinner Baby Bowles
gave six of us at the Star and Gar-
ter a pre-marital affair."

" Pre-marital ! Has the Baby
surrendered at discretion ?"

" He has surrendered, which
says little for his discretion."

" Pauvre gar con ! By the way,
you've been away, Pommery?"

" Yaas."

"Whither?"

" Guess."

" Norway, after the salmon ?"

"No."

" Monaco, after Rouge et Noir?"

"No."

" Paris, after a good dinner?"

" You'd never guess. Hold on
to your umbrella now, Percival, for
I'm about to startle you. I've
been in Ireland."

"Never!"

" A fact, I assure you."

" And you're alive to tell the
tale?"

" Ireland is not bad quarters, I
can tell you. I was capitally fed.
I had a game of Polo in the Phce-
nix Park and that is a park. I
had as good a rubber at the Kil-
dare Street Club as ever I played
at the Raleigh. I saw some very
fit soldiering at the Curragh of
Kildare. I landed my thirty-seven-
pound salmon from a river with an
impossible name in Connemara. I
took to Connemara con amoreex.-
cuse the pun, it's rather early. And

I'll let you into a secret, Percival:
I mean to return for the grouse on
the 2oth of August."

" Apropos of Ireland, get Minni-
ver to show you two letters I receiv-
ed last week from some people call-
ing themselves my cousins ; they are
the richest things in town. They
have had nothing in the smoking-
room of the Garrick so good since
the night old Fladgate told Thack-
eray that, in order to render his lec-
tures on the Four Georges a suc-
cess, he should hire a piano."

Jack Pommery is a clever,
hard-working young barrister a
coming man. He was senior wran-
gler of his year at Cambridge, and
carried off one or two "big things."
He rowed in the 'varsity eight and
boxed like a prize-fighter. Pom-
mery, while he believes in work,
stoutly maintains that the brain
can only do a certain amount of it,
and under cover of this theory casts
aside wig and gown for a run with
the Pytchley, a pull on the Thames,
a breezer in the Channel under
double reefs, a month on the
moors in a word, he goes in for
what Micky Free termed "hapes o'
divarshin."

"I've just seen your fleuriste,
Jack. She still keeps the key of
the blue chamber."

"She'll not sell me."

" And you won't let me into the
secret you won't divulge the name
of the violet lady?"

"Some day."

" Some day is no day."

" It's a caprice, Percival. Every
clever man has a caprice."

" Bravo ! Let me hear you blow
that trumpet again. Why, the
guard of the Windsor Coach
doesn't use his yard of tin with
greater effect," laughed Percival.

"Bah! chaff! The story is very
simple. It is idyllic. I meet a

798

His Iris It Cousins.

girl, no matter where. She has
violet eyes. She is as modest as a
violet. Qui me cherche me trouve is
her motto a true woman's motto,
my man. I went spooney on her.
I am spoons still. I told her that
until I met her again I would send
her a bunch of violets every day.
I send the bunch of violets every
day, et voila tout 7"

"Very pretty and sentimental,
'pon honor worthy of being writ-
ten by Wilkie Collins and set to
music by Arthur Sullivan. I won't
press you on the subject, Jack, but
I'll tell you what I will press you
to do."

"What's that?"

" Came back to the Garrick and
have a steak one of our famous fat
slugs of beef that Thackeray revel-
led over after his favorite dish of
tripe.'-'

"Try a chop at the Albion with
me. It's a real English chop-house,
a tavern in the best sense of the
good old English word. We'll be
sure to meet some queer people
there. The theatrical stars most
do congregate within its precincts.
Toole, Irving, Barry Sullivan haunt
it when not 'on circuit.' Confound
their impudence in appropriating
the pet terms of my honorable pro-
fession !"

"Have at thy chops, slave!"
cried Percival melodramatically as
they passed along through groves
of cabbages, batteries of turnips,
golden vistas of carrots, groups of
women engaged in shelling peas.

The two entered the tavern, and,
having seated themselves in a sort
of loose box constructed of black
oak, with a table set in the middle,
Pommery gave the order to a
waiter whose pronounced accent
bespoke an intimate acquaintance
with the road that leads from the
Upper Lake at Killarney to Gou-

gawn Barra. He was an honest-
looking, open-faced, elderly man,
civil without being servile, and the
possessor of a twinkle in the corner
of his eye that proclaimed the land
of his nativity equally with his unc-
tuous and oily brogue.

A loud rapping on the table in
the next compartment made itself
heard, while an authoritative voice
called :

" Has that sheep been caught
yet ?"

" It's on the fire, sir," responded
the waiter.

" I suppose you intend that as a
sample of Irish wit." This said
with a snee*r.

" Troth, mebbe it's good enough
for " and the man checked him-
self.

" Let me have none of your im-
pertinence, fellow. You Irish re-
quire to be kept under heel, every
one of you."

"Do we?"

"You do, and it takes an Eng-
lishman to do it."

" See that, now," said the waiter,
angrily brushing the table, and by a
vigorous effort keeping back the
fierce retort that was on the leap
in his heart.

" Get me my chop."

" I'll get it, never fear," hurrying
away.

Percival and his companion over-
heard this dialogue.

" If I were that waiter," exclaim-
ed Pommery, " I'd chuck the chop
at that insolent fellow's head."

"What can the poor wretch do?
He's paid for this sort of thing."

" He's not paid to be insulted
by a man who, the chances are,
considers himself a gentleman."

" It's very bad form."

The waiter returned with the au-
tocrat's luncheon.

"Ho\v dare you bring me a chop

His Irish Cousins.

799

cooked in this way? Do you ima-
gine I am in an Irish pig-sty? Send
me an English waiter."

At this moment a tall, awkward-
looking youth, attired in a home-
spun suit of gray frieze, ill-fitting
if not shabby, slowly arose from a
table right opposite, and, lounging
over, quietly asked :

"Will I do?"

"Do what, sir?" demanded the
irate Saxori.

" Wait on you."

" Wait on me ? You are not a
waiter."

"I am an Irishman; perhaps /
might be able to please you better
than my countryman."

Pommery leaned over to Per-
cival :

" There's some fun here."

"There's danger," was the reply.

The bully stared very hard at
the young Irishman, surveying him
from head to foot.

"I don't want_>w/," he growled.

" Oh ! you don't," still in the
same calm tone.

" No."

"You're certain?"

"You've had your answer, my
gentleman. Go back to your lun-
cheon."

" Not for one moment. I've not
quite done with you yet. I have
heard your observations to this
helpless old man " his voice qui-
vering, his eye flashing "your
brutal insolence."

"Sir!" starting as if he had
been stung.

" Your ruffianly comments," con-
tinued the other. " You knew that
your eighteen pence was your ar-
mor, and that you could insult both
him and his country with impunity.
Now, my good fellow, / am an
Irishman, and, only that I happen
to be in a very particular hurry,
I'd compel you to eat that chop."

"What do you mean, sir?" he
gasped.

" Precisely what I say," replied
the other.

"How dare"

" See here, now, my good fellow,
keep your hectoring for helpless
waiters and feeble women. I come
from a country where the word
dare reaps a crop of broken bones.
I know you and your mongrel class.
And before I leave let me give
you a bit of advice. Don't speak
disrespectfully of Ireland until you
are sure of your company. The mo-
ment you find yourself surrounded
by your own set fire away." And
nodding jauntily, he walked to the
cashier's desk, paid his bill, gave the
now hilarious waiter a shilling, and
sprang into a hansom that await-
ed him at the door, leaving the
bully turning red and white by
turns and looking the very imper-
sonation of baffled hate and rage.

" That's no end of a brick," cried
Pommery glowingly.

" A gentleman to the back-
bone."

"I'll swear it."

"Blood will tell."

" I wonder who he can be ? De-
pend on't he's of the right lot."

"What a nice touch of the
brogue !"

" Just a soup $ on, I'm awfully
sorry he didn't whip the fellow."

After some fierce yet gloomy
consultation with the manager and
a couple of obsequious waiters the
autocrat approached the table at
which the two swells were seated.

" You have been witness to a
ruffianly act," clearing his throat,
" on the part of a scoundrel who
has just left. It amounts to an as-
sault in the eyes of the law. I do
not intend to let the matter drop
here. I'm an Englishman, and I'd
take it out of that sneak in double-

8oo

His Irish Cousins.

quick. You saw a gentleman as-
saulted "

" I saw him assault no gentle-
man," said Percival.

"You saw him assault me, sir,"
retorted the other loftily.

" I did ; but I saw him assault
no gentleman," coolly surveying
the bully from head to foot. "You,
sir, are what we call a cad. Come,
Pommery."

The autocrat muttered some-
thing with reference to "swells,"
eyes, blood, and other full-flavor-
ed language as the two young men
sauntered forth in the direction of
"the Garden."

" There's nothing to be done at
the office to-day ; suppose we go to
the Park the Ladies' Mile. Alice
Lindsay has been presented by her
uncle, Sir Winifred, with a superb
mount ; let's see how she takes to
it."

It is right genial pleasure to .lean
upon the rails in Hyde Park and
watch equestrians and equestriennes
flash past on satin-coated, arch-
necked, dainty-limbed horses ; to
meet one's friends beneath the
shade of the elms, and to enjoy a
good round gossip, than which
there is nothing pleasanter under
the sun.

Percival and Pommery knew
everybody worth knowing. Nods,
becks, and wreathed smiles greeted
them right, left, and centre. Fair
dames showered graciousness upon
them, handsome cavaliers nodded
familiarly.

" Well, you Pylades and Orestes,
Castor and Pollux, Siamese twins,
how am you?" exclaimed a dapper
little gentleman mounted upon a
rattling cob, reining in and ad-
dressing our two friends.

" Ah ! Lindsay, you here ? I
thought you were in Constantino-
ple," greeted Percival.

" So I were," perverting his Eng-
lish ; " but I left my fez behind me
to show my 'fiz ' here. Twiggey
voo ?"

" How is your sister?"

"Pretty bobbish."

" I hear she has a superb
mount."

" Too superb, mon camarade.
She's a lucky girl if her collar-bone
isn't fractured before twenty-four
hours. The brute is a good brute,
but just as fit for a woman to ride
as a wild zebra. Here she comes.
By Jove ! she can't hold him."

A young girl cantered up, very
red in the face from hard pulling.

" Well, Alice, you've had enough
of that brass elephant, hasn't you ?"

"Not a bit of it," cried Miss
Lindsay, a bright, aristocratic-look-
ing, blue-eyed, tow-haired young
lady, with lines of decision around
a saucy mouth, and with a form
that bespoke the use of dumb-bells
and all those minor appanages re-
lating to the development of mus-
cular Christianity.

" Shall I ride with you ?"

" No, Fred ; I can do the mile
with Bertie," a younger brother
astride a shaggy Shetland.

" Don't you see two fellows whom
you know, Alice ?"

"Why, of course I do. I've nearly
nodded my head off at both of them,
and they have jerked the rims of
their beavers out of shape," laugh-
ed the girl. " Allans, Bertie." And
lightly touching the magnificent but
vicious-looking animal, which she sat
a ravir, she started off like an arrow
from a bow, followed by the shaggy
Shetland.

" Have a lift behind, queer fel-
lows? No? Then I'll leave you to
your meditations." And Fred Lind-
say trotted off in the direction tak-
en by his sister.

" That's the happiest dog I know,

His Irish Cousins.

Soi

Percival," observed Pommery.
" Ten thousand a year, a house in
May-Fair, a villa on the Thames, a
shooting-box in Scotland, a loving
tailor, a careful cook, and the con-
stitution of a horse and cart."

" He has, as the Americans say,
a good time of it. By the way,
who's to woo and win his sister ?"

" Dymoke, of the Guards."

" Why, he hasn't but, I say,
what's this ? A runaway, by George !
a woman. She'll get thrown ;
she reels in the saddle," jump-
ing excitedly on a seat. " She's
a brick. She's pulling the brute.
Yes no it's Miss Lindsay.
She can do nothing. She'll be
killed if she loses her seat. The
pace is awful. She's lost her head.
She's done for."

Such were the exclamations rap-
idly uttered by Eugene Percival as
the fainting form of Miss Lindsay
was borne past him like a flash.

"Magnificently done!" shouted
Pommery. " That fellow is a man,
whoever he is."

Just as the young girl was sway-
ing heavily from side to side in her
saddle, and about to sink fainting
to the earth, one of the on-look-
ers plunged forward, and, seizing
the reins of the maddened horse
in a grasp of steel, brought the ani-
mal almost to his haunches. The
swooning girl was thrown violently
forward, to be received in his arms
as though she were a down pillow
cast at him in play.

Percival and Pommery forced
their way through the crowd.

" Make way, please ; we are friends
of this lady," cried Percival. " Let
her have air. Carry her into the
shade."

Miss Lindsay was borne to the
pathway and placed upon one of
the benches, while some cold water
was dashed in her face.
VOL. xxvii. 51

" How splendidly she behaved!"
cried one of the bystanders.

"Such nerve !"

"Such English pluck!"

"Pshaw!" exclaimed the gentle-
man who had been the means of
rescuing her, " I know twenty Irish
girls who would have brought that
brute to his senses without any of
this sort of fuss."

At this juncture Fred Lindsay
galloped up.

" Is she much hurt ?" he anxious-
ly demanded.

"She's not hurt at all; she's
frightened." And half a dozen per-
sons volunteered a statement of the
occurrence, all speaking together.

" How can I thank you ?" said
Lindsay, turning to the stranger.
" Let me have your name and ad-
dress. By Jove ! I must do some-
thing to express our gratitude."

" I stop twenty horses a day in
the fields at home, and wickeder
brutes than that, so don't say one
word." And ere Lindsay could in-
terpose the other had mingled with
the crowd.

" Did you see him?" asked Per-
cival of Pommery.

"Who?"

" The young fellow who rescued
Miss Lindsay."

" Not particularly."

"Why, it's our Irishman."

" So it is. I'm awfully sorry not
to have spoken to him. What a fel-
low he is, to be sure !"

Eugene Percival, amongst other
invitations, received a card for ,a
dinner-party at the Lindsays' for
the following Tuesday.

"WVvebeen sadly put about,"
said Miss Lindsay as he arrived,
" groomed to a hair." " Our party
was made up, fitting oh! so nicely.
I had my old man and my old
lady, and the man who can talk

802

His Irish Cousins.

opera, and the girl who can talk
Tennyson, and my M.P. who can
talk politics. I had the agricultu-
ral element and the lawn-tennis ele-
ment, and a man who can talk
across the table, and the man who
knows everything yourself and
lo ! a wicked fairy bon, gre mal gre"
adds two unexpected guests to my
party by a wave of her wand, and
spoils it. Isn't it awful ?" cries the
hostess piteously, elevating a superb
bouquet to her dainty nose.

"What did she give you ?"

" Only fancy two Irish peo-
ple ! "

" This is ironical of destiny,"
laughed Percival. '

" I won't know what to say to
them, what to do with them. I
want you to stand in the gap, Mr.
Percival, to see me through this
miserable contretemps"

" Put me down for anything,
from the Annals of the Four Masters
to dancing an Irish jig. I haven't
the faintest idea who the Four Mas-
ters are, and I've never seen the
jig danced, but * shure I'll troy,' "
endeavoring to imitate the Irish
brogue, and failing dismally, as
does every cockney rash enough to
venture upon the experiment.

" I've never seen these people.
I called at their hotel yesterday, but
they were out doing St. Paul's, or
the Tower, or the Houses of Par-
liament, or the Thames Tunnel, as
is the habit of tourists proper."

" How did you drop into this
trap, Miss Lindsay?"

"This wise: My uncle, Sir
Winifred, spent some weeks last
autumn with them in Ireland. He
is a man who is ever anxious to
repay a courtesy twofold."

" I wonder, if I lent him ten
sovereigns, would he return me
twenty?" laughed Percival.

" If it was en regie, he would

most decidedly. He, it appears, met
them wherever do you think ?"

" I'm sure I cannot say."

" At Madame Tussaud's."

" Sir Winifred at such a place !
What an old wax-work it is !"

" He loves that Chamber of Hor-
rors, and every time a murderer's
head is added to it my uncle pot-
ters off directly to have a look at
it. He encountered his Irish
friends in this Chamber last Satur-
day, and instantly takes them to
the Star and Garter at Richmond
to dine. He had them at the Zoo
on Sunday, last night at the opera,
and to-night he has foisted them
on me ; so you won't mind rough-
ing it a little, will you ?"

"Certainly not. Is there any-
thing Irish in the house ? One
must talk Ireland, you know."

" Nothing except a genuine Ul-
ster that never crossed the Channel
in its life. We bought it last year
at the Robber of the North's,
McDougal, at Inverness."

" Were you in Scotland lawst
year?" drawled a pink-faced young
man, lounging up.

" Oh ! yes ; we did the Kyles of
Bute, and the Crenan Canal, and
Oban, and on by Ballachullish to
the Pass of Glencoe, and we slept at
Bannavic, and went up the Caledo-
nian Canal." And Miss Lindsay
went off into a gush of rapture
over the glorious scenery of the land
o' cakes.

A powdered-headed flunky an-
nounced Mr. and Miss Devereux,
but in such . a manner that the
name might as well have been
Smith. Miss Lindsay courteously
advanced to receive her guests with
" So pleased to see you ! Called at
your hotel yesterday. How long
have you been in London ? How
do you like Babylon ? Your first
visit ?"

His Irish Cousins.

803

Charley Devereux for 'tis he
gazes very hard at his hostess.
Could he be mistaken, or is not this
the young lady whom he " chucked
off" the runaway horse?

" Are you fond of riding ?" he
abruptly asked.

" Oh ! passionately. I ride every
day."

" Did you ride in the park on
Friday ?"

"Yes, and was nearly killed.
My horse, a thoroughbred, bolted.
I fought him as long as I could. I
got giddy, and I can recollect noth-
ing till I found myself stretched on
a bench beneath one of the trees
on the side path."

" Were you thrown ?" asked Miss
Devereux, of whom more anon.

" Well, yes and no. A man in
the crowd a young mechanic, my
brother says stopped the horse
and caught me as I was flying
through the air."

" Charley, don't you know some-
thing

A look from her brother silenced
Miss Devereux.

" Were you present ?" asked Miss
Lindsay.

" I should rather say he was,"
interposed Lindsay, who had just
entered, giving a finishing touch to
his toilette as he bounded down
the stairs. " Why, hang it, Alice,
don't you know that it is to this
gentleman you probably owe your
life ?"

Miss Lindsay opened her blue
eyes very wide.

" Is this possible ?" she cried.

"Why, of course it is. My dear
fellow," exclaimed Lindsay, seizing
Charley Devereux by botli hands,
"need I say what intense pleasure
it is to find my sister's rescuer in
the person of a friend of my uncle?"

" Mr. Devereux," added Alice,
presenting two dainty hands in

gloves of many buttons, and impul-
sively flinging away her brother's
hands, " this is a joyous surprise.
Why, Fred told me you were a me-
chanic that is," she added with a
blush " you see he is awfully
near-sighted."

" Don't apologize, Miss Lindsay.
My old home-spun suit is becom-
ing very dingy, but I like it so well
that I wouldn't part with it for one
of Smallpage's marvellous frocks."

The pompous flunky announced
dinner.

" You will take me down, Mr.
Devereux. I shall jilt Lord Jocelyn
for the preux chevalier who has so
charmingly proved that the age of
chivalry is not yet dead. By the
way, I must do my devoirs." And
summoning Percival from a distant
corner of the room, she presented
him to Miss Devereux.

He did not catch the name, but,
offering that young lady his arm, he
moved towards the door.

"Now for pigs and potatoes," he
thought.

He took a good look at the
young girl on his arm, and he be-
held a very charming form, soft
brown wavy hair in a glorious luxu-
riance, tastefully and neatly bound
up in plaits, a fair skin slightly
freckled, a nose a little tip-tilted
like the petal of a flower, a rich red
mouth, and earnest gray eyes shad-
ed by long, sweeping lashes.

"Your first visit to London?"

"My first."

She turned her face to him, and
then he perceived its delicate oval,
its low, straight forehead, its pen-
cilled brows, its charming inno-
cence and purity of expression.
This was not the brogue he ex-
pected to hear. This was not the
face or form he had so dreaded to
meet. Why, he could get on with
this charming bit of Emerald with-

804

His Irish Cousins.

oitt any reference to the Isle, save
what it might please her Serene
Greenship to indulge in.

" And how do you like London ?"
he asked, after the gentle fuss of
seat-taking had subsided, and every
person had opened his or her nap-
kin after his or her own particular
fashion.

" It oppresses me."

" In what way ?

"It is too vast, too grand, too
colossal. It wearies. I have had
more headache since I came here
than ever I earned over my Latin
grammar."

" Latin grammar ! Are you so
deep as Latin ?"

" I 'have taught Latin," and, see-
ing his puzzled expression, " to my
verf young brothers."

" By Jove !" It's all Percival has
to- say, and he says it.

Miss Devereux indulged in a
low, musical laugh at her cavalier's
expense.

"You're laughing at me?" said
the bureaucrat, giving a tremendous
tug to his moustache.

" I am," was her reply.

"Why?"

"It's singularly amusing to hear
an. Englishman focus all his ener-
gies upon his favorite exclama-
tion."

" And what do you say in Ire-
land?" he retorted, somewhat net-
tled.

" You must ask my brother."

" If he waits till I ask him,"
thought Percival, " he'll be as gray
as* a badger."

Mr. Percival indulged in another
gaze at his fair companion, who
was engaged in the unromantic
task of enjoying her dinner, while
he found himself hors de combat
after a spoonful of soup and a de-
villed whitebait. He discovered
a certain: magnetism about her that

irresistibly attracted him. The
charm of her beauty was not in
her golden hair, whose wavelets
threw up the brilliancy of her rich
color; not in the pure cream-tinted
skin, not in the exquisitely delicate
curve of the chin and cheek, nor
in the sauciness of her retroussd
nose; it was the unconscious plea-
sure in her face, a joy that posi-
tively breathed happiness from eve-
ry feature.

"How does it come that you
have no brogue ?" he abruptly
asked.

" Oh ! dear, yes I have. I would
shame the bogs of Ballynashaugh-
nagaun if I did not fairly represent
them in the land of the Saxon."

" Do pronounce that jaw-breaker
again."

'* Ballynashaughnagaun."

"How dreadful!"

" We have longer names than
that." And Miss Devereux, to
Percival's intense amusement, pro-
ceeded to run over the townlands
surrounding her wild Connemara
home.

" Only fancy if a man got lost in
Knocka -what - you - may - call - um ;
why, he'd perish by the wayside
ere he could ask his way to the
place from whence he came."

" I am quite prepared to think
that you would," she laughed.

" I'm rather a dab at languages,"
he said, with a certain tinge of
self-satisfaction in his tone.

" I beg your pardon a what ?"

" A dab."

"May I ask which of your lan-
guages is that word borrowed froai,
Mr. Percival ?"

" It's supposed to be English,"
he laughed.

" Oh ! I am so relieved. I was
afraid you were going to attach it
to Ireland, and then "

"And then?"

His Irish Cousins.

805

" Guerra al cuchillo war to the
knife."

" Are you a dab ? I beg pardon ;
do you speak Spanish ?"

"I do ; we are quite an Irish-
Spanish colony."

" An Irish-Spanish colony ! In
the name of wonder what is that?"

" I'll tell you. The Infanta, one
of the largest of the vessels attach-
ed to the Spanish Armada, was
wrecked on the coast of Mayo.
The survivors settled along the
coast as far as Galway. My great,
great, great, ever so great-grand-
mamma was a daughter of one of
the officers."

" How is it that you come to
have such glorious gray eyes ?"
This was said enthusiastically.

" Do not let that iced soufflet
pass, Mr. Percival; it is too good
to snub so unmercifully."

" What a facer !" thought the
Foreign Office clerk as he called
back the servant with the entree in
question.

Miss Devereux did not under-
stand any gentleman's gushing in
this manner upon an acquaintance
of twenty minutes. If young la-
dies would only ice menkind occa-
sionally, instead of permitting them
to say what they will, their sway
would be absolutely without limit ;
but, alas ! the girls of to-day are
too but I will not be cynical.

" What part of Ireland d*o you

come from, Miss ?" He has

not heard her name, and mumbles
something unintelligible to fill up
the gap.

" Connemara."

" I know some people living out
there."

" Indeed ! As I know everybody
living out there, I am quite sure we
shall discover mutual friends."

Now, Mr. Eugene Percival, not
having the remotest idea of who

Miss Devereux might be, ima-
gines that this is a very good op-
portunity for being very amusing,
and he accordingly plunges in inc-
dias res without more ado.

" The name is Devereux," he
said.

"Devereux?" she repeated.
"There is but one family of that
name in Mayo."

"Of Bally something."

"Ballybo?"

"That's it. Ballybo. Do you
know them ?"

She gave one short, sharp glance
at him. Was this Englishman
about to amuse himself at her ex-
pense ? Was he going to exercise
his English stupidity in a practical
joke? No; she instinctively felt
that Percival was a gentleman and
would not dare take a liberty ; and
she perceived him so full of sup-
pressed mirth that she resolved
upon letting him have it all his
own way.

" Yes, I know them," she replied.

" What sort of people are they ?"

"Oh! very commonplace, and
somewhat old-fashion.ed in their
ways," hardly able to keep back a
burst of laughter.

"I thought as much. I'll tell
you a capital thing that has oc-
curred within the last week." Here
he indulged in a series of gentle-
manly chuckles. "I had a letter
from Ballyporeen."

" Ballybo ? You, Mr. Percival ?"
she exclaimed in a surprised way.

" Yes, from an excellent lady,
who addresses me as her cousin,
and signs herself Martha Mary
Grace Devereux, and who inform-
ed me that her son and daughter
were coming to town, and begged
of me to take care of them."

Miss Devereux, dropping her
knife and fork, gazed steadily at
Percival. She became very white,

8o6

His Irish Coiisins.

while a sudden anger flamed in her
expressive eyes.

" You, then, are Mr. Eugene Per-
cival?" she said, a harshness in her
voice.

"Yaas."

" Of the Foreign Office ?"

"I have the honor to be attach-
ed to that blundering institution."

" If I do not mistake, Mr. Perci-
val, you received more than one let-
ter from Ballybo."

u Yaas, I got one from a sulky
young Irishman who "

" Have you met him ?" she inter-
rupted.

" No, thank Heaven ! and I hope I
never shall."

This was uttered so fervently
that Miss Devereux, yielding to an
ungovernable impulse, rang out a
peal of musical laughter so bright,
so joyous, so contagious that the
remainder of the company ceased
their colorless prattle in order
firstly to listen and then to join
in it.

"You are having all the fun to
yourself," cried Lindsay, addressing
Geraldine Devereux. " What is the
mot? Do send it round ; we want
something more piquante than an
entree at this stage of the proceed-
ings."

Geraldine, all blushes at this un-
looked-for notoriety and isolation,
declared that her laughter arose
from a story that was being narrat-
ed to her by Mr. Percival.

" It's the first time Percival ever
succeeded in making anybody laugh
with him," exclaimed a sour-look-
ing old gentleman who wore the
red ribbon of a C. B. round his
neck.

" Let us have it, Percival, pro bono
publico"

" Is it any secret of the office, Mr.
Percival ?" demanded Miss Lind-
say. " Because if it is there's ' a

chiel amang ye takin' notes.' Eh,
Lord Jocelyn?"

"Like the ghost of Hamlet's fa-
ther, I. am forbid to tell the secrets
of my prison-house," was Percival's
retort.

" Is it worth hearing ? that is the
question."

" Very well worth hearing," said
Geraldine.

" It's merely an Irish adventure,"
observed Percival.

" Merely ? Why, where is adven-
ture to be achieved, if not in Ire-
land ? Come, Percival, let us have
it," urged his host.

This was too good a chance for
the member of Parliament. " I was
in the House the night the Home-
Rulers " And he commenced an
anecdote under cover of which the
Foreign Office clerk was enabled to
beat a retreat.

" It's an awfully funny story, but
some of the people here wouldn't
see it, you know."

" I can't see it yet, Mr. Percival ;
you have only just commenced.
Pray proceed."

" Well, you see, I got this letter
raking me up, you know, and the oth-
er letter from the young Irish wolf-
dog, who wouldn't have me at any
price. How awfully emerald these
people must be to imagine that /
could may I use an Irish word ?"

" No," hotly.

" Bother myself about them, es-
pecially in the height of the sea-
son." And Mr. Percival emptied a
glass of champagne to his own sen-
timent.

" Poor things ! And you don't
intend taking any notice of
them ?"

" No more than if they never
existed."

" And are you their kinsman ?"

"I believe so, now that I have
looked into the matter."

His Irish Cousins.

807

"Don't you think you are acting
rather shabbily?"

"So Jack Pommery says."

"And Jack Pommery is right,"
exclaimed Geraldine, clinching her
little left hand and bringing it down
into the rosy palm of her right.

" Do you know Jack Pommery?"
asked Percival.

" I I have met him."

"Here?"

" No."

" It must have been in Ireland,
then," earnestly.

" It was."

< By Jove !"

This exclamation caused Geral-
dine to observe Percival. There was
a mysterious knowingness on his
face that sent the mercury of her
curiosity up into the nineties.

"Is Mr. Pommery an acquain-
tance of yours, Mr. Percival?"

" He is my alter ego, my better
man ; and I think I have got at his
secret."

" Surely such strong friends
have no secrets from one another."

" Jack kept one bottled up ever
so tight, wired down like the bitter
beer they send to India. May I
ask you a question?" turning ab-
ruptly to Geraldine.

"You have asked so many that
usage has almost become a right, Mr.
Percival."

" Are you fond of violets ?"

A red, red rose-blush spread it-
self over the young Irish girl's face
and neck and shell-like ears ablush
that carwe and glowed and refused
to be put down ablush that wooed
and caressed and fondled.

" Why do you ask me ?" she palpi-
tated.

At this moment Miss Lindsay
telegraphed for the ladies to retire,
and the usual uprising, and rustle
and removal of chairs, and grim
punctilio of menkind, and saucy in-

souciance of womenkind took place.
When the gentlemen had reseated
themselves the host cried :

" Close quarters, mes braves. Ap-
proach to the attack of this fortress
of Chateau Lafitte. Get up here,
Percival ; you were lost to me for
the last two hours."

In obedience to the mandate of
his host the bureaucrat moved
more above the salt, and, casting
his eyes across the table, he was
astonished and delighted to dis-
cover the young Irishman who
had so pluckily distinguished him-
self upon the two occasions already
detailed in this truthful narrative.

" I am awfully glad to meet you,"
he said, taking up his glass and
moving to a vacant chair beside
Charley Devereux.

Charley bowed stiffly and awk-
wardly.

" I was at the Albion with a
friend last Thursday when you
dropped upon that disgusting cad."

Devereux blushed like a school-
girl.

" He was alow, swaggering black-
guard, and, only I had an appoint-
ment with my sister, I'd have kick-
ed him into Covent Garden among
the cabbages," he warmly exclaim-
ed.

" He wanted my friend and I to
witness what he called the assault,
but we gave him scant encourage-
ment. I also saw you the very
same day do a very plucky thing in
Hyde Park."

" Oh ! I know what you mean.
Pshaw! it's not worth mentioning."

"Isn't it? The eyes of our fair
hostess tell another story."

Charley Devereux drained a
glass of claret and remained silent.

"As you announced your na-
tionality at the Albion, I know that
you are Irish."

" To the backbone, I hope."

So8

His Irish Cousins.

" Do you reside here ?"

" No ; I've only run over for a
few days."

" I shall be glad to make you an
honorary member of my club."

" What club is it ?" asked Char-
ley.

"I belong to two, the Garrick
and the Reform. I can make you
an honorary member of the Re-
form ; at the Garrick we are power-
less."

" Thanks. I won't trouble you,
my stay is so short. I know, at
least I do not know, a member of
the Garrick."

" What's his name? "

" Well, he's not worth naming.
He's what you call in this country
a cad."

" We don't patronize cads in
Garrick Street, Covent Garden,"
said Percival, somewhat coldly.

" Well, you've got one full-blos-
somed cad amongst you at all events
what we would call in my country
a shmeen"

" Of course, as there's a black
sheep in every flock, there's a shady
man in every club. May I ask who
this shoneen is ?"

Charley Devereux was on the
point of uttering the two words
" Eugene Percival " when Lindsay
burst in.

"I say, you two fellows, you're
-snubbing my cellar most awfully.
You remind me of two pashas
whom I met at a dinner-party at
Constantinople, who "

" Speaking of Constantinople,"
interrupted the member of Parlia-
ment, " Sir Stafford Northcote on
Tuesday night " commencing a
sing-song, Dryasdust House of Com-
mons story which lasted until coffee
was announced.

As the gentlemen were ascend-
ing the stairs Percival observed to
Devereux :

" I took a countrywoman of
yours down to dinner."

" You took my sister."

" Indeed ! You do not resemble
one another."

" There is just a family likeness,
that's all."

" Do you reside in Dublin ?"

" Not exactly ; we live in the
wildest portion of Connemara."

"Will you permit me to exchange
cards with you ?"

"I haven't got a card, but my
name is Devereux."

" Devereux !" exclaimed Perci-
val, staggering against the wall.

"Yes, Charley Devereux."

"Of Ballybo, County Mayo?"
turning red and white by turns.

"Quite right."

" And and the girl I took
down to dinner is your sister?"

" You took Miss Devereux into
dinner," said Charley proudly.

Percival said nothing. The
situation revealed itself in a lurid
flash. It was too ghastly. Miss
Devereux had listened to his mis-
erable story, and, while he ima-
gined he had been amusing her, he
had been engaged in digging a pit-
fall in which it were well he had
broken his neck. He had been
constructing a pillory wherein he
had sat to be pelted with contumely
and ridicule. And Devereux, this
lion-hearted young Irishman,
whose 'pluck was of the age of
chivalry this splendid specimen
of an Irish gentleman whom he
had disowned had written him
down a cad. What should he do ?
What could he do? What could
he say ? All the water in the
Irish Channel were not sufficient
to wash him clean of the stains im-
printed by his own bovine ignorance.
What idiotic folly tempted him to
rush into the details of that wretch-
ed episode ? Why had he not

His Irish Cousins.

Sog

acted as a gentleman ? Why had
he not replied to the letter of Mrs.
Devereux and left his card on his
kinsfolk ? The affair would have
died out then and there, and he
would have done his devoir. He
felt sick and giddy. The worst
impeachment is that which comes
from one's self. No sentence so
stern, no torture so severe. He
felt that, blinded by prejudice, he
had acted a mean, unmanly part,
and was now hoist on his own pe-
tard. Nemesis had followed him,
and the sword of Damocles descend-
ed how unexpectedly ! Of course
Miss Devereux despised him.
She was civil because convention-
ality demanded it and because
true blood always tells. To her
brother he should reveal himself,
cost Avhat it would. All that a gen-
tleman can do is to apologize, and
the amende honorable was already
an overdue draft.

To do Eugene Percival justice,
he was not a bad sort of fel-
low. He was only thoroughly Eng-
lish ; and, whilst the English love
the Irish individually, collectively
they despise them. This farcical
ignorance of Ireland and the Irish
leads to a deal of misconception,
and there are thousands of Saxons
who would travel across Central
Africa sooner than undertake the
four hours between Holyhead and
Kingstown, the sixty- three miles
separating North Wales from the
county of Dublin.

They had reached the drawing-
room landing. At the open door
Miss Devereux was chatting with
considerable animation to Miss
Lindsay.

" Mr. Devereux," said Percival,
'* will you oblige me by stepping
this way?" advancing to where the
ladies stood.

" Well, Mr. Percival," exclaimed

Alice Lindsay, " when are we to
have your Irish story ?"

"Now."

There was something in the tone
that compelled attention. Miss
Devereux, with a woman's quick
perception, felt the approaching de-
nouement, and, like a true woman,
endeavored to spare this man his
utter humiliation.

" Irish stories should be told in
Ireland," she cried.

" There is one Irish story that
must be told here, Miss Lindsay,"
said Percival gravely, " and I
would beg your attention for a
very brief moment."

" Why, it must be a very tragic
one," cried the hostess. " You are
as grave as the entire senate when
Othello addressed them," to Perci-
val. " You, my dear little Irish
girl, from being as joyous as Nora
Creina, are as sad as poor suffering
Erin herself; and you, caballero mio"
to Devereux, "have summoned a
winter cloud of frown to your brow,
behind it thunder. If Mr. Perci-
val insists let us hear his horrible
tale in comfort. Messieurs et vies-
dames, asseyez vous"

No one took a seat but the host-
ess, and she sought a coigne of
vantage upon the stairs.

" I hardly know how to begin,"
said Percival very slowly. " I can
make no amende beyond the utter
humiliation the narration of the
story will inflict, and no ordeal that
I could be put to could possibly
prove more bitter. Until five min-
utes ago I was in utter ignorance
that to Miss Devereux and her
brother I could claim relationship."

u Relationship ! How awfully
jolly !" exclaimed Miss Lindsay, fan-
ning herself violently.

"You, then, are Eugene Perci-
val?" cried Charley Devereux, sur-
veying him with a glance in which

8io

His Irish Cousins.

scorn and anger struggled for mas-
tery.

" I am Eugene Percival, your
kinsman. Stay," he added as Char-
ley was about to interrupt him. " I
ask to be heard that is all.
To err is human, to forgive divine.
I have made a ghastly mistake ; I
now eat the humblest of pie. I can
urge nothing in extenuation for my
silly small-talk. It was weak, it was
shabby. I pillory myself. I beg to
assure you, my cousins, that within
the last five minutes I have passed
through a bitter agony. I did not
catch your name, Miss Devereux,
when the honor was conferred upon
me of taking you down to dinner. I
had not the faintest conception who
you were whilst my stupid tongue
babbled. I was not aware that this
gentleman was your brother. I did
not know who he was until within
five minutes. Fate has been play-
ing at cross purposes with me. I
offer no apology for my bad form
in not replying to the letters I re-
ceived. There is none that could
be accepted. A chain of circumstan-
ces has woven itself which ties me
to the earth. I can only say that I
earnestly hope some chance may be
granted me of showing how anxious
I am to redeem myself with my
Irish cousins. " And making a deep
bow, Eugene Percival hurried down
the stairs and from the house.

Upon the day following this
denouement Percival called upon
Jack Pommery at the lodgings of
the latter in New Bond Street.

" Have you been appointed secre-
tary of legation at Ujiji?" laughed
Jack. " You look about as cheer-
ful as if you were in for the yellow
fever."

" Drop chaff, Jack ; I want to
have a long talk with you."

" Take that chair, old fellow, and

out with it, whatever it is," cried
Pommery, rolling a luxurious arm-
chair to his companion and fling-
ing himself upon a sofn.

"Jack, go and call at the Charing
Cross Hotel to-day."

"What to do?"

" Miss Geraldine Devereux is
stopping there."

" Miss who ?" demanded the oth-
er, springing like an acrobat to his
feet.

" Miss Geraldine Devereux, of
Ballybo, County Mayo."

"You don't mean it, Percival!"
a great wave of joy passing over
his handsome face.

'I do indeed."

" How did you come by this ?"

" I met her at dinner yesterday
at the Lindsays'."

"What!"

Percival repeated his reply.

" And I was asked there, and re-
fused for a vile whitebait dinner at
Greenwich," said Pommery with a
dismal groan.

" She is absolutely charming,
Jack so naive, so frank, so coquet-
tish, and so pure."

" Are you hit ?"

" I would be if my proof-armor
had not been buckled on by my
friend Pommery. No, Jack, I want
to ask you all about these people,
and I'll tell you why : they are
my Irish cousins."

Not the"

"Yes, the writer of one of those
fatal letters was Mrs. Devereux; of
the other, Charley."

" This is a bad business, Perci-
val," observed Pommery after a
silence.

" It is a bad business. I am
written down a cad, and, by George !
I deserve the appellation," cried
Percival, smiting the arm of the
chair a severe blow.

" Giving those letters to that ass

His Irish Cousins.

Sir

Minniver was bad form, and I said
so."

" I have got them here. Luckily,
Minniver has been down with Bertie
Baging for the Ascot week, and,
except to old Fladgate, he has never
shown them to mortal. Do you
know who Devereux turns out to
be?"

"Who?"

" The young fellow who so
pluckily sat upon the rowdy at the
Albion."

"By Jove!"

" And only fancy, he did not
know who Alice Lindsay was un-
til he came to dinner at Curzen
Street."

"By Jove!" repeated Jack Pom-
mery.

Impart a piece of startling intel-
ligence to an Englishman, and he
will always exclaim, " By Jove !"

" Now, Jack, tell me all about
the Devereux all that you know.
She has younger brothers. Has
she a sister?"

" She has."

" Younger?"

" Yes."

" Anything like your girl ?"

" She is not MY girl, Percival. I
only wish that she was," he added
with fierce energy.

" You should have seen how she
blushed when I asked her if she
liked violets."

"Percival!'' exclaimed Pomme-
ry, " that was hardly fair."

" Don't agitate yourself, old fel-
low ; the subject was handled, as
we say at the office, 'delicately.'
How old are the younger bro-
thers ?"

" One is about eighteen."

" Bright ?"

" Very. He showed me one of
Browning's poems done into Latin,
French, and some other language
I think German."

" You are certain of this, Jack?"
cried Percival earnestly.

"I am certain the lad showed
them to me, and that he said they
were his own translations. He's
in Trinity College at Dublin."

" What are they going to do with
him ?"

" They were speaking of the civil
service or the Irish bar. Entre
nous, they haven't much money, and
it's a wonder they have a stiver,
they are so recklessly hospitable.
Why, my dear fellow, there were
fifteen guests stopping at Ballybo
while I was there, and we met a
whole caravan traversing the beau-
tiful road that runs from Westport
along the Atlantic when en route for
the train."

" This is admirable," muttered
Percival, half thinking aloud.

" What is admirable ?"

" Never mind. Is Ballybo a
handsome place ?"

" It's a fine old mansion of that
order of architecture so much in
vogue when Queen Anne was busy-
ing herself in distributing largess
to Marlborough. It is surrounded
by superb trees, in which ten thou-
sand rooks keep up a cawing that
is almost deafening. An inlet of
the Atlantic almost brings the sea-
weed to the hall door-steps. The
stables are fit for the Duke of
Beaufort, and I can tell you there
are horses in the stalls that would
bring their five hundred guineas at
Tattersall's."

The "Wild Irishman," as the
express from London to Holyhead
has been termed, on account of
the almost reckless speed at which
it travels, was about to start from
Euston Square when Mr. Eugene
Percival made his appearance upon
the platform, and, walking along the
line of carriages, suddenly stopped

812

His Irish Cousins.

opposite a first-class coupt. The
compartment was occupied by a
young lady and gentleman. The
lady was Miss Geraldine Deve-
reux, the gentleman her brother.

Percival had called at the Cha-
ring Cross Hotel, merely leaving
cards. His visit was not return-
ed. He sent Miss Devereux a box
for the opera, with a superb bou-
quet from Co vent Garden. The
box voucher was sent back with
the compliments of Mr. Devereux ;
the flowers Miss Devereux retain-
ed. For the few days that his
Irish cousins remained in London
Eugene Percival made no sign.

Removing his hat, he respectfully
bowed to the occupants of the
coupe. Miss Devereux sat nearest
the window at which he stood.

" I have come to beg forgiveness,"
he said. " Do not go back to Ire-
land without uttering my pardon."

Now, it so happened that Charley
Devereux, who had been dining
with an old college chum, was in
very good humor, all his war-paint
having been removed under the
pleasurable influences of a renewed
friendship. So, thrusting forth his
hand, he exclaimed :

"Don't say anything more about
it, Percival. I'm sure you're sorry.
You'll do better next time, and
won't let your English prejudice
bolt across country with you."

"And you, Miss Devereux?"

" I may forgive you, and perhaps
call you cousin, when you shall
have made a lengthened tour in
my own sweet land."

" Am I to avoid Ballybo ?"

" And commit another mistake ?"
she archly exclaimed.

"I have done with mistakes for
ever." And as he uttered the words
the train moved silently but swiftly
away.

About three weeks after Miss
Devereux had regained her wild
mountain home she was considera-
bly astonished one morning upon
receiving from out the post-bag a
large, important-looking document
with the words, " On Her Majesty's
Service," in front, and an enormous
seal on the back, with the royal
arms of England stamped upon
the red sealing-wax and " Foreign
Office " underneath them.

" Can this be from Eugene Per-
cival ?" she thought, as she tore it
open and read :

" FOREIGN OFFICE, July 26, 187-.
" DEAR COUSIN GERALDINE DEVEREUX :
I enclose a nomination for the Foreign
Office for my cousin, Patrick Sarsfield
Devereux, your brother. From the cor-
respondence which has taken place be-
tween my dear friend Jack Pommery and
my kinsman on the subject of his future, I
trust that this opening is one that will
prove suitable to his tastes and his talents.
It is not impossible that I may visit your
'impossible country' when Mr. Pom-
mery runs over for the grouse-shooting.
With kindest regards to all my kinsfolk,
I remain, dear Cousin Geraldine Deve-
reux, your friend and cousin,

' * EUGENE PERCIVAL."

" He's a good fellow after all,"
cried Geraldine with streaming
eyes, "and has made more than
the amende honorable to his Irish
cousins."

English Statesmen in Undress.

813

ENGLISH STATESMEN IN UNDRESS.

LORD CARLINGFORD AND JOHN FRANCIS MAGUIRE.

THE English statesman whose
personal acquaintance I first made
was the present Lord Carlingford,
who was at that time the Hon. Chi-
chester Fortescue, Secretary of
State for Ireland in the cabinet of
Mr, Gladstone. I had in my posses-
sion a letter of introduction to him,
but I was unwilling to use it as a
means of " interviewing " Mr. For-
tescue. I desired to obtain certain
information from him which he
might not be willing to give ; and I
did not wish that my possible indis-
cretion in asking for the informa-
tion should reflect at all upon the
friend who had given me the letter.
I wrote to Mr. Fortescue, telling
him simply who I was and what I
wanted, and asking whether he
would permit me to call upon him.
I received a note from his secre-
tary, informing me that at a cer-
tain hour Mr. Fortescue would re-
ceive me at his office in Great
George Street, Westminster. This
was before the new government
offices in Whitehall were complet-
ed, and when the various govern-
mental bureaus were scattered
about, hither and thither, in houses
that were not altogether magnifi-
cent or imposing. By an error of
my own in estimating the time
necessary for a drive from Bays-
water to Great George Street, I
was some minutes behind the ap-
pointed hour; and when I gave
my card to the servant in waiting
he regarded me with a reproachful
air. " You have been asked for,
sir," he said, as he conducted me
up-stairs and ushered me into an

ante-room very plainly, almost
poorly, furnished. In a few mo-
ments he reappeared, and, leading
me through a narrow hall, opened
the door of a larger room, and I
found myself in the presence of the
Irish secretary : a tall, slim, thin-
faced, handsome man, dressed with
scrupulous neatness, rather starch-
ed and stiff, not unlike Fernando
Wood in his prim correctness.
Motioning me to a chair in front
of his table, he resumed his seat
behind it, and the conversation
began. Cold and calm at first, he
soon warmed with the subject, and
spoke with earnestness and free-
dom, at times with enthusiasm.
Her majesty's government, he as-
sured me, were earnestly anxious
to do justice to Ireland; he
thought they had proved this by
their past acts. If they remained
in power they would convince all
the world of their sincere desire to
remove every legitimate grievance
of which Ireland could complain.
He appreciated the force of my
suggestion that the reflex action
of public opinion in America upon
public opinion in Ireland was not
to be despised. He questioned
me closely upon the extent to
which the American press was in-
fluenced by Irish thought ; were
there many Irish writers in the
New York newspaper offices ? who
were they ? what were their opin-
ions? were the adverse criticisms
upon the Irish policy of the impe-
rial government inspired by them,
or were these the spontaneous
thoughts of American observers ?

814

English Statesmen in Undress.

I began to think I was the in-
terviewed and not the interviewer ;
but Mr. Fortescue was ready
enough to answer questions in his
turn. It was quite true, he said,
that the land question and the
question of higher education in
Ireland bristled all over with diffi-
culties. If the demands of the
tenant-farmers in Ireland were
granted, a precedent would be set
up that might be attended with
most inconvenient consequences
in England ; if Mr. Gladstone
were to propose a measure for uni-
versity education in Ireland that
would be satisfactory to Cardinal
Cullen, he would encounter a
storm of opposition from the Irish
and English Protestants, and from
the even then rapidly-growing se-
cularist party in England, that
might overwhelm him. I remem-
ber the earnestness with which
Mr. Fortescue refuted a chance
suggestion of mine that Mr. Glad-
stone was at heart a foe to the
Catholic Church. The very con-
trary was the case; he leaned, if
anything, too much the other way.
Archbishop Manning was his near
and dear friend. He incurred the
suspicion and the latent enmity of
the ultra-Protestants, and especial-
ly of the Nonconformists, by his
unconcealed anxiety to compensate
the Irish Catholics for the wrongs
they had suffered in the past, and
to make the future equable and
pleasant for them. In Mr. For-
tescue's belief, an American having
it in his power to influence and en-
lighten American opinion, and es-
pecially Irish-American opinion, re-
specting the real wishes of the lead-
ers of the Liberal party regarding
Ireland, could not do a better
work than to impress upon the
minds of his countrymen the fact
that England at least the Eng-

land of that day was heartily and
sincerely anxious to do justice to
Ireland. The success of the then
contemplated measures of the gov-
ernment would depend very much
upon the spirit in which the Irish
people received them.

Mr. Fortescue was evidently not
thoroughly satisfied with the state
of feeling in Ireland, and he made
some remarks concerning the Irish
press that it is not necessary to re-
peat. He returned again, however,
to the subject of the influence that
Americans, and Irish-Americans in
particular, had upon Irish opinion ;
and his observations upon this
point convinced me that the secret-
service department of his bureau
was not badly conducted. To-
wards the end of our conversation
I mentioned that I had a letter of

introduction to him from , and

presented it, explaining why I had
not done so in the first instance.
We had a laugh over what he call-
ed my " un-American scrupulous-
ness," and we parted very good
friends. Mr. Fortescue is the pos-
sessor of very enviable qualities. I
was quite convinced of his sincer-
ity; but I reflected that the fasci-
nation of his manner when he was
aroused and anxious to make a
point might easily blind the judg-
ment. We met occasionally after
this from time to time ; and I last
saw him at his residence at Straw-
berry Hill, where his wife, the Coun-
tess Frances Waldegrave (whose
own history is a romance), is the
centre of a circle of no small politi-
cal and social importance. The
future of which we had talked in
our first interview had become the
past : Mr. Gladstone had played
his trump cards and had lost his
game, Mr. Disraeli reigned in his
stead, while Mr. Fortescue had be-
come Lord Carlingford and was

English Statesmen in Undress.

815

not unhappy. But Ireland was not
happy yet ; and I ventured to say
so to his lordship. " What would
you have?" he asked "Catholic
university education on Cardinal
Cullen's plan ; a tenant-right law
that would make the landlord the
slave of the occupier ; and Home
Rule, under which the tragedy of
the Kilkenny cats would be enact-
ed all over Ireland until none
were left to tell the tale, or tails.
Ce nest pas possible, mon ami"

The words " Home Rule " recall
the memory of a very dear friend
whose acquaintance I made in
London, and who has now gone
to rest. With sad but pleasant
reminiscences I rummage through
my letter-cases, filled with cherish-
ed epistles, until I come upon a
packet tied with black tape and
labelled V John Francis Maguire."
He was a splendid man, impulsive
and quick, but with a sound judg-
ment that held his emotions under
sufficient control ; full of lofty and
poetic aspirations for his country's
future, but guided in his actions by
the most sober and practical com-
mon sense. In the midst of ardu-
ous political and professional la-
bors, all the more severe from the
pressure of a constant struggle with
inadequate pecuniary resources,
from the demands of an exacting
constituency, and from the burning
passion of his soul for the happi-
ness of Ireland, he found time for
literary work that was at once a
source of profit and of pleasure to
him. Every one will remember
his Irish in America and his Ponti-
ficate of Pins IX. j but it is with a
pang that I remember the pages of
manuscript that he read to me on
my last visit to him. They were
portions of a novel he was writing
and it was to be a Jesuitical
novel. What Eugene Sue had

done to vilify and traduce the So-
ciety of Jesus he would do to vin-
dicate and exalt it. He describ-
ed to me the plot ; disputed with
me over the proposed denouement j
laughed over the skill with which
he had introduced well-known per-
sonages into the story; and asked
me if, under the disguise of Sir
Guichet de Nouvelle, I recognized
that Don Quixote of Protestantism,
Mr. Newdegate.

Mr. Maguire died before his
novel was completed at least, I
never heard of its completion.
When I first knew him he lived in
pleasant apartments in Bessborough
Gardens, and there it was I last
parted from him. The presenta-
tion of my letter of introduction
resulted in an invitation to dine
with him the next day ; and this
was the first of a long series of little
banquets that we had together, al-
ternately at his apartments and in
a cosey room on the third floor of
the London Tavern, Fleet Street,
where I played the host. Charm-
ing were these symposiums, gene-
rally held on Saturday nights, be-
cause the House was not then in
session, and sometimes lasting far
beyond midnight. I remember one
of these occasions, on a lovely
night in June, when, having sat
together until two o'clock in the
morning, I proposed that we should
walk to Pimlico together, where I
would leave him at his door. Our
route took us through Temple Bar,
up the Strand, down Parliament
Street, past the Parliament houses
and Westminster Abbey, and
through St. James Park. The morn-
ing air was delicious. At this sea-
son of the year the night in London
is very short ; one can see to read
without gaslight as late as nine
o'clock, and the stars begin to pale
as early as two o'clock in the

8i6

English Statesmen in Undress.

morning. They were beginning to
pale as we left the tavern and be-
gan our walk. The moon, hasten-
ing to hide itself before the sun
arose, threw a soft light over the
scene; all that was ugly and com-
monplace in the glare of day was
hidden or disguised ; all that was
beautiful was arrayed in new and
seductive splendor. The Strand
was almost deserted; here and
there a policeman paced his beat ;
here and there the form of some
poor wretch glided out of the shade
of an archway, lingered a mo-
ment, and disappeared. Trafalgar
Square was glorious ; the fountains
made music for Marochetti's
lions at the base of Nelson's pillar,
and the little lion on the top of
Northumberland House seemed to
wag his tail as if beating time to
the melody. Presently the grand
vista of the Abbey and the Parlia-
ment houses opened before us ; but
scarcely had I glanced at it ere
Mr. Maguire hurried me through
a narrow passage to the left.
"Come," said he, "let us see
where a king's head fell." I had
seen it before the little square in
Whitehall where Charles I. was
beheaded, and where the statue of
James II. stands, the king pointing
with his sceptre to the spot where
the head of his father fell. In the
daytime the place has a mean and
squalid appearance, although the
Crescent and gardens around it are
handsome and trim enough. At
this moment the surroundings of
the place were bathed in a light
that hid their deformities and en-
hanced their beauties, and the
memories of the tragic scene enact-
ed there had nothing to disturb
them. The ghastly drama re-enact-
ed itself before our mental vision.
There was the window of White-
hall Palace in front of which the

scaffold had been erected. From
this window the king emerged;
he stood on the scaffold, with his
head erect, wishing to address the
people ; but the troops filled the
place, and the populace were kept
at a distance. " I can be heard
only by you," said the king to
the soldiers ; ** I will therefore ad-
dress to you a few words." And he
repeated to them a little speech
which he had prepared. A curious
discourse it was grave and calm,
" even to coldness," as Guizot has
it. He had been in the right, he
Said ; every one else was in the
wrong ; the deprivation of the
rights of the sovereign was the
true cause of the unhappiness of
the people ; the people should
have no voice in government ; it
was only on this condition that
the kingdom could regain peace
and liberty ! While he was speak-
ing some one touched the axe.
" Do not dull the axe," he exclaim-
ed ; " if it is dull it will hurt me."
The executioner directed him to
gather up his long hair under a silk
cap which he wore, and the Protes-
tant Bishop Juxon assisted him to
arrange it.

" I have," said the king, "a good
cause and a clement God."

"Yes, sire," replied Juxon.
"There is only one more step be-
fore you ; it is full of agony, but it
is short, although it will transport
you from earth to heaven."

The king replied : " I pass from
a corruptible to an incorruptible
crown ; there I shall fear no sor-
row." Then, after asking the exe-
cutioner if the block was firmly fix-
ed, and saying to Juxon the mys-
terious word "Remember!" he
knelt down and extended his head
upon the block. " I shall say a
short prayer," said he, " and when
I extend my hands, then " In a

English Statesmen in Undress.

few moments the king stretched out
his hands; the executioner struck,
and the head fell directly over the
spot where we were then standing.

" It was a wretched piece of
work," said Mr. Maguire as we
walked away; "but the men who
did it had the courage of their
opinions. Who has the courage
of his opinions now ?"

" Mr. Gladstone, perhaps," I sug-
gested.

"Yes, no doubt; but what are
his opinions ? Those of to-day will
be discarded to-morrow. He is all
on our side now; there is nothing
he would not do for us to-day ; but
to-morrow, if affairs go wrong, he
will throw us over, and Ireland and
the church may find in him their
worst foe. The man wants a
balance-wheel," continued Maguire,
warming with his theme as we
walked on, " and only the grace of
God can give it him. I think
sometimes that he will have it yet.
I admire him, I esteem him. If he
were only a Catholic he would have
a guide that would keep him from
mischief. There," said he, as we
came to the end of Whitehall
" there is Westminster Hall, where
Charles I. received his sentence ;
and there is Westminster Abbey,
where his body was carried in the
face of a blinding snow-storm and
buried with maimed rites. There,
too, is the door through which they
carried the body of his murderer,
Cromwell, to bury it among the
kings. But the ashes of the kings
are yet there, while Cromwell's
grave was broken open, his body
dragged out and hung upon a gal-
lows in Tyburn. He deserved it,
the brute ! Do you know the story
of how, after his post-mortem exe-
cution, his head was cut off and
stuck upon a spike on the top of
Westminster Hall, just there in
VOL. xxvii. 52

front of us, and how it remained
there, blackening and withering in
the air, until one stormy night it
was blown down and picked up by
the sentry on guard, who was an old
Cromwellian himself? He hid the
precious relic under his jacket, and
afterwards sold it to a gentleman in
Kent, in whose family the skull
still remains."

Had Mr. Maguire lived a few
years longer it is probable that the
Home-Rule movement would have
taken a somewhat different shape,
and possibly might have been
brought to a successful realization.
When I first met him he was en-
grossed in developing and shaping
his ideas on the subject; and I
spent a whole night with him in ex-
plaining, in all its minutiae, our own
system of duplex government, State
and federal, and showing how
State rights and federal sovereignty
were both preserved. He was the
real father of the Home-Rule move-
ment, and to his untimely death
must be ascribed, irj a great mea-
sure, the present apparent collapse
of the party. No member of the
House of Commons was more gen-
erally respected and esteemed than
he ; Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Dis-
raeli alike regarded him with ad-
miration. Uncompromising in prin-
ciple, he knew how to be firm with-
out being offensive; and he did not
commit the too common error of
insisting upon impossibilities. Even
Mr.'Newdegate cherished a sneak-
ing liking for the man ; and Mr.
Maguire once happened to let me
into the secret of that strange affec-
tion. " I can turn the laugh on
him any day," said he, "and if it
comes to serious work he gets the
worst of it ; but often it is best to
let him have his fling. Occasionally
I give him a lift over a stile, know-
ing quite well that if he. goes on a

8i8 The Created Wisdom.

little farther be will tumble into summoned to these momentous

the ditch and scramble out all conferences by such notes as these

covered with mud." and I select with a sad heart the

Respecting Home Rule, Mr. Ma- last I received from him, a few

guire's favorite idea was a confed- months before his death :
eration of the three kingdoms,

England, Ireland, and Scotland, "I shall be at home this evening alto-

uiDon such a basis as that of our gether, and would be glad to see you,

Union, with a written constitution and we 'OuUTspend an hour or two over

. ... wine or whiskey-punch. Or I shall be

defining with exactness the limits at home to . morrow after seven o'clock,

of provincial autonomy and of im- Send me a line quick to say when you

perial sovereignty. It was to per- will come."
feet this plan that he made me ex-
pound to him, in the most minute " Wine " and " whiskey-punch "

detail, the workings of our own had an esoteric meaning as well

duplex system of government ; and as their ordinary significance; for

among his papers should have been " wine " meant mere gossip, while

found an elaborate scheme for the "whiskey-punch" was understood

British Confederation, the joint re- to be the accompaniment of very

suit of our deliberations. I was serious political discussions.

THE CREATED WISDOM.*

BY AUBREY DE VERE.
III.

MY flowers are flowers of gladness : mine
The boughs of honor and of grace :

Pure as the first bud of the vine
My fragrance freshens all the place.

The mother of fair Love am 1 :

With me is Wisdom's name and praise :
With me are Hope, and Knowledge high,

And sacred Fear, and peaceful days.

Be strong all ye that love your God :
He maketh Wisdom to abound

Like Tigris swollen with vernal flood,
Like broad Euphrates harvest-crowned.

Through garden-plots my course I took
To bathe the beds of herb and tree :

Then to a river swelled my brook :
Ere long my river was a sea.

More high that sea shall rise, and shine
Far off, a prophet-beam of morn,

Because my doctrine is not mine,
But light of God for seers unborn.

* Ecc'esiasticus xxiv.

Lope de Vega.

819

LOPE DE VEGA.

A PROLIFIC playwright, a popular
poet, a voluminous romance writer,
an author whose fecundity is equal-
led only by the elder Dumas, the
contemporary of Shakspere, the
friend of Cervantes, the intimate and
guide of Calderon, the founder of
the Spanish national drama Lope
de Vega was all these, and yet to-
day he is carefully forgotten. His
biography even remains unwritten.
The attempt, it is true, has been
made, with more or less success, in
England by Lord Holland, in Ame-
rica by Mr. Ticknor, and in France
by M. Damas-Hinard. None is
fully satisfactory; all three are too
prejudiced, the first two against
him, the last in his favor. Mr.
Ticknor's is ths fairest and the
ablest. But the space in a history
of literature which can be as-
signed to any one author is neces-
sarily too limited to permit the in-
troduction of a full-length portrait;
with a slight sketch, or a kit-cat at
best, we must content ourselves.
The articles in the various ency-
clopaedias and biographical dic-
tionaries are either scant or in
great part taken from Lord Hol-
land's book. Much biographical
material exists, scattered here and
there, and needing only judicious
gleaning. But a few months after
his death La Fama Postuma, a
eulogy containing many curious
details of his manner of life, was
published by his friend and fol-
lower, Montalvan, whom Valdiviel-
so calls the " first-born of Lope de
Vega's genius." The allusions to
him in the works of his contempo-
raries are copious ; but his bare

biography can be condensed into a
few lines.

Lope Felix de Vega Carpio was
born at Madrid, November 25,
1562. He was a precocious child,
reading Latin as well as Spanish at
the age of five, and at eleven he
wrote his first plays. .Left alone
in the world at the age of fourteen
by the death of his father, also a
poet, he travelled as far as Segovia
witli a school-fellow. Their money
gave out, and when they attempted
to sell a gold chain to pay their
way back they were arrested. The
corregidor before whom they were
brought, seeing that they were but
school-boys, kindly sent them
back to Madrid in care of an al-
guacil. At fifteen Lope was a sol-
dier warring in Portugal and Afri-
ca. At sixteen he was the page
and secretary of Geronimo Man-
rique, Bishop of Avila, and also
studied and took the degree of
Bachelor at the University of Al-
cala. While in the bishop's house
lie wrote a few eclogues and a pas-
toral comedy. Then he became
the secretary of Antonio, the grand-
son of the great Duke of Alva ; his
Arcadia, written then, is more or
less an account of the gallant ad-
ventures of his patron. Returning
to the bishop, he was about to be-
come a priest when he fell in love,
and in 1584 he married Dona Isa-
bella d'Urbina. Quarrelling with
a hidalgo of little reputation, he was
arrested, by the aid of Claudio
Conde released from prison, and
exiled ; he lived two years in Va-
lencia, and there he first regularly
wrote for the stage. Shortly after

820

Lope de Vega.

his return to Madrid his wife died,
and in conjugal despair he em-
barked on the famous Armada,
finding time to write a poem, "The
Beauty of Angelica," a continuation
of the Orlando Furioso, before the
dispersion and destruction of the
great fleet by Drake. After travel-
ling in Italy he returned to Spain
and became the secretary > of the
Marquis of Sarria. In 1597 he
married Dona Juana de Guardio.
For nearly ten years Lope de Vega
seems to have been quietly happy,
devoting himself to the care of his
son Carlos, but in 1607 or 1608
both his wife and his son died,
leaving him an infant daughter.
During these years he had been
writing steadily for the stage ; in
1609 he delivered his Arte Nuevo de
Hacer Comedias, and in the same
year he became a priest. He was
also a Familiar of the Inquisition
an honorary distinction, attesting
the purity of his Catholic blood,
and conferring the privilege of be-
ing called into the service of the
institution. In 1625, according to
Mr. Ticknor, " he entered the con-
gregation of the native priesthood
of Madrid, and was so faithful and
exact in the performance of his du-
ties that in 1628 he was elected to
be its chief chaplain." After work-
ing for the theatre for forty years,
in 1630 he definitely renounced
dramatic authorship. In 1628 the
pope, Urban VIII., wrote him an
autograph letter, conferring upon
him the degree of Doctor of Divi-
nity and naming him a Knight of
the Order of Malta. For more
than twenty-five years he daily de-
voted some portion of his time to
the service of the church; on the
title-page of his plays he calls him-
self Frey Lope de Vega, Familiar
of the Inquisition, and the last im-
portant work he published was

Dorotea, a long prose romance in
dialogue, probably slightly auto-
biographical. Finally, on August
27, 1635, at the age of seventy-
three, Lope Felix de Vega Carpio
died. The funeral ceremonies, last-
ing nine days, were magnificent;
the eulogistic poems published in
Spain and Italy would fill several
volumes ; and "most solemn of all,"
says Mr. Ticknor, generally dis-
posed to underrate Lope de Vega's
popularity and ability, " was the
mourning of the multitude, from
whose dense mass audible sobs
burst forth as his remains slowly
descended from their sight into the
house appointed for all living."

For forty years the works of
Lope de Vega had filled the thea-
tres not only of Spain but of all
Europe. There were but two dra-
matic companies in Madrid when
he began to write ; there were forty
when he ceased. He composed
over fifteen hundred dramas and
an unknown number of lighter
pieces, in addition to his non-thea-
trical works. He was as popular
as he was prolific. Not only in
Europe but in America were his
plays performed. One of his come-
dies, the Fuerza Lastimosa, was
even exhibited within the sernglio
at Constantinople. His merit was
so universally recognized that to
call anything a Lope was to stamp
it as being sterling ; it was suffi-
cient to say fs de Lope. When the
king and queen of Spain met him
in the street they caused their car-
riage to stop, that they might better
see the illustrious man. The Span-
ish dramatists of his own and the
succeeding age did not hesitate to
call him their master. Tirso de
Molina, Alarcon, Calderon, and
Guillen de Castro hail him as their
chief. And he was as popular a
man as he was an author; he was

Lope de Vega.

821

personally beloved by nearly all
his contemporaries ; he had few
enemies and many friends. A gen-
tleman by birth, breeding, and
education, he had a kind word for
all. He was handsome and agile-
He wittily declared that he disliked
only those who ask a person's age
without matrimonial intentions,
those who take snuff in the pre-
sence of their superiors, those
old men who dye their locks, those
churchmen who consult gypsies,
and those men who, though born
of woman, yet speak ill of the
sex.

Although it is as a playwright
that he is best known, yet he was the
author of many other works.- He
wrote two heroic, four mythological,
four historical poems (among which
was La Dragonlea, devoted to the
abuse of Sir Francis Drake), one
burlesque (La Gatomachia, describ-
ing the loves and rivalries of two
cats), many descriptive and didactic
verses, and a multitude of sonnets
and epistles. He was also the au-
thor of eight almost interminable
prose novels. His plays, however,
are the noblest monument of his
genius, although he himself thought
otherwise. He declared that his
autos (a sort of revival of the mys-
teries and moralities of the middle
ages) were his best works, and re-
gretted that he had not devoted
his whole life to religious poetry.

His dramas (the Spanish word
coniedias meaning merely plays)
may be roughly divided into three
classes :

1. Comedies of common life, or
domestic dramas;

2. Heroic dramas, which per-
haps might sometimes be called
tragedies ; and

3. Comedies of intrigue, or conie-
dias de capa y espada (comedies of
Cloak and Sword, as the Spanish

call them, from those frequently-
used " properties ").

He also wrote religious plays,
some, like the autos, resembling the
mysteries and moralities, others
more infused with a modern and
secular spirit. He often chose
Scriptural subjects for his plays,
and in some of his heroic dramas
the heroes are holy men and saints.
But it is especially in the comedias
de capa y espada that he excelled.
They were interesting stories
thrown into dramatic shape and
written with the view of exciting
surprise and curiosity. Only those
ignorant of the Spanish habits and
the Spanish customs of that day
will reproach him for his frequent
use of duels and disguises. He
faithfully transcribed the romantic
existence of the time. A rigid ex-
aminer may declare that his most
successful pieces were comedies of
intrigue rather than comedies of
manners. They please by their
plot, always ingenious and almost
always original; by their interest,
always sustained and exciting.
Lope de Vega was a thorough mas-
ter of stage effect. He weaves and
reweaves the web and woof of his
story, gaining and retaining the at-
tention of the spectator by the
growing interest. We are carried
rapidly along by the skill of the
dramatist, sometimes in spite of
ourselves. Even in the best of his
plays the incidents are often im-
probable, but in our enjoyment we
can readily pardon this. When
Shakspere has called Bohemia a
desert country by the sea, and
Beaumont and Fletcher speak of
Naples as though it were an island,
it would indeed be strange if Lope
were exempt from such errors. In
one play we find Adam and Eve
"dressed very gallantly after the
French fashion"; in another Nero

822

Lope de Vega.

sings a serenade in the streets of
Rome. The American Indians dis-
course of Diana and Phoebus ; Cy-
rus the Great, after his ascension to
the throne, marries a shepherdess ;
Job, David, Jeremias, and St. John
the Baptist are introduced in one
play; and in "The New World
Discovered by Christopher Colum-
bus," among the dramatis persona
are Providence, Imagination, The
Christian Religion, Idolatry, and a
Demon. Haste is hardly an excuse
for this, and De Vega worked in
haste. The elder Dumas wrote a
novel in seventy-six consecutive
hours. For fifteen days De Vega
wrote an act a day, and more
than one hundred of his plays were
written within twenty-four hours
each. At least this seems to be
the meaning of

" Pues mas de ciento en horas veinticuatro
Pasaron de las musas al teatro."

Mr. Ticknor, however, reads these
lines to mean that more than a
hundred were performed within
twenty-four hours after their com-
pletion. Perhaps this interpreta-
tion is accurate, but to any one ac-
quainted with the difficulties at-
tending the mounting and rehears-
ing of a modern comedy it seems,
to say the least, improbable ; and,
at any rate, De Vega's facility of
composition was so great that many
writers rashly assert that he could
compose a play in three or four
hours ! Montalvan tells a pleasant
anecdote illustrating the rapidity
of his work. To oblige a manager
Lope and Montalvan agreed to
write a piece together. The first
two acts of the Tercera Orden de
San Francisco were divided be-
tween them, each writing an act a
day. The third act was to be
halved into eight leaves each. Mon-
talvan continues, to quote Lord

Holland's version: " As it was bad
weather, I remained in his house
that night, and, knowing that I could
not equal him in the execution, I
had a fancy to beat him in the de-
spatch of the business. For this pur-
pose I got up at two o'clock, and
at eleven had completed my share
of the work. I immediately went
out to look for him, and found him
very deeply occupied with an
orange-tree that had been frost-
bitten in the night. Upon my ask-
ing him how he had gone on with
his task he answered : ' I set about
it at five, but I finished the act an
hour ago, took a bit of ham for
breakfast, wrote an epistle of fifty
triplets, and have Watered the
whole of the garden which has
not a little fatigued me.' Then,
taking out the papers, he read me
the eight leaves and the triplets a
circumstance that would have as-
tonished me had I not known the
fertility of his genius and the do-
minion he had over the rhymes
of our language." At this period
Lope was nearly severity years old,
or such a trifle would scarcely have
tired him.

Schlegel draws a brilliant com-
parison between Lope de Vega and
Shakspere, or rather between the
Spanish and the English stage.
Any such method of measurement
injures the Spaniard ; it is only in
the management of his plots that
he is able to rival the Englishman.
It is curious, however, to note
that each great writer was sur-
rounded by minor lights set, as it
were, with glittering but inferior
gems. Shakspere shone in the midst
of a glorious company containing
Jonson, Ford, Fletcher, Beaumont,
Greene, Nash, Marlowe, Massin-
ger, and Webster. Lope de Vega,
following Lope de Rueda, was sur-
rounded by a brilliant throng of

Lope de Vega.

823

friendly rivals Cervantes, Calde-
ron, Montalvan, Moreto, Alarcon,
Matos-Fragoso, and Guillen de
Castro. It is also remarkable to
find that England and Spain, then
the possessors of a great drama,
are now barren fields ; while France,
once but the empty echo of the
classic muse, is to-day the chief
country in possession of a living
dramatic literature. For this litera-
ture France owes largely to Eng-
land and Spain; French tragedy
and French comedy are direct-
ly indebted to Lope's influence.
From a play of Guillen de Castro,
one of Lope's followers, Corneille
derived his Cid, the greatest French
tragedy ; and from a play of Alar-
con, another of Lope's followers
(and the first of American dramatic
authors, for by birth and education
he was a Mexican), Corneille took
his Menteur, the earliest of French
comedies. In a letter to Boileau
Moliere said : " I owe much to the
Menteitr. At the time it appear-
ed I desired to write, but I was
uncertain as to what I should
write. My ideas were confused ;
this work came and defined them.
Without the Menteur, no doubt, I
should have written some such
comedies of intrigue as the Etourdi
and the De'pit Amoureux, but per-
haps I should never have written
the Misanthrope.'"

The dramatis persona of Lope's
plays are not character studies,
finely and fully polished, like those
of Moliere ; they are rather off-hand
sketches, fresh and original. Al-
though they often disclose haste,
they always show the firm though
rapid touch of a master; and how-
ever wanting in completeness of
detail, they never lack boldness of
outline. The people who walk and
talk in Lope de Vega's comedies
are living men and women, speak-

ing and acting like human beings,
and true to human nature as it
was in Spain in those adventurous
times; they were not lay figures,
mere puppets, pulled hither and
thither by visible wires. He rare-
ly -created an eccentric character,
never an impossible one.

He did not allow himself Mo-
liere 's privilege of taking his ma-
terial wherever he found it. Only
once is it known that he used the
work of another: his Esclavos in
Argel is based on Cervantes' Trato
de Argel. He was an originator
copied, not copying ; and if at
times his characters seem to lack
novelty, it is perhaps in part be-
cause we live in the nineteenth
century and he wrote in the six-
teenth. For two centuries and a
half the playwrights of the world
have been pillaging him until his
people and his plots have become
public property. Calderon copied
him ; Moliere and Corneille carried
Calderon to France; the English
stole from all three; so it is small
wonder that what Lope de Vega
transcribed from nature is now ty-
pical and traditional. He was first
in the field ; others have stolen his
pressed flowers.

A full exposition of De Vega's
ideas of dramatic art can best be
found in his own essay on the
subject, the Arte Nuevo de Hacer
Comedias . 1 1 would seem from th is
essay that in Lope's time Spain
was slowly freeing herself from the
fetters of the unities, first riveted
by Aristotle. England had set the
example ; Spain was fast following.
In these two countries the fierce
fight was then fought that two cen-
turies and a half later was to agi-
tate France. Spain then had her
battle between the Romantics and
the Classics, and Lope de Vega,
while ironically deferential to the

824

Lope de Vega.

ancient laws, fought foremost on
the side of freedom. As in France
Victor Hugo in 1830, so in Spain
Lope de Vega in 1600. Both were
leaders ; both have written essays
on dramatic art. It is curious to
compare the Spanish writer's Arte
Nuevo de Haccr Comedias with the
French author's elaborate and sci-
entific discussion of dramatic effect
contained in the celebrated preface
to his never-acted Cromwell.

The Arte Nuevo de Hacer Comedias
was written in 1609 at the request
of one of those numerous acade-
mies then existing in Spain, and
founded in imitation of the Italian
Delia Cruscans. It contains in-
ternal evidence of haste in its con-
struction; although he knew bet-
ter, Lope carelessly mistakes Ter-
ence for Plautus. Capable of com-
posing a comedy in a day, he may
easily have dashed off this little
essay in a very few hours. It is
written in blank verse, only the last
two lines of each stanza rhyming.
The stanzas, also, are of unequal
length. Although the essay seems
almost an improvisation, it is ex-
tremely interesting not only to the
student of his plays but also to the
casual reader, as it gives a view of
the state of the Spanish stage at
the time not elsewhere to be found.
The following unabridged English
rendering of the essay has been
made from the excellent French
version of M. Damas-Hinard :

" ARTE NUEVO DE HACER COMEDIAS.

(The New Art of Writing Plays.')

" Noble minds, flower of Spain, who,
in this illustrious academy, will soon have
surpassed not only those academies of
Italy which Cicero, emulating Greece,
established in the land where sleep the
waters of Avernus, but even that school
of Plato in which Athens saw so rare an
assembly of philosophers come together,
you order me to write you an essay
on dramatic art in accordance with the

public taste to-day. This task seems
easy, and, indeed, it would be to him
among you who has worked the least
for the stage, and who therefore better
knows the rules ; but it must be done by
me, who have never composed except
contrary to the rules of the art. It is
not, thank Heaven ! that I do not know
them: these theories were familiar to
me when I was yet a school-boy, and
when the sun had not ten times passed
from Taurus to Pisces ; but at the time
when I chose this career I found the stage
filled with works very different from
those which the first inventors of the art
left as models, and such, indeed, as were
composed by the barbarians, who had ac-
customed the vulgar to their crudities.
And they have so thoroughly established
themselves in this fashion that he who
would now write for the theatre accord-
ing to the precepts of the art dies with-
out glory and without reward ; for among
those who lack the enlightenment of a su-
perior mind custom always carries the day.

" Several times, it is true, I have writ-
ten following these principles, which but
few people know ; but as soon as I see
these monstrous compositions appear, full
of magical apparitions, to which rush the
crowds and the women, always worship-
ping such absurdities, then I return to
my barbarian habits. And when I have a
comedy to write I lock up the rules be-
hind triple bolts ; I cast Plautus and
Terence out of my study for fear of hear-
ing their cries, for truth calls aloud in
these dumb books ; and I then write ac-
cording to the art invented by those who
wished to gain the applause of the crowd.
After all, as it is the public who pays for
these absurdities, 'tis but just that it be
served to its taste.

' True comedy has one aim, as has
every kind of poem, and this aim is to
imitate the action of men and to paint
the manners of the age in which they
lived. Now, every poetical imitation is
composed of three things : dialogue, ver-
sification, harmony or melody. Comedy
and tragedy agree in this ; but they differ,
inasmuch as the former represents the
action of the lower orders, and the latter
only concerns itself with kings and high
personages. Judge from that how much
may be said against our comedies.

" At first our pieces were called atitos,
because they confined themselves to the
imitation of common actions and inte-
rests. Among us Lope de Rueda was

Lope dc Vega.

825

the model of this style ; his comedies,
which have been printed, are in prose,
and of an order so low that he has intro-
duced artisans and traces the loves of a
blacksmith's daughter. To-day we call
them interludes, these antique works in
which the rules of art are carefully ob-
served, in which the action is simple and
takes place among the middle classes
for an interlude was never seen in which
kings figured. And this explains how
plays little by little fell into deep dis-
credit because of the lowness of style,
and how they put kings and princes into
comedy, to the great satisfaction of the
ignorant.

" In the beginning of his Ars Poelica
Aristotle relates, in a manner quite ob-
scure, it is true, the debate which took
place between Athens and Megara touch-
ing the originator of the theatre the
Megarians attributing this glory to Epi-
charmus, while the Athenians claimed it
for Magnes. Donat traces back the
first attempts to the ancient sacrifices,
and, in this respect following Horace, he
attributes the origin of tragedy to Thes-
pis, and that of comedy to Aristophanes.
The Odyssey of Homer is the result of a
comic inspiration, but the Iliad was the
noble model of tragedy. It is in imita-
tion of this poem that is composed my
Jerusalem, which I have called a tragic
epic. They commonly call by the name
of comedy the Infirno, Purgatorio, and
Paradiso of the celebrated poet Dante
Alighieri, and Manetti gives the reasons
for this in the preface to that poem.

" All the world knows that comedy,
falling into disrepute, was condemned
to silence fora time ; that after that came
the satyres, which, being still more cruel,
passed away more promptly ; and that
then the new comedy was born.

"In the beginning dramatic works
consisted but of choruses. Soon there
was added a certain number of charac-
ters. But Menander, followed in this
by Terence, rejected the choruses as te-
dious. This latter was a most scrupu-
lous observer of the precepts ; never did
he raise the style of comedy to a tragic
loftiness, wiser in that respect than
Plautus, whom they have so much re-
proached for this fault.

" Tragedy is founded on fact, comedy
on fiction, and the latter was called ' flat-
footed ' because it was played without
cothurnus or scenery, and because it
took its plots from the humblest classes.

Yet then, as now, there were several
kinds of comedy : there were pallium
comedies and toga comedies, and panto-
mimes, and fabztlcc atellance and taber-
narice.

" The Athenians, who gave prizes to
their dramatic poets and to their actors,
in their comedies rebuked wickedness
and vice with antique elegance. This is
why Cicero called comedy the mirror of
manners, the image of truth sublime at-
tribute which raises Thalia to the rank of
history, and which shows us how much
she merits esteem and honor.

" But already it seems to me that you
draw back, saying : ' What use is this
translating of books and this fatiguing
show of erudition ?' Believe me, it is
not without motive that I recalled to
your memory all these things ; I wished
to let you see that you have asked me
for an essay on dramatic art in Spain,
where all plays are written contrary to
art, and I wished to declare that our
pieces are not according to right or the
ancient rules. But let us leave this ; you
have recourse to my experience, and not
to what I may have been able to learn of
an art which tells us the truth, but to
which the vulgar prefer the false.

" If, then, you asked me for the rules of
the art, I should refer you to the wise and
learned Rebortelo, and you would see
explained in his book on Aristotle or on
comedy what otherwise is scattered in a
crowd of works without order and with-
out light. But since you ask the opinion
of those now in possession of the stage,
acknowledging that the public has the
right to establish the incongruous laws
of our dramatic prodigy, I will tell you
my idea, and your command must excuse
my temerity. I should like, since the
public is in error, to deck this error with
agreeable colors ; I should like, since it
is no longer possible to follow the an-
cient rules, to find a mean between the
two extremes.

'* First choose the subject of your
comedy, and, in spite of the old precepts,
do not disquiet yourself whether there
be or be not kings among your charac-
ters. I ought not to conceal, however,
that our king and lord, Philip the Pru-
dent, was angry every time he beheld a
king on the stage, either because he saw
in that a violation of the rules of the art,
or because he thought that even in fiction
the royal authority should not be pre-
sented too near the gaze of the people.

826

Lope de Vega.

" Besides, in this we draw near to the
ancient comedy, in which Plautus did
not fear to place even gods, as the part
he gives Jupiter in the Amphitryon
proves. Heaven knows it is difficult for
me to approve of this. Even Plutarch, in
speaking of Menander, formally blames
ancient comedy; but since we in Spain
have renounced the rules of the art and
treat it cavalierly, this time the classi-
cists are silenced.

" In mingling the tragic and the comic,
and Terence with Seneca (from which
results a species of monster like the
Minotaur), you will have -one part of the
piece serious and the other farcical.
But this variety pleases very much. Na-
ture herself gives us the example of it.
and it is from such contrasts that she
gains her beauty.

" Take care only that your subject pre-
sents but one action ; take care that your
story is not overcharged with episodes
(that is to say, with things which lead
away from the main idea), and that no
part can be detached without overthrow-
ing the whole edifice. Do not trouble
yourself about confining all the action
within the space of one day, although it
is the rule of Aristotle ; we have already
rejected his authority in mingling trage-
dy and comedy. Let us content our-
selves with reducing the time as much
as may be possible, unless the poet com-
poses a story the action of which extends
over several years, and in this case he
could place the intervals of time in the
' waits ' as, for instance, if one of his
characters has a journey to take. These
liberties, I know, disgust the critics.
Well, the critics may stay away from our
pieces.

" How many of these fellows cross
themselves in horror, seeing several
years given to an action which ought to
be accomplished in the space of an arti-
ficial day for they would not even ac-
cord us the twenty-four hours ! For my
part, considering that the eager curiosi-
ty of a Spaniard seated at the play can-
not be satisfied even by showing him all
the events from Genesis to the day of
the Last Judgment in two hours, I
think that, if our duty is to please the
spectators, it is right that we should do
all that is necessary to gain this end.

" The subject once chosen, write your
piece in prose, and divide it into three
acts, doing your best that each act, if it
is possible, embrace but the space of

one day. Captain Virues, an illustrious
writer, first put comedy in three acts,
which before had gone on all fours like
a child ; and truly it was then in its in-
fancy. I myself, at the age of from ele-
ven to twelve years, wrote in four acts
and lour sheets, for each act was con-
tained in a sheet of paper. In those
days they played three little interludes
in the intervals of the acts, and now it
is much if they play even one, which is
immediately followed by a dance. Danc-
ing, however, fits so well into comedy
that Aristotle approves of it, and Athe-
neus, Plato, and Xenophon do not blame
it, except when it is not decent,* like
that of Callipedes. The dance seems to
me to replace amongst us the chorus of
the ancients.

"The subject being treated in two
ways, let them from the start be joined
and well connected together until the
end of the piece, so that one can divine
the denouement but at the last scene ; for
when the spectators know it they turn
their faces to the door and their backs to
the actors, to whom they have listened
for three hours with interest, and of
whom they think no more when they 'no
longer need them to know what will be
the result.

" Let the stage rarely remain empty.
These delays make the spectator impa-
tient and uselessly prolong the play ;
and besides being a great fault, to avoid
it is to add art and grace to the work.

" Then begin to versify, and in your
language, always choice, use neither
brilliant thoughts nor witty remarks
when you treat of domestic affairs ; it
suffices in such a case to imitate the
conversation of two or three persons.
But when you bring upon the stage a
character who exhorts, counsels, or dis-
suades, you can allow yourself the use
of fine language and striking ideas, and
in this you will imitate nature ; for when
we give advice, when we wish to en-
courage or deter, we speak in a manner
totally different from familiar chat. In
this regard we follow the opinion of the
rhetorician Aristides, who desires that
the language of comedy should be clear,
pure, and easy, like that rf ordinary
conversation, adding also that it should
differ essentially from the tragic style,

* It was recently said that there were three kinds
of dancing : the graceful, the ungraceful, and the
disgraceful.

Lope de Vega.

827

where we may use expressions pompous,
sonorous, and glittering.

" Never quote Scripture, and take
care never to offend taste by afi affected
erudition ; to imitate the language of
conversation you need name neither
hippogriffs nor centaurs, nor the other
mythological entities.

" If you make a king discourse, let it
be with the dignity proper to the royal
majesty ; let the old man express himself
with sententious gravity ; let the con-
versation of lovers be replete with such
lively sentiments as to move those who
hear. In monologues let the character
be totally changed ; by this transforma-
tion let him force the spectators to iden-
tify themselves with him ; let him speak
and reply to himself in a natural man-
ner ; and if he bemoans a lover's lot, let
him not forget the respect due to the
fair sex. Under all circumstances let
the ladies preserve the modesty they
ought to have ; and if they don male
attire (which is always very agreeable to
the public), let this change of costume
have a reasonable motive. In short,
never paint impossible things, for the
first maxim is that art can only imitate
the possible.

" Let not a servant treat too lofty sub-
jects, and take care not to put into his
mouth those witty sayings which we
have seen in some foreign comedies.

" Let your characters never forget
their nature ; let them remember at the
end what they have said at first, lest we
make the same reproach to them as was
made to the (Edifus of Sophocles that
he had forgotten his fight with Lams.

"Adorn the end of your scenes with
some swelling phrase, with some joke,
with lines more carefully polished, so
that the actor at his exit does not leave
the audience in ill-humor.

" In the first act lay the foundation ;
in the second let the complications com-
mence, and contrive in such a way that
until half through the third act no one
can foresee the end. Always deceive the
curiosity of the spectator by showing
him, as though possible, a result evntirely
different from that to which the inci-
dents seem to point.

" Let the versification be tastefully ap-
propriate to the subject you treat. De-
casyllabic lines suit lamentations ; the
sonnet is well placed in a monologue ;
descriptions demand the romantic stan-
za, although they are as brilliant as

possible in octosyllabic metre. Triple-
rhymed lines are reserved for grave af-
fairs, and the redondillas * for lovers'
conversations."

The sound sense of this little
essay shows how thoroughly De
Vega understood his subject. Writ-
ing to please the populace, not
the learned and possibly hyper-
critical, he had studied the play-
goer and knew all his peculiari-
ties how to please him and how
to take liberties with impunity.
His comedies of Cloak and Sword
are the least careless and the most
admirable of his plays, and they
were the most successful. The
involved and complicated plots,
the duels and disguises, the hurry
and the vigor of this class of plays
are seen to best advantage in Lope
de Vega's works. He had found-
ed the school, and the bent of his
genius fitted him to be its master.
His works and those of his scho-
lars went at once to all parts of
Europe. In England Mrs. Behn,
Mrs. Centlivre, Farquhar, Con-
greve, Wycherly, Holcroft were
his followers, copyists, plagiarists.
Not only did others pillage him,
but, like almost all prolific authors,
he plagiarized from himself. Over
thirty or forty times has he treated
one subject : a lady and a knight
forced to leave the court in dis-
guise because of the persecutions
of the king, and taking refuge in a
village, where, after many mishaps
and adventures, they are finally
married. Of course in each of
these twoscore plays the situations
vary, but the central idea is the same
in all. To an author of such facili-
ty the great difficulty was in the

* Redondillas are stanzas of four short lines.
This paragraph on versification reads curiously to
ears accustomed to the pentameter blank verse of
the English drama, stately at times and sprightly
when need be, and, indeed, capable of infinite varie-
ty. The Spanish plays of to-day are written in
very short metre, and French tragedies still rhyme.

828

Lope de Vega.

discovery of a subject. That was
all he needed; its dramatic dressing
was an easy task. Hardly one of
the picturesque points of Spanish
history did he neglect. His light-
er plays were often historical.
Generally they were not. His
Perro del Hortelano (" Dog in the
Manger ") is, for instance, an origi-
nal invention. It contains a delight-
ful sketch of a woman absorbed by
jealousy, and yet unable to make
up her mind to marry the loved
one because of his inferior birth.
Both lovers are drawn with deli-
cious vigor a vigor suggesting, per-
haps remotely, Thackeray. This
charming comedy shows of what
things Lope was capable in this
line had he so willed. It is some-
what, in the style of Scribe at his
best. Indeed, in many respects he
was the precursor of Scribe, who
greatly resembled him in fecun-
dity, facility, and felicity of exe-
cution. More than one of his
plays, if modernized, might pass for
the work of the brilliant French
dramatist.

But the best of Lope's work is
many degrees above the best of
Scribe's. In ingenuity and in ori-
ginality, and in the conduct of the
business of the stage, the Spaniard
is at least the equal of the French-
man, while in the depicting of pas-
sion he is by far the superior.
Scribe was incapable of anything
at all approaching the sombre and
inevitable conclusion of the Star
of Seville, appalling with the in-
exorable logic of fate. Mrs. Fran-
ces Anne Kemble has produced a
spirited English play suggested by
it, of which Lord Holland has given
a long analysis with translated ex-
tracts. As he justly remarks, no
mere relation of the plots of Lope's
plays would give a sufficient idea
of the attractions they possess,

" nor can they be collected from a
mere perusal of detached passages.
The chief merit of his plays is a
certain spirit and animation which
pervades the whole, but which is
not to be preserved in disjointed
limbs of the composition."

It is easy to find the reason for
Lope de Vega's theatrical activity.
He was poor, and play-writing was
profitable. He says somewhere
that poverty and himself formed a
copartnership to work for the stage.
At the close of the sixteenth cen-
tury Spain was divided into several
almost independent provinces, and
there was no interprovincial copy-
right ; the bookseller of Castile
could reprint and sell for his own
profit the successful work first pub-
lished in Leon. An author in those
days could not even get pay for
advance-sheets. Under these cir-
cumstances publishers naturally
paid authors little or nothing. Lit-
erature was a labor of love. The
dramatic taste, however, of the
Spanish people was increasing.
The two companies of actors gra-
dually grew to forty, and the forty
audiences asked for novelty. The
managers endeavoring to satisfy
this demand, the consumption of
comedies was something enormous.
There was a uniform price fixed in
advance: a comedy was worth five
hundred reals, equivalent to about
forty or fifty dollars of our money.
The reward was not great, but the
labor was light at least to Lope.
Dramatic work paid; other litera-
ture did not. Lope would have
been certainly justified in devoting
himself exclusively to the drama.
He might labor in other fields ; on
the stage he ruled. What is done
quickly may die quickly, and few
of Lope's plays hold the stage to-
day even in Spain. But if his plays
are not seen, his influence is visible

English Tories and CatJiolic Education in Ireland. 829

in the drama of France, of Eng-
land, of Germany, and of Spain,
his own country, of the literature
of which he and Calderon and Cer-
vantes are the greatest glories.
Calderon was his follower and Cer-
vantes was his friend. Although it
has been said they were at enmity,
it is known that Lope de Vega
praised Cervantes, and the author
of Don Quixote generously eulo-
gized his more successful rival
thus : " At last appeared that pro-
digy of nature, the great Lope de
Vega, and established his monar-
chy on the stage. He conquered
and reduced under his jurisdiction
every actor and author in the king-
dom. . . . And though there have
been many who have attempted the
same career, all their works to-
gether would not equal in quantity

what tli is single man has com-
posed."

And Cervantes wrote these lines
almost twenty years before Lope
de Vega's death, almost twenty
years before he had ceased com-
posing. It is with the following
brilliant paragraph that Mr. Tick-
nor, always strongly prejudiced in
favor of Cervantes, begins his his-
torical criticism of Lope's life and
labor, and with it we end : " It is
impossible to speak of Cervantes
as the great genius of the Spanish
nation without recalling Lope de
Vega, the rival who far surpassed
him in contemporary popularity,
and rose, during the lifetime of
both, to a degree of fame which
no Spaniard had yet attained, and
which has since been reached by
few of any country."

ENGLISH TORIES AND CATHOLIC EDUCATION IN

IRELAND.

THE motives which impel men
to their best actions are not al-
ways, perhaps they are not gene-
rally, the best possible motives. It
is not improbable that more men
are driven to the tribunal of pen-
ance by attrition than are led thith-
er by contrition. If this be true
of men in their individual and pri-
vate affairs, it is still more strik-
ingly true of politicians and states-
men in their public acts. He would
indeed be fanciful and credulous who
should imagine that Mr. Gladstone,
in framing, advocating, and insisting
upon the passage of his bill for the
disestablishment and disendowment
of the Protestant Church in Ireland,

was inspired by a pure love of abstract
justice and right, and a disinterest-
ed desire to relieve the Irish peo-
ple from a flagrantly unjust burden
and a crying wrong. He saw as
clearly as any one that this wrong
existed, but he perceived also that
by removing it he would win popu-
lar support for himself and his
party. It is tolerably safe to say
that had Mr. Gladstone imagined
that the passage of the bill for
the disestablishment of the church
would have resulted in the expul-
sion of himself and his party from
power, he would not have urged
the measure. In this case there
were two motives: one positively

830 English Tories and Catholic Education in Ireland.

and abstractly good, the other good
in the estimation of those who be-
lieved that the continuance of pow-
er in the hands of the Liberal party
was desirable. The latter incen-
tive was the ruling one. Mr. Glad-
stone, we believe, would not have
advocated a measure which he
knew to be bad, although this ad-
vocacy might have secured him an
extension of power. Nor would he
have insisted upon the adoption of
a measure which he knew to be
good had he known that this insis-
tence would deprive him of power.
But he saw that while the disestab-
lishment and disendowment of the
alien church in Ireland would be
an act of justice in itself, it would
also be a good political stroke,
tending to strengthen his own po-
sition and to give a longer lease of
power to his party.

One need not trouble himself to
assign higher motives than these to
the Tory government, which, to
the surprise and delight of the Ca-
tholics in Ireland, has brought for-
ward a really fair scheme for inter-
mediate education in Ireland, and
seems honestly disposed to carry it
at the present session of Parlia-
ment. Just as we write the bill
has passed the House of Lords, and
is about to be brought up for final
passage in the Commons. The
queen's speech at the opening of
Parliament contained a promise
that a bill for the promotion of
intermediate education in Ireland
should be introduced ; but it was
not until events made probable the
speedy dissolution of Parliament
and a general election that this
promise was redeemed. It is not
uncharitable to suppose that the
government felt it necessary to
have something to offer to Ireland
in the event of an appeal to the
constituencies under circumstances

that would make every vote impor-
tant. The bill passed its second
reading in the House of Lords on
the 28th of June a moment when
it was still possible that England
might soon find herself embroiled
in a foreign war, and when it was
given out in governmental circles
that Parliament was to be dissolved
and a general election ordered.
The third reading and final pas-
sage of the bill in the Lords took
place some two weeks afterwards.
Meanwhile the position of affairs
had somewhat altered: the conclu-
sion of the labors of the Congress
of Berlin and the disclosure of the
Treaty of Constantinople had great-
ly strengthened the hands of the
government ; the Opposition gave
evidence of demoralization and dis-
cord in its own ranks, and toward
the close of July the inspired jour-
nals announced that Parliament
would not be dissolved this year,
inasmuch as the general approval
of the course of the government
was too plain to be misunderstood
or denied. The Irish Education
Bill came up for its second reading
in the House of Commons under
these circumstances, and its friends
fancied that they discovered a lit-
tle less earnestness on the part of
the government in pushing it for-
ward than was displayed under the
more critical circumstances in the
House of Lords. Still, the proba-
bilities are that the bill will pass
and receive the royal assent before
the close of the present session ;
and if this be so, the Tory govern-
ment of Earl Beaconsfield will go
down to posterity as the first ad-
ministration which has had the
courage, the wisdom, and the good-
will to award to Ireland any tiling
like justice in the matter of edu-
cation.

The bill provides for a system

English Tories and CatJiolic Education in Ireland. 83 I

of payments by results, and practi-
cally is identical with the system
which Mr. Isaac Butt laid before
the writer during a conversation in
London four years ago. We are
unaware whether the Lord Chan-
cellor, Lord Cairns who is, like
Mr. Butt, a Protestant, an Irishman,
and a graduate of Trinity College,
Dublin has availed himself of Mr.
Butt's ideas in the preparation of
the measure ; but this is not at all
improbable. Mr. Butt has express-
ed his cordial approval of the
measure. To what extent the Tory
government may have been able to
inspire such organs'of public opin-
ion as the Saturday Review, and
such writers as Matthew Arnold in
the Fortnightly, we cannot say; but
the fact is that for the first time in
its existence the Saturday Review
has recognized and defended the
right of Irish Catholics to be edu-
cated in the way that they consid-
ered proper, and that Mr. Arnold
seems suddenly to have arrived at
the conclusion that the denial of a
Catholic university in Ireland is a
wicked, absurd, and mischievous
freak of English Puritanism. The
development of opinion in the
Saturday Review is startlingly rapid.
In a remarkable article written
before the introduction of Lord
Cairns' bill the Review said that
" the injustice of refusing either to
give the Irish Roman Catholics a
university or to allow them to set
up one for themselves is so patent
that if the demand for a charter
were once more put forward it
could scarcely be very long resist-
ed." But in the same pages it
warned the Irish Catholics that
they must not expect to receive
anything like an endowment from
the state for denominational educa-
tion :

"The demand for a state endowment
of a Roman Catholic university, or of a
Roman Catholic college in a mixed uni-
versity," we were told, " may be perfect-
ly just, but it is at the same time perfect-
ly impracticable. For this purpose the
surplus revenues of the Irish Disestab-
lished Church will undoubtedly be treat-
ed as money belonging to the nation,
and unless a radical and almost miracu-
lous change should come over the whole
mind and temper of the English people,
not a shilling of it will be devoted to a
denominational object. This determina-
tio| on their part may be quite illogical,
but it is very firmly rooted. The endow-
ment of a Catholic university or a Ca-
tholic college may continue to furnish the
text for an annual motion and for any
number of annual speeches, but it will
do nothing more. The late government
attempted to meet the difficulty by estab-
lishing a university in which the subjects
upon which Romanists and non-Roman-
ists most differ should be temporarily
excluded from the university course.
Denominational colleges might be in-
corporated into this university and teach
what they liked, but the teaching of the
university was to leave burning questions
on one side until the university should
have become strong enough to run alone,
and to decide for itself in what subjects
it should give instruction to its students.
The scheme fell through."

Within a few days after this candid
expression of opinion the same jour-
nal was applauding Lord Cairns'
bill for intermediate education in
Ireland, which provides for the
application of a certain portion of
the surplus revenues of the Dises-
tablished Church for the support of
schools that certainly will be " de-
nominational." True, the money
is not to be given directly in pay-
ment for religious instruction, but
it is to be given in payment to
teachers who will impart religious
instruction to their pupils. " Not
a shilling will be devoted to a de-
nominational object," said the Re-
view one week; but a fortnight
afterwards it was delighted with a

832 English Tories and Catholic Education in Ireland.

measure that proposed to devote a
million sterling for the support of a
system which is nothing if it be
not "denominational." We re-
joice at this sudden and remarka-
ble conversion without inquiring
too closely how it came. Catholics
everywhere, and Irish Catholics es-
pecially, should rejoice when or-
gans of opinion like the Saturday
Review speak of a measure that is
satisfactory to the hierarchy, the
clergy, and the Catholic laity *of
Ireland as " an honest endeavor to
supply Ireland with an article
which she really wants, and which
nothing but the absurd prejudices
of Englishmen has prevented her
from attaining before now." It is
certainly encouraging to hear Eng-
lishmen told by their most un-Ca-
tholic and worldly-minded instruc-
tor that in their rejection of Ire-
land's claims for Catholic educa-
tion they have been " singularly
unamiable and singularly foolish";
that they have been bent upon
educating Irish Catholics in a way
in which Irish Catholics have been
equally determined not to be edu-
cated.

The provisions of Lord Cairns'
bill are briefly these :

" A Board of Intermediate Education
of seven commissioners three to form a
quorum is to be appointed by the lord
lieutenant the members to be remova-
ble by him with two assistant commis-
sioners, who will also act as secretaries
and inspectors, at salaries of one thou-
sand pounds each, to be appointed by
the same authority. Other officers may,
from time to time, be appointed by the
board, with the consent of the lord lieu-
tenant and the approval of the treasurer.
This board will be a mere examining
body, conducting by its officers annual
examinations in June and July at con-
venient local centres over Ireland. The
programme of subjects includes six dif-
ferent classes of attainments : (i) lan-
guages, literatures, and history of Greece

and Rome ; (2) the same of England ; (3)
the same of France, Germany, and Italy ;
(4) mathematics, including arithmetic
and book-keeping ; (5) the natural
sciences ; and (6) another group of sub-
jects to be named by the board. Candi-
dates for examination must show that
they have been under instruction in Ire-
land for the year previous to the date of
the examination ; and the maximum ages
fixed are sixteen, seventeen, and eight-
een years respectively for the three
years' course. Certificates, or testamurs,
will be given, setting forth the results of
successful examinations ; graded prizes,
and also annual exhibitions, of from
twenty to fifty pounds, will be awarded,
the condition of attendance for at least
one hundred days a year in an interme-
diate school being' required in the latter.
Holders of any other exhibitions are to
be ineligible. The school in which the
boy has attended the required number
of days receives a bonus of three
pounds should he pass in two subjects,
four pounds for three, and five pounds
for four of the six subjects of the first
year's course ; another grant is increas-
ed in like ratio for the second and third
years. No subject of religion is to enter
into the examination or be paid for. A
conscience clause (7), while not requir-
ing any such school to be open to all or
any classes, is thus framed to protect
religious minorities who may attend :
'The board shall not make any payment
to the managers of any school unless it
be shown to the satisfaction of the board
that no pupil attending such school is
permitted to remain in attendance dur-
ing the time of any religious instruction
which the parents or guardians of such
pupil shall not have sanctioned, and that
the time for giving such religious in-
struction is so fixed that no pupil not
remaining in attendance is excluded
directly or indirectly from the advan-
tages of the secular education given in
theschpol.' One million from the sur-
plus funds of the Disestablished Church
is to form the endowment for this scheme,
being, in round numbers, ,35,000 a
year. The Church Temporalities Com-
missioners are empowered to borrow
this sum, pending the close of the liqui-
dation of the assets. The board may alter
and amend the whole scheme, save so as
to change its leading principles, and
may frame codes and rules and lay them
before Parliament, when, if not objected

English Tories and CatJiohc Education in Ireland. 833

to by either House within three weeks,
they acquire the force of law."

The debate in the House of Lords
on the second reading of the bill
was characterized by a remarkable
exhibition of good sense and good
feeling among the Protestant mem-
bers who spoke, while the remarks
of the two Catholics who expressed
their approval of the measure, Lord
O'Hagan and Lord Emly (former-
ly Mr. Monsell), were discreet and
well considered. Lord O'Hagan
gave what he properly described as
some " startling statistics " concern-
ing the aptitude of Irishmen for
fitting themselves for the discharge
of public trusts, even under the
limited and discouraging conditions
of education which had thus far
prevailed in Ireland. He showed
that England has 72^ per cent, of
the population of the United King-
dom, Ireland 17 per cent., and
Scotland io^z per cent. Since
1871 there had been 1,918 places in
the excise and customs bestowed
in public competition. For these
places there had been 11,371 candi-
dates, of whom ii per cent, were
Scotch, 46 per cent. English, and
43 per cent. Irish. Of the places
Scotland gained 6 per cent., Eng-
land 38 per cent., and Ireland 56.
Of every 100 Scotch candidates
9 passed, of every 100 English
14, and of every 100 Irish 22.

These figures showed what the
youth of Ireland could do when
they were educated. But what
were their opportunities ? As chil-
dren, up to fifteen they might avail
themselves of an excellent primary
education, but after that they have
few if any opportunities of advanc-
ing further. The fact was undeni-
able that for three hundred years
legislation has been directed against
education in Ireland, except in a
VOL. xxvii. 53

form in which the people would
not receive it. The bill now pro-
posed was the first step in the con-
trary direction, and in Lord O'Ha-
gan's opinion, if it were adminis-
tered in the same impartial and
fair spirit which had dictated its
framing, its results would be most
wholesome.

The bill, on the whole, although
not perfect, is so great a contrast
to all the former educational mea-
sures which England has devised
for Ireland, and is conceived in so
different a spirit, that the Irish Ca-
tholics are right in accepting it
gladly. It is only to be hoped
that the House of Commons will
prove to be as reasonable and just
as the Lords have been, and allow
the bill to pass without mutilating
it by mischievous amendments.
For half a century England has
been tinkering at Irish education,
always with the idea that she
could compel the Irish to accept
Protestant education if Catholic
education were made impossible
for them. Thus was devised the
national system of 1831, the
queen's colleges of 1845, the sup-
plementary charter of 1866, Lord
Mayo's charter scheme of 1867,
the unfortunate University Bill in-
troduced by Mr. Gladstone in
1873, the National Teachers' Act,
and Mr. Butt's University Bill.
The English government in their
present measure do not storm the
Plevna of the religious difficulty ;
they simply turn it. They do not
propose to establish any new in-
stitutions, nor to aid the erection
of any, nor to subject to inspec-
tion and control any of the exist-
ing intermediary schools that have
been founded by the zeal of the
clergy and the charity of the faith-
ful. They leave these alone ; but
they offer to reward them, and all

834

Lac du Saint Sacrement.

other similar schools that may be
founded, by giving prizes to their
pupils, and a bonus to the schools
themselves of from fifteen to twen-
ty-five dollars for each pupil who
meets certain conditions. The Ir-
ish Catholic schoolmasters and
schoolboys will not be afraid to
enter into this competition ; on the
contrary, they will " leap at it," and
the best results may be expected
to follow. More important still,
this step, once taken, will lead ere
long, by logical consequence, to
the settlement of the Irish uni-

versity question in the same way.
Lord B-eaconsfield's administration
of the government of England
promises to live in history as an
epoch of many brilliant and im-
portant events; but if under his
rule the Catholic education of Ire-
land is adequately and satisfacto-
rily provided for, that will be real-
ly a more lasting and glorious
monument to his memory than his
diplomatic victories at Berlin, his
second conquest of India, or his vir-
tual annexation of Asia Minor to
the British crown.

LAC DU SAINT SACREMENT.

FAIR in their peace, r twixt shore and shore,

Lake George's waters rest,
And fair the great hills, rising o'er,

Lie mirrored on its breast.

The leafy forests hide no tread

Of stealthy Indian foe,
The sunshine gilds no dusky head

In shadow stealing slow.

The calm no hostile navies rend,

Pealeth no threat'ning gun,
Silence and stillness softly blend

Beneath the undimmed sun.

Faded the lilies' bloom long since

On Horicon's green mere ;
The soldiers of the German prince

Lift not the red cross here.

The stars alone are guardians no\v

Of this bright forest sea
Whose waves, whatever wind may blow,

Sing freedom's royalty.

Lac du Saint Sacrement. 835

Ah ! fair Lake George, I would thy name

Were changed for one more meet,
That thy bright waters spoke the fame

Of him whose accents sweet

First named thee in a Christian tongue
His maimed hands raised to bless

Who, rapturous, round thy beauty flung
Thy Maker's loveliness.

Who sighed blind Indian souls to lead

Unto their Father's feet,
To teach strong hands for peace to plead,

Fierce hearts Christ's cross to greet.

Who bore with awe his Master's name,
Was bound for His sweet sake,

God's glory deed and thought should claim,
Knowing no lesser stake.

Who ready stood, for God's dear love,

Through toil and torture fire
Still with the cross to point above

A living Christian spire.

O lake beguiling! on that eve

How still thy waters lay,
All hushed in sunshine each green wave

Calm as the golden day.

How full of grace on that blessed eve

God's love athwart the sky ;
Pure as his balm for souls that grieve

Thy mirror seemed to lie.

Warm as the Love that gave itself
The softened mountains seemed;

Fusing strong tree and rugged shelf,
The wondrous glory streamed.

A burning worship heaven filled,

And breathless it adored,
While through the air, all-reverent, stilled,

The earth's sweet incense soared.

836 Lac du Saint Sacrement.

Did dreams of France, his own loved France,

The Jesuit's spirit steep
With thought of hearts that love would trance

As they God's feast should keep

With myriad lights and thronging flowers,

Strong voices' mellow peal ?
And did he long through those sweet hours

Before his Lord to kneel ?

From far cathedral pomp aloof,

And simple, loving hearts,
For columned church the wood's green roof

Darkened with heathen arts.

Still seemed the glory of the day

The golden hope to give
Of Love Almighty's deathless sway

O'er nations yet to live.

An echo of St. Thomas' hymn

Came faintly o'er the wave ;
The Jesuit's eyes with tears grew dim

At thought of souls to save.

And ''''Bone Pastor, Panis vere"

His firm lips softly spoke,
O "Jesu, nostri miserere"

From heart, love-burdened, broke.

And "Lauda Sion, Salvatorem "
Thy glad waves seemed to cry ;

While "Lauda Ducem et Pastorem "
Flung back the happy sky.

Lake of the Blessed Sacrament,
That hour won thy name's grace

As holiest thought of love was lent
To sign thy maiden face.

Its look of heaven as of yore
Still wears thy calm, sweet face ;

Alas ! that thou shouldst keep no more
Thy first baptismal grace.

The Three Roses.

337

THE THREE ROSES.

IT was at precisely half-past ten,
as he satisfied himself by looking
at his watch, on the morning of the
lyth of June, in the year 1743, that
a young gentleman got up from a
chair in front of the Cafe Procope
(just then opening with that air of
stretching itself, rubbing its eyes,
and yawning which marks a cafe in
the ante-meridian hours). He stood
for a moment twirling his cane and
his moustache alternately, and then,
as if suddenly reminded by the
look of the cafe of a great moral
duty omitted, stretched himself
slightly and yawned prodigiously.
It was, to be sure, rather early in
the day to begin yawning, except
for cafes ; but then this young chro-
nologer had his own way of divid-
ing time, and, believing with the
poet that the best of all ways to
lengthen our days is to snatch a
few hours from the night, what was
early in the morning for most men
was only somewhat late at night
for him. It is to be noted, too,
since the most trifling incidents in
the life of a hero are worthy of re-
cord, that he yawned with such ad-
mirable self-possession, with such a
mingling of good-will and graceful
languor ; he had so much the air of
giving his whole mind to it, and
at the same time of being so used
to yawning that he really didn't
care so much for it after all, that
you saw at once he was a man of
distinction, to whom a yawn was
not, as to most of us, a rare luxury,
but a daily, nay, an hourly, a half-
hourly, necessary of life.

Much might here be said, if

space permitted, of a highly in-
structive nature, on the philosophy
of yawning and its many varieties :
the go-to-bed yawn, the get-up
yawn ; the tired yawn, the yawn of
simple lassitude ; the good-humored
yawn, which takes itself as an ex-
cellent joke; the peevish yawn, which
denies itself acridly as if it were a
crime ; the writer's yawn and the
reader's yawn (quod Jupiter omen
avertat !) ; the chronic yawn and the
fixed yawn which merges into the
drawl ; the imitative yawn, into
which unwary grandmothers are
seduced by wicked little boys with
slowly-flapping palm ; the bored
yawn, which is a protest against
the world in general; the well-bred
yawn, which is a protest against
the immediate company, and is
practised only in solitude. (It is,
of course, the last-named sort in
which our hero indulges.) There
is a great deal of character, too, in
a yawn, from your timid little lady's
yawn, shrinking away and hiding
behind fan or handkerchief, or with
hypocritical feminine art so mould-
ing itself that, like Lucy Fountain's,
" it glides into society a smile," to
your open, hearty, man's yawn,
showing all its grinders shameless-
ly, as if it were a fine natural pros-
pect one ought to be grateful for.
Napoleon judged men, as he led
them, by their noses;* a true phi-
losopher would classify them by
their yawns.

Meantime, however, we are leav-

* Napoleon thought a big nose to be a sign of in-
tellect, says history, mother of lies. Fiddlesticks.!
He chose men with big noses because they were
easier to lead. An army of snub- noses would never
have gone to. Moscow.

838

TJie Three Roses.

ing our hero yawning at the risk
of dislocating his jaw and of set-
ting the reader to keep him com-
pany. Let us, therefore, resume.
Having indulged himself sufficient-
ly in this refreshment, and recom-
posed his features again with some
care, the young gentleman stood
for a moment irresolute, tapping
his boot with his cane, and then,
as if his mind were made up, set
off at a brisk pace in the direction
of Notre Dame. As he stepped
out it did not need his showy uni-
form, which was that of the famous
corps of Mousquetaires, his jingling
spurs, or his long rapier, of a hea-
vier make than the dress-sword
then worn by every gentleman, to
show him for a soldier. You saw
it in his measured stride, in every
movement of a lithe and graceful
yet strong and well-knit figure, in
the gay recklessness of his manner,
and especially in the ardent and
somewhat imperious glance of his
dark gray eye. A trace of super-
ciliousness and vanity on his bold,
handsome face you would have par-
doned to his years and comeliness.
Women smiled kindly on the gay
young mousquetaire as he passed
them, and were not ill-pleased at
the kisses he flung them in promis-
cuous homage from the tips of his
gloved fingers. Male glances not
so kind, instinct, indeed, with smoul-
dering scorn and hatred, were shot
at him covertly too glances such
as a half-century later gloated
openly with savage ferocity over
the death-struggles of other hap-
less young mousquetaires dying
hopelessly and gallantly, sword in
hand, for a king who knew how to
make locks but not laws, and a
queen who could win all hearts but
those of her people.

But right little recked our young
mousquetaire of glances, hostile or

kindly, from those he looked upon
but as a rabble of the gutter, to be
kicked or beaten like other ani-
mals out of his lordly path. The
young summer in his blood all un-
conscious of that slumbering storm,
he strode along, dispensing musk
and kisses, and gaily humming a
madrigal of Benserade, to the Rue
des Poulies, and along that street,
picking his way daintily over the
wretched pavement till he came in
front of a certain bric-a-brac shop.
There he paused, hesitated a mo-
ment, and, pulling off his plumed
hat and putting on his most fasci-
nating smile, bowed low to two
persons standing in the doorway.

This simple act of courtesy had
a singular effect on the two persons
in question, a young man and a
young woman. This effect was ap-
parently the same on both : they
first colored violently, then frown-
ed, then turned pale. But to an
observer in the attic window over
the way it seemed that the internal
emotions indicated by these facial
changes were very unlike in each.
The young man seemed to this
observer to be moved by displea-
sure rising even to intense rage ;
the girl's uppermost feeling seemed
to be embarrassment, and displea-
sure, if any, only at being caused
embarrassment. But the observer
could not quite decide that she was
displeased at all by this act of po-
liteness, and he inclined rather to
think that her blush was caused by
pleasure at seeing the young mous-
quetaire, while her frown was di-
rected at her companion for his
inopportune presence.

" Yes, that is it," said this acute
analyst to himself: "the blush was
for the mousquetaire, whom she is
glad to see, the frown for M. De
Trop, who is in the way, and the
pallor for herself, whom she hear-

Tke Three Roses.

839

tily wishes out of the way in the
row she foresees coming/"

While this thoughtful philoso-
pher of the attic was thus moral-
izing a curious incident took place.
The girl, who held some roses in
her hand, dropped one of them, no
doubt from agitation. The mous-
quetaire sprang forward to seize it.
As he stooped over the flower the
young man of the doorway, with an
angry exclamation, thrust him back
with such good-will that he reeled
into the roadway and came near
falling. Recovering himself in an
instant, he whipped out his sword
and rushed upon the other, cry-
ing :

" Baseborn scullion ! darest thou
raise thy hand to a gentleman ?
Thy life shall pay it,"

This was not, perhaps, his exact
language, but it is so much nicer
than what he really did say that we
will let it stand in despite of his-
tory. At all events the young man
understood him very clearly to ex-
press an intention of skewering him
upon the spot ; so, with a natural
reluctance to being skewered, he
armed himself with an iron bar
used for fastening the door of the
bric-a-brac shop, and resolutely
awaited the onset.

At sight of these warlike over-
tures the girl screamed and the
neighbors came flocking to doors
and windows in pleasurable anti-
cipation. The philosopher in the
attic appeared to await the issue
with composure.

Suddenly she who was the lovely
cause of strife between the heroes
stepped forward.

" Forbear, gentlemen," she cried.
"For shame! Would you shed
blood for a paltry flower? If 'tis
but a rose you want, here is one
for each of you."

And with a charming mixture of

shyness and coquetry the coquet-
ry of a pretty woman who feels
herself to be the object of conten-
tion between brave men she prof-
fered to each of the champions a
rose.

The mousquetaire sheathed his
sword at once, seized his flower
with rapture, pressed it to his lips
and to his heart, and looked alto-
gether so languishing and sheepish
that the young girl had to bite her
lips to control a smile. She could
not so easily hide the laugh that
sparkled in her dancing eyes and
made them still more dazzling.

The young man of the doorway
received his rose with reluctance,
seemed half disposed to reject it,
and more than half disposed to
tli row it away after taking it, and
fell back with so sullen and sulky
an air that the Helen of this Iliad
could forbear no longer, but laugh-
ed outright and merrily.

At that electric stroke of happy
ridicule the clouds passed and the
air cleared; the storm was over.
The neighbors withdrew discon-
tentedly to their shops, while the
mousquetaire, with another bow
and smile, departed. But he did
not kiss his finger-tips to this young
girl, as he had to the others.

The philosopher of the attic sur-
veyed these events with conflicting
emotions.

" Humph !" said he, rather rue-
fully, "the roses I spent my last
sou for, the price of my breakfast,
in fact, to lay upon her window-
sill this morning. The one in the
gutter, I suppose, is for me; was it
by accident or design she dropped
it? I wonder which of them she
likes best ?"

Gentle reader for in these days
it is only a gentle reader will deign
to cast an eye over a simple love-
tale like this go with us but a lit-

840

The Three Roses.

tie way, and we will try to unravel
the philosopher's problem.

ii.

Had you chanced, then, miss or
madam, to be your great-great-
grandmother as, Heaven be prais-
ed ! you did not and had you hap-
pened to be in the neighborhood of
the Rue des Poulies in the year of
grace 1743, and had it occurred to
you to ask for the richest man in the
quarter, public opinion would have
answered unhesitatingly, " Papa
Lamouracq, who keeps the bric-a-
brac shop." And had you further
inquired who was the finest fellow
and the best match in the neigh-
borhood, the vote would still have
been nearly unanimous for Raoul
Berthier, the well-to-do ironmon-
ger of the Quai de la Ferraille.
And had you once more sought to
know who was the prettiest girl
well, here there might have been
some dissent, for the other pret-
tiest girls and their mammas would
no doubt have cast a scattering
vote or so; but, counting the blind
beggars for whom her hand was
ever open, and the babies she was
always ready to romp with, not to
speak of the shrewd old fathers of
families, who saw her beauty, as
shrewd old fathers will, in the light
of her imagined expectations, a de-
cided majority would still have
been given for Pauline Lamouracq,
the old brocanteur'syowg and only
daughter.

Now, however public opinion
may have erred with regard to two
of the persons named and, indeed,
Papa Lamouracq, whenever the
matter was broached, would protest,
with many oaths and shrugs and
groans, that, so far from being the
richest man in the parish, he was
in reality the very poorest (but

what bric-a-brac dealer was ever
otherwise, especially if he be an
Auvergnat, as in Paris he generally
is when he is not a Jew ?) certainly
it made no mistake with regard to
Pauline. Pretty beyond a doubt
she was, with her trim young figure
and her dark brown hair and eyes,
lit both with a flash of golden
light, and her but, no; let us not
attempt the impossible task of de-
scribing the charm and freshness
of girlish beauty at eighteen. Do
you, miss, look in the glass, or do
you, sir if so be it that stray mas-
culine eyes shall linger over these
artless pages think of her you love
best, and let that be our Pauline.
Only herself seemed to be uncon-
scious of her great beauty; for,
though her mirror must have whis-
pered to her now and again the
charming secret, as it will to other
young maidens, she fled from that
perfidious counsellor, lest she
should have a grievous addition to
the load of peccadilloes she was
wont to carry weekly to the con-
fessional of her good friend and
adviser, the old curd si the Church
of St. Germain 1'Auxerrois.

Indeed, she had fewer incentives
to vanity than many girls not half
so pretty, inasmuch as she had
fewer admirers. Not that there
were not many who sighed for her
in secret ; but Raoul's temper was
known to be as quick as his hand
was heavy, and they discreetly
held aloof. Raoul and Pauline had
been betrothed from a very early
age, and the former was not one to
brook any rivalry. From the cra-
dle almost he had been wayward
and headstrong. Years before,
when little more than a child, he
had run away to sea, and strange
tales were whispered of his doings
with Jean Bart, that famous priva-
teer and scourge of perfidious Al-

The Three Roses.

841

bion. Now that he had come
back a fine, bronzed, athletic fellow
of six or seven and thirty to take
his place in his dead father's busi-
ness, and handle, the gossips said,
a very pretty pot of money, he was
more violent and self-willed and
exacting than ever; and there were
not wanting those who, seeing the
look that came too often into his
dark, handsome face, shook their
heads and prophesied that all
would not be sunshine in the mar-
ried life of the pretty Pauline.

If she herself shared any of
these misgivings she never showed
it, but was as affectionate, and
even obedient, to her intended
husband as the most jealous swain
could ask. On one point only did
she go counter to his wishes, and
that was in seeing a distant cousin,
Andre Thiriot, who alone of all the
young fellows in the neighborhood
made her the object of an absorb-
ing devotion that every one but
herself laughed at. In truth, poor
Andre was not fitted out by nature
for the ideal lover. Lame from a
fall in his childhood, small and in-
significant in appearance (but for
a high white forehead and a pair
of large and brilliant eyes), and a
beggarly huissicrs clerk to boot, he
was a pretty fellow, forsooth, to as-
pire to the hand of the richest
heiress in the quarter. So Papa
Lamouracq thought, and, when his
poor kinsman first hinted timidly
at the idea nearest his heart, bade
him begone with bitter rebuke and
reviling. " He marry Pauline, in-
deed ! Puny weakling ! No man
should have his girl who could not
protect her with an arm as stout
as his own. In these days," said
Papa Lamouracq, very truly, " who
knows at what moment his women-
kind may need protection from
these vile marquises and mousque-

taires that go about troubling the
peace of honest folks?" And Papa
Lamouracq, who had served in the
wars, drew himself up to his full
five feet nine which in France,
you know, is a colossal stature
squared his broad shoulders, and
looked very fierce and resolute. It
was, indeed, a time when beauty
and innocence of the bourgeois
class, where, indeed, very much that
there was at Paris of beauty allied
to innocence resided, needed stout
hearts and strong arms to fence it.
The gay courtiers of Louis XV.
respected few laws, human or di-
vine, and no woman not of the
privileged classes was safe from
their insults.

So poor Andre was sent to the
right-about with a very large sized
flea in his ear, and could only see
his fair cousin thereafter by stealth.
Raoul swore that if he ever caught
him prowling about her he would
break every bone in his body.
For that threat, indeed, Andre
cared little, for he had a brave
spirit in his little body ; but he
loved his cousin too well to cause
her needless annoyance, and he
had perforce to content himself
with the stolen interviews she could
give him at such odd times as her
father was away with Raoul at the
cabaret, which, indeed, was only
too often. Nor was Pauline loath
to profit by these chances to see
her cousin. That everybody re-
pulsed and derided him was to her
woman's nature of course only an
additional reason for liking him.
Then, too, he had been her moth-
er's favorite, almost as a child to
her on the death of his own pa-
rents, and, lastly, he talked very
differently from the others about
her. Pauline, thanks to the watch-
ful care of her good friend and
godfather, the cure of St. Germain,

842

The Three Roses.

had had a better education than
most girls of her class, and Andre
was a genius and a poet at least,
they both thought so; which, for
them, came to much the same
thing. He rhymed about as well
as the rest of the rhyming crew, in
an age when in France and Eng-
land there were many rhymers and
few poets, and those few not al-
ways greatly cared for ; when Vol-
taire passed sentence on Homel-
and Shakspere ; when Dorat's per-
fumed nothings fluttered in every
boudoir, while Gilbert starved in a
garret. To the taste of one simple
maiden Andre's madrigals and son-
nets and what-not were as good as
the best, and she never tired of
hearing them. Even when she
could not see him she could still
hear them ; for our poet had a
very pretty turn for music as well,
and from his window opposite hers
would sing her his chansons, set to
his own music, with such ardor and
perseverance as quite enchanted
his pretty cousin, and won for the
performer a singular degree of un-
popularity among his neighbors.

So the lame bard remained Pau-
line's only open admirer until one
eventful day when there came
spurring through the dull and som-
bre street, lighting it up like a flash
of sunshine, a splendid vision of a
mousquetaire. Pauline chanced to
be standing in the doorway of her
father's shop, and, as he caught
sight of that lovely picture set in
the dark frame of the portal, the
bold cavalier, riding to her side,
straightway proceeded to woo her
in the off-hand fashion of the court.
But in the soft, half-wondering re-
proach of the brown eyes lifted for
but a moment to his own there
was a depth of purity and inno-
cence that baffled this intrepid
courtier more than any words ; he

stammered over his first sentence,
hesitated, broke down, and blush-
ed. Yes, incredible as it may
seem, in the middle of the eigh-
teenth century, and in the very fo-
cus of civilization, a mousquetaire
blushed. To be sure he was
young. Perhaps it was a reflec-
tion from his glowing cheek that
brought to Pauline's pale one a
rosier lint; perhaps it was simply
wonder at this unprecedented phe-
nomenon ; Pauline, too, was young,
and the culprit, it must be owned,
was very handsome. At all events
he could only gasp out a hasty
apology before she withdrew and
left him to ride away, over head
and tingling ears in love.

Raoul heard of this encounter
and roared burst out into a furi-
ous passion of rage and jealousy
that left Pauline in tears.

Andre saw the meeting from his
eyrie in the attic and sighed.
With one handsome rival he might
hope, he might even, with some
aid from the muses, hold his own ;
but with two ? The poor bard
took to reading Tibullus ; he had
no heart for madrigals when life
itself was an elegy, and for a night
or two the neighbors slept in
peace.

in.

One morning a young man pre-
sented himself to Papa Lamouracq
and asked to be taken as an appren-
tice to learn the bric-a-brac trade.
Papa Lamouracq was a little shy
of apprentices ; but as he re, illy
needed help and the premium of-
fered was large, he could not resist
the temptation to his bargaining
instinct, and the postulant was ac-
cepted.

The new-comer was active, in-
telligent, and above all good-look-
ing ; and these virtues soon won

The TJiree Roses.

843

for him a fair place in Pauline's es-
teem until she caught him making
sheep's eyes at her with extreme
persistency and uncompromising
sheepishness. Thereat she re-
proved him sharply, and, to punish
him, set him to washing the dishes
a task he undertook with entire
good-humor, but so much more zeal
than skill that he broke more than
he cleaned and speedily had to be
relieved. Then he took to sighing
like a bellows, and when his mis-
tress laughed at him this auda-
cious intruder made love to her
outright, and of course got proper-
ly snubbed for his pains. But fan-
cy Miss Pauline's amazement when
this astonishing apprentice, so far
from being abashed by her chill-
ing rebuke, went down upon his
marrow-bones, and, revealing him-
self as the Chevalier d'Aubuis-
son, plumped her an offer of his
heart and hand and a fine old cha-
teau in Normandy.

The sight of this dashing mous-
quetaire in a shop-boy's apron
seemed so absurd that the young
lady thus tenderly adjured felt
more inclined to laugh than ever
indeed, she was a merry little
maiden, more given to smiles than
tears but the evident sincerity of
the young man's emotion touched
her.

" He has cut off that lovely
moustache to be near me," was her
pensive refler i^n ? as she gazed up-
on his eloquent, upturned face,
from winch that military embellish-
ment was ii (iced missing. No
doubt, too, she was secretly flat-
tered and pleased ; for it was not
every day, I promise you, in the
Paris of a century ago, that a
shopman's daughter had the chance
'of refusing to be the wife of a
handsome young noble. And then
what young girl's heart could help

going out a little to the romantic
side of this madcap adventure ?

But there was another aspect to
the affair which made her grave at
once.

" Pray rise, sir," she said coldly ;
"this position is unbecoming to
you and uncomfortable to me.
'Twas not well done, M. le Che-
valier, to steal into my father's
household under false colors ; and
though I feel the honor you do me,
I cannot listen to you further. I
am already affianced. If you have
any of the regard you profess for
me, you will instantly quit this
travesty and this house."

This was reasonable advice, so
our impetuous young mousquetaire
rejected it at once. He would
never leave her, he vowed with ve-
hemence, till she had promised to
be his.

This wild proposal plunged poor
Pauline into great perplexity. To
tell her father or her intended would,
she foresaw, precipitate a terrible
row and scandal with probable
bloodshed ; and perhaps it was not
wholly tenderness for her relatives
which checked her as she glanced
furtively at her embarrassingly hand-
some wooer, revolving the problem
of how most easily to get rid of
him in an anxious mind. Nor
could she go to her cousin ; she
blushed, she scarce knew why, as
she thought of it. So, as usual in
all the little difficulties of her life,
she betook herself to her friend
the cure', who soon found a key to
the riddle.

The next day there rode up to
the door of Papa Lamouracq's bric-
a-brac shop an orderly with a let-
ter for M. le Chevalier d'Aubuis-
son, and by noon his majesty's
corps of rnousquetaires had receiv-
ed a reluctant and rather mutinous
reinforcement of one. And Obit-

844

The Three Roses.

ter and humiliating thought ! the
moustache had been sacrificed in

vain.

IV.

So matters stood in the Rue des
Poulies at the time of that remark-
able meeting which opens this
eventful history, and apropos of
which an observer in the attic ask-
ed himself, as you may remember,
" Which does she like best ?" Raoul's
rage upon this knew no bounds ;
and Papa Lamouracq, when he
came to hear of it, was little better.
They both insisted that the wed-
ding-day should be fixed at once,
and for no distant date, and poor
Pauline was fain to consent. Yet,
as the fatal day drew near, she
shrank from it more and more.
School herself as she would into
obedience to her father's will and
love for her future husband, the
coming marriage filled her with an
invincible repugnance. Was it be-
cause she had given her heart to
another, or only because Raoul's
brutality had alienated her esteem?
I do not know ; she did not know
herself: it was a question she never
dared ask her heart.

In the midst of this moral con-
flict by which she was so cruelly
torn her mind went back often and
longingly to the serenity and calm of
the convent where she had passed
so many of her early j^ears, and to
the peaceful, happy faces of the
nuns. She yearned with an inex-
pressible yearning to be among
them once more ; she had even
wild, half-formed thoughts of flying
from her wretchedness and trouble
and taking refuge in that quiet
haven.

Naturally, therefore, when Andre,
to whom she had dropped an inti-
mation of her thought, urged her

strongly to act upon it, she turned
and rent him.

" How dare you say such things
to me !" she cried with more pas-
sion than he had ever seen her
show. " How dare you advise me
to disobey my father ! You know
very well my first duty is to him.
He wishes me to marry Raoul, and
and I wish it. I am not misera-
ble. I love Raoul dearly, and we
shall be very hap hap happy."

And to prove the joyful nature
of her anticipations she burst
forthwith into tears.

The poor poet stood aghast ; he
was not prepared for this display of
feminine consistency. Genius as
he was, he had yet to learn that to
set a woman against a doubtful
project she is coquetting with in
her mind, the surest way is to
urge her to it. Dearly as he loved
his cousin and wished to make her
his wife, he loved her happiness
more, and would joyfully have seen
her take the veil, marry the mous-
quetaire even, whom he suspected
her of favoring, anything to escape
this marriage, in what he foresaw
for her only wretchedness, if not
death. Raoul in his drunken furies,
he knew, would stop at nothing, and
even as a lover he had threatened
her life.

" But," he stammered, conscience-
stricken, " I thought you said you
wished to be in the convent."

"You know I never said any-
thing of the kind," sobbed the in-
dignant fair. " I forbid you ever to
say such things to me again. You
are very unkind to tease me so,
and it is only your mis miserable
jealousy."

The poet winced under this poi-
soned shaft, but was too generous to
retaliate. His cousin had the right
of suffering to be unjust.

Nevertheless, he could not forego

The Three Roses.

845

another effort to rescue her, as he
called it. It wanted but a day or
two of the wedding when he next
got a chance to see her, for she was
now watched and guarded almost
like a prisoner. Drawing a little
packet from his pocket, he said
with a sad smile :

" Pauline, here is my wedding
gift. It is the most precious, in-
deed, the only precious, thing I
have."

Pauline opened the packet. It
held only a withered rose. She
looked in perplexity from the gift
to the giver.

" Do you know what rose it is,
Pauline ? 'Tis the one that was
trampled in the mire the day the
mousquetaire and Raoul fought."

"Dear Andre!" said Pauline,
pressing his hand. She was great-
ly touched by his unobtrusive de-
votion.

" I have often wondered," she
went on musingly, " where those
roses came from." (You see, miss,
a posy was more of an event in this
simple life than in yours, bouquet-
ed and basketed as it is.) " I
have sometimes thought, do you
know, it was " Pauline stopped
suddenly and blushed.

" Raoul, of course," said Andre
quietly.

" No," said Pauline briefly, and
blushed again.

" Not the mousquetaire ?" said
Andre in affected amazement.

" Yes, yes," said Pauline, still
very rosy " that horrid mousque-
taire. I'm sure," she added with a
toss of her pretty head, "he had
impudence enough for anything."

This is the way, messieurs,
that the ungrateful fair for whom
we run all risks characterize our
devotion.

"No," said Andre gently, "it
was not the mousquetaire."

The girl looked up quickly, a
sudden light in her eyes.

" Dear Andre !" she said again,
" you are very good to me."

They were silent awhile, and then
the poet, taking the girl's hand, said
earnestly :

"Listen tome, Pauline. There
is a condition to my gift. It is
that if at the last moment you
should change your mind in regard
to to " he hesitated " to what
we once spoke of, you will send me
back this rose,* and I will find a
way to save you."

Pauline made no answer ; but
she no longer scolded, and Andre
was satisfied that she had agreed.
We shall see if he was right.

On the night before Pauline's
wedding-day a merry and noisy
company of mousquetaires were
gathered in the Cafe Aux Fers
Croises, Some were playing bil-
liards, others baccarat ; all. were
drinking, and nearly all were sing-
ing and shouting at the top of their
lungs. Only our old friend, the
Chevalier d'Aubuisson, sat apart
by himself, very woebegone and
silent.

A comrade, drawing near, slapped
him on the shoulder and said bois-
terously :

" Come, come, my friend, cheer
up. Don't mope your life away
because your light o' love is false."

This delicate counsel the mous-
quetaires greeted with vociferous
applause.

* It will occur to the ingenious reader, as indeed
it has to the ingenious writer, that it would have
been much simpler and more natural to ask Pauline
to write her wishes. So it would. But then Andre
was a poet and a genius, and this is a romance.
Besides, who knows but Pauline might have been
locked up at the critical moment and denied writing
materials ?

846

The Three Roses.

D'Aubuisson sprang to bis feet
with flashing eyes.

"Vicomte de Brissac," be cried,
" hold ! The first who breathes a
word against that angel dies. I
swear it, by this sword !"

The mousquetaires were silent ;
not that they respected his evi-
dent emotion they respected lit-
tle enough, not even themselves
but they did respect his sword.

" Why, man !" said De Brissac at
length, " you don't mean to say
you are in earnest that you would
marry the girl ?"

"To-morrow, if she would have
me. God knows how willingly;
and to-morrow I lose her for ever."

With a groan the chevalier sank
back into his seat and buried his
face in his hands.

" Tut, tut, man !" said De Brissac,
who was naturally kind-hearted.
" If you love her so, why give her
up tamely ? She must like you bet-
ter than this shop-keeper." Our
mousquetaires had a brave con-
tempt for all men who earned their
living honestly. "Why not make
a bold push for it and carry her off
from under his nose ? We'll all
stand by you" " That will we,"
in chorus from the rest "and,
take my word for it, the bird will
thank you for her rescue from the
fowler."

D'Aubuisson looked up quickly,
a gleam of hope in his face. But
his brow soon grew dark; he knew
Pauline too well to believe that she
would sanction or forgive such an
act of violence, however much she
loved him. And he was more than
half persuaded she did love him, in
spite of her rejection, conceited
young mousquetaire that he was ;
he was fully persuaded she did not
love Raoul, both from his own ob-
servation and the statements of
Papa Lamouracq's old housekeeper,

Angelique, whom he had won to
his interests. If he could but bring
her to consent! It was a forlorn
hope, but he would make a last ap-
peal.

He wrote a fervent letter to Pau-
line, proposing, if she agreed, to
place her in charge of his aunt, the
abbess of the Convent of Pont-aux-
Dames, where she would be in safe-
ty until he could marry her. Both
these lovers, you see, had the same
thought, but with very different mo-
tives. This letter he despatched to
his friend the housekeeper, promis-
ing her a royal reward if she got
him an answer.

In an hour's time the answer
came : it was only a withered rose.

D'Aubuisson eyed it in blank
amazement. Was it a cruel sneer, a
mistake, or what ?

" Bah !" cried De Brissac after a
few moments' study of the problem.
" Love has made you dull, comrade,
as it does most men. Don't you
see ? Where is that weed I have
seen'you kissing a hundred times so
insanely ? This is the mate to it,
and the message can have but one
meaning: she is yours."

Angelique confirmed this view,
which our mousquetaire .was only
too willing to accept ; so with
much clinking of glasses and vow-
ing of vows the rescuing party was
made up.

All night long the poet kept
lonely vigil in his attic, waiting and
longing, and hoping against hope, for
the rose which never came. Had it
come he would have been puzzled
to know what steps to take for Pau-
line's deliverance ; but somehow
he felt he would compass it. if he
had to ask the aid of his rival the
mousquetaire, and though the price
were his cousin's hand. But the
long hours dragged wearily on and

The Three Roses.

847

no word came. The dawn found
him still keeping his weary watch,
no longer hoping, but haggard in-
deed and the picture of despair a
most dismal philosopher, who in all
his philosophy could find no com-
fort.

It was a very gay wedding party
that gathered next day at the Mill
of Javelle, then a famous resort for
the Parisian merrymakers, to do
honor to the nuptials of Raoul
Berthier and the lovely Pauline,
less lovely now, alas ! for care and
sorrow had worn her almost to a
shadow of her former self. With
the wedding guests mingled freely an
unusual number of masks ; but their
presence excited little remark and no
objection, for it was one of the fa-
miliar privileges of the time. And
the strangers, whoever they were,
made themselves so agreeable to
the feminine part of the company
that by these, at least, they were
voted a welcome addition to the
pleasures of the day.*

It had been arranged that the
wedding ceremony should be per-
formed by the cure of St. Germain
1'Auxerrois in a little chapel hard
by at ten o'clock, and that the
wedding breakfast should follow.
But ten o'clock passed, and eleven,
and still there was no sign of the
good priest. Noon was drawing
near when Papa Lamouracq swore
roundly that they would wait no
longer, but sit down to the feast at
once, let the marriage take place
when it might a decision hailed
with acclamation by his guests.
Perhaps, too, a glance at Raoul's
condition he had been drinking

* It was the very incident here related, and
which in its main outlines is historically true, that
led to a police regulation forbidding the intrusion
of masked outsiders into wedding parties and other
festivals.

deeply all the morning and through
the previous night may have sug-
gested the wisdom of postponing
the ceremony.

At this moment one of the masks
drew near Pauline, who stood a lit-
tle apart, pale and sorrowful, and
whispered hurriedly in her ear:

" Dearest, come ; it is the time.
A post-chaise waits for us in yon-
der clump. In an hour's time we
shall have you safe behind the
convent walls."

Pauline shrank from him in
mingled astonishment and terror.
Then he showed her a withered
rose ; she knew it at once for the
same she had sent the night before
to Andre upon receiving D'Aubuis-
son's letter. This she had torn to
pieces in a transport of indignation
and bade Angelique carry the pieces
back to the writer. But the very
suggestion so terrified her in her
nervous state with the idea of an at-
tempted abduction such as was only
too common in that lawless time,
that her scruples yielded at last, and
she resolved to take Andre's advice
and seek refuge in a convent.
With this view she commissioned
the housekeeper to carry to her
cousin the signal rose. That crafty
old person, however, shrewdly
surmising that the return of his
own torn letter would win her scant
esteem or guerdon from her em-
ployer, took it upon herself to
give him the rose instead a mes-
sage on which at need she could
put her own construction.

At sight of the flower Pauline
hesitated. Surely this could not
be her cousin ; the figure seemed
much too tall, yet, if not, how came
he by the signal ? In her confusion
and incertitude she suffered herself
to be half-passively drawn by the un-
known in the direction of the thick-
et he spoke of. As she did so the

848

The Three Roses.

other masks drew together about
them a movement unnoticed by
the rest of the company, whose
thoughts and eyes were all intent
upon the loaded and steaming ta-
bles, to which they were on the
point of sitting down under the
trees.

Suddenly a wild scream startled
them. It was from Pauline, who
had just caught sight of Andre's
pale, reproachful face gazing at her
fixedly from the outskirts of the
crowd. At her scream the wedding
guests, headed by Papa Lamouracq,
came hurrying towards the bride
with various cries of anger, aston-
ishment, and menace. The situa-
tion bade fair to be embarrassing.

But the chevalier was a man of
promptness and decision, by no
means one to draw back from an
undertaking once begun. Besides,
to him Pauline was only hysteri-
cal; she must be saved in spite of
herself. Further disguise was use-
less; force only would now pre-
vail. So catching the fainting girl
in his arms as if she were an infant,
and shouting, A moi, mousquetaires !
he pressed on to the carriage.

But he was not to reach it unop-
posed, however. The word mous-
quetaires made plain the whole de-
sign to the dullest-witted in the as-
sembly : the fame of those au-
dacious scamps for similar exploits
was wide-spread. Among the wed-
ding company was more than one
old privateering comrade of Raoul's
who had swung cutlass and board-
ing-hatchet by his side; and it so
chanced that two other wedding
parties had brought to the mill that
same day some scores of sturdy
blacksmiths and fishermen and stout
butchers from the Halles. Armed
with stools and benches, with sticks
and stones, they flung themselves
furiously upon the mousquetaires,

some fifty or sixty in number. The
latter, casting offmask and domino,
and forming a circle about D'Au-
buisson and the unconscious Pau-
line, defended themselves with
vigor.

The fight was long and uncertain,
and many were hurt on both
sides. But disciplined valor won
the day as usual over brute strength,
and in spite of every effort of their
antagonists the mousquetaires slow-
ly but surely made their way towards
the fatal thicket. Papa Lamouracq,
himself wounded more than once,
and disabled, could only gnash his
teeth and howl impotent curses at
the foe; the bridegroom, at his
first step towards the scene of con-
flict, had staggered and fallen, and
was lying on the grass in a drunken
stupor; the little poet, bleeding al-
ready from a ghastly wound in the
forehead, had to be forcibly held
back from flinging himself like an-
other Winkelried upon the bristling
blades of the mousquetaires! All
seemed lost.

But despair, too, has its inspira-
tions. The poet's eye, in a fine
frenzy rolling, seeking everywhere
for a weapon to annihilate his ene-
mies, fell upon one of the steaming
tureens of soup just served for the
wedding feast. Instantly he caught
it up and hurled it, contents and
all, full at the heads of the victo-
rious mousquetaires. Two went
down at once before the shock;
half a score were scalded by the
boiling liquor; double that number
O much more direful and ap-
palling tragedy ! had their splen-
did uniforms stained by good
Mere Leroux's most savory potage.

Shrewdly did Caesar bid his vet-
erans strike only at the faces of
Pompey's dandy cavaliers. Thus
does history repeat itself. Denth
and torture our mousquetaires

The Three Roses.

849

would have faced unflinchingly,
and charged a battery as gaily as
they would have danced a minuet ;
but their clothes were dear to them.
For most of them they were their
only clothes, and what wonder if
at the onslaught of this novel and
terrific weapon they wavered ? So
might the bravest knight who first
faced the terrors of gunpowder
have hesitated without shame to
his courage. Andre's example was
infectious. From all sides was
rained upon the hapless mousque-
taires a shower of soups, ragouts
and entremets, sauces, sausages
and salads, omelettes aux fines
herbes and omelettes sucrces, until
they fairly broke and fled, drip-
ping, not blood, but gravy at every
pore, and dragging with them by
main force their frantic leader, who
wished not to survive the loss of
his Pauline.

VI.

Need the sequel be told ? Of
course the valiant poet was reward-
ed with the hand of her he had
loved so faithfully and rescued so
oddly. Papa Lamouracq was loyal
to his vow that only to the man
who could protect his daughter
should she be given, and it was
Raoul's turn to be sent off in dis-
grace. He sold out his business,
disappeared from the Qtiai de la
Ferraille, and betook himself to his
old trade of privateering, or, many
folks said, something worse. As
for Andre, he became a famous
poet, was presented at court, and
duly enrolled among the glorious
fellowship of wits the great M.
Voltaire deigned to call him con-
frerc, much to Pauline's indigna-
tion, for that great man's notions
were by no means to her taste and
his poems may no doubt still be
VOL. xxvn. 54

found by those who look for them
in the Bibliotheque Imperiale.

What were they, do you ask ?
Truly I have never heard, but he
was a most famous poet.

What was better, he was a most
happy husband, and Pauline never
regretted the chance which made
her his wife instead of Raoul's.
She owned she had always liked
him the best, which I dare say was
true, though I suspect that in her
secret heart she would have liked
a more romantic fashion of being
won, and was not over and above
pleased when Andre's friends, in
allusion to his valor, called him
Marshal Terrine or M. De Bouil-
lon. But she was very happy, es-
pecially when, after her father's
death, they found themselves rich
enough to fulfil that dream of every
good Parisian, a neat little country
house with a lovely garden in the
suburbs.

And the poor mousquetaire? Ah !
miss, you are right. Could we but
have had him for our hero, which
was indeed the author's intention
at the start, as you may see by
looking back to the earlier pages
of this veracious history ! But fate,,
alas ! is not to be gainsaid, and on
the whole, perhaps, Pauline was.
better off with her poet. The che-
valier could not face the ridicule
poured upon him for his share in-
the Battle of the Soup-Kettle, as
the wits called it. He got himselfi
exchanged into a regiment at the
front, and fell fighting gallantly in.
the decisive charge which broke
the English column at Fontenoy.

I forgot to mention that Pau-
line's favorite pastime in her coun-
try life was cultivating roses, with
which her garden in the season
fairly glowed ; and on each anni-
versary of her wedding-day it was
her custom to put by her husband's

850

The English Press and the Pan- Anglic an Synod.

plate at breakfast a little posy failed to receive with an air of the
containing exactly three of the utmost surprise as to where they
flowers in question, which he never could possibly come from.

THE ENGLISH PRESS AND THE P/.N-ANGLICAN SYNOD.

ON the 2d of July a certain, or
ratheruncertain, number of English,
Irish, Scotch, Canadian, and Amer-
ican gentlemen met together in the
long-desecrated chapel of Lambeth
Palace; and on the 27th of the
same month the same gentlemen,
after listening to a discourse in St.
Paul's Cathedral from one of their
number, the " Bishop of Pennsyl-
vania," bade each other farewell.
During the twenty-five days that
had intervened between these two
dates the gentlemen in question
had talked a great deal to and at
each other, sometimes in pub-
lic and sometimes with closed doors.
A general sense of confusion con-
cerning this assemblage seemed to
pervade that portion of the public
mind of London which paid any
attention to it. The London news-
papers, which must notice every-
thing, from the arrest of a pickpock-
et to the reconstruction of an em-
pire, could not agree upon the title
to be given it. In tlfe Morning
Post it was spoken of as " The
Lambeth Conference"; the Specta-
tor called it " The Gathering of the
Bishops"; the Times on one day
entitled it " The Pan-Anglican Sy-
nod, " on another it spoke of it
as " Episcopal Visitors " ; the Pall
Mall Gazette and the Saturday Re-
view agreed upon " The Bishops at
Lambeth " as a sufficiently safe and
non-committal title ; but the form-
er, on one day, went so far as to
venture to speak of the assemblage

as "The Pan-Anglican Confer-
ence." Nor did the reporters of
the journals arrive at a consensus of
opinion concerning the number of
these gentlemen ; one authority re-
porting them as numbering " some-
thing like eighty-five prelates,"
while another placed the assem-
blage at "about one hundred," and
a third, with greater precision,
spoke of " about one hundred bish-
ops and four archbishops." A still
more notable diversity of opinion
prevailed as to the purpose for
which these gentlemen had come
together some of the writers in
the journals insisting that the affair
was a mere social gathering ; oth-
ers that it was a species of debating
society composed exclusively of
Anglican bishops ; others that it
was a conclave to devise combined
action " to put down the Ritual-
ists " ; others that its purpose was
to " sell out " to the pope, if perad-
venture he would buy ; others that
it covered a scheme for the " cor-
porate unity " of the Protestant
Episcopal Churches in Great Bri-
tain, Ireland, the colonies, and
America, with the Archbishop of
Canterbury as patriarch. The
journals which care most for the
respectability and perpetuation of
the Anglican body besought the
gentlemen to content themselves
with talking, taking tea, and smok-
ing in Mrs. Tait's back garden, and
not to attempt to do anything else.
" We recommend the bishops," said

The English Press and the Pan- Anglic an Synod.

351

the Spectator, "not to attempt a
pastoral, as they did last time ; not
to try their hands on points of
creed; not to suppose that for any
purpose of defining religious belief
they will be strengthened by this
concourse, if not rather weakened."
They might, perhaps, discuss "what
concession could be made to pagan
and heathen converts brought up
under a very different morality
from the Christian " as, for in-
stance, we suppose, whether a
Turkish convert might not be per-
mitted to indulge in his peculiar
ideas regarding marriage, and
whether a converted Thug should
not be allowed to strangle a victim
occasionally. Or they might even
venture to discuss " the practica-
bility or impracticability of church
discipline " that is, whether it be
" practicable " or " impracticable "
for a clergyman to refuse to marry
a divorced person or ' to exclude
an unrepentant murderer from the
communion-table ; or for a bishop
to prevent one of his clergy fr*m
turning the communion service
into a Methodist love-feast, or an-
other from making it a close imi-
tation of the holy sacrifice of
the Mass. They might "discuss"
these tilings, but they must not act
upon them, and they must above
all refrain from " discussing creeds."
" We strongly recommend the Pan-
Anglican Synod," exclaimed the
Spectator, " to renounce entirely
the superstition which attaches to
such assemblages of bishops a sort
of divine skill in discriminating
truth from falsehood. Indeed, we
believe them to be under very spe-
cial incapacities for any such dis-
crimination." Honest and true ad-
vice, but hard for the so-called
bishops to bear, as coming from a
journal warmly attached to Angli-
canism and edited by two promi-

nent and zealous members of that
church. No discussion of creeds !
no discrimination of truth from
falsehood ! Why, here is the Angli-
can body throughout the English-
speaking peoples, with a clergy no
two of whom can agree upon the most
vital dogmas of the Christian faith ;
who are disputing with each other
and befogging the minds of their
people with their discordant
"views" upon the subject of bap-
tismal regeneration ; upon the
sanctity and indissolubility of the
marriage relation ; upon the real
presence of Jesus Christ in the Eu-
charist. If these were true bish-
ops, if their church were really a
church and anything but a state-
born and worldly association,
these bishops would not have
separated without not only " dis-
cussing " but defining the faith and
providing for its preservation and
enforcement.

They took the Spectator's advice.
They took it all the more readily,
perhaps, because the Times point-
ed out to them that " these highly
respectable gentlemen from the
antipodes and the trofics, from
the Transvaal and the Falls of
Niagara," must make up their
minds that to eat "a dinner at
the Mansion House" was the
most important work they would
have to perform, and that in " the
social assemblages " that woul'd
follow they would " find more
benefit than from their public con-
ferences." The Times frowned
upon the suggestion that the Pri-
mate of All England countenan-
ces, even tacitly, the suggestion
that he should be recognized as
the metropolitan of the Anglican
Church ; the Saturday Review ridi-
culed the opinion that "the reli-
ance of the independent communi-
ties upon England might be regu-

The English Press and the Fan-Anglican Synod.

lated and strengthened by declar-
ing that the Archbishop of Canter-
bury was a patriarch, and Lord
Penzance, we suppose, family law-
yer all round," and went to the ex-
tent of comparing the church to an
" Odd-fellows' society." In the
face of chaff like this the gentle-
men from the antipodes and Nia-
gara Falls, as well as those from
Lincolnshire and Edinburgh, turn-
ed a deaf ear to the appeals alike
of Ritualistic working-men and
Low-Church green-grocers, and
wisely contented themselves with
eating the lord mayor's dinner, go-
ing to sober evening parties, preach-
ing sermons in London churches,
and devoting a few hours each week
to the discussion, in church-con-
gress fashion, of such thrilling and
vitally important themes as " Vol-
untary Boards of Arbitration," or
" the position of Anglican chaplains
on the Continent of Europe and
elsewhere." To cap the climax,
during the session of the confer-
ence the first anniversary of " the
Reformed Episcopal Church of
England " was held in Newman
Hall's cVftrch in London. The
Reformed Episcopal Church of
England, it may not be gener-
ally known, was imported into
England from the United States,
and had its birth by the secession
of Bishop Cummings, Mr. Cheney
of Chicago, and some others from
the Protestant Episcopal Church.
The Reformed Episcopal Church
of England has a bishop one Mr.
Gregg and at this anniversary
meetirg Bishop Gregg said :

" The Church of England might be
likened to a ship. When lie joined it
he thought he was going straight to a
Protestant port, but he afterwards found
that the ship had turned its head, had
altered its course, and was now bound
straight for Rome. For this reason, as
he did not want to go to Rome, he

thought it best to come out of it. Some
people had asked, ' Why not remain in
it and endeavor to alter its course ?
Why not try to reform it?' His answer
was that others had tried to do it and
had failed, and therefore he had come to
his present conclusion. After denounc-
ing the evils of sacerdotalism Dr. Gregg
said that he considered the present
Prayer-book was the cause of many of
the existing evils. The Reformed Epis-
copal Church had therefore entirely re-
vised it, freed it from all sacerdotalism,
had thoroughly uprooted all its danger-
ous dogmas, and the revised edition
now in press would shortly be issued."

The bishops at Lambeth were
so fearful of disobeying the injunc-
tions of the Spectator not to '' dis-
cuss creeds," or to attempt to " dis-
criminate between truth and error,"
that they did not even venture to
rebuke Bishop Gregg or to take
any steps against this schism. In-
deed, how can they be sure that he
is not right and that they are not
wrong?

The first Pan-Anglican Synod,
convoked eleven years ago, the
London Times says, "excited some
curiosity, mingled with more ridi-
cule and remonstrances." But it
discharged its " apparent func-
tions " to the satisfaction of all
concerned. That is

" It afforded to a great many hard-
working gentlemen the opportunity of
taking a holiday under the guise of an
episcopal progress. A certain number
among them it enabled to render an ac-
count in person to their constituents in
England of the value they had received
for the funds entrusted to their hands,
and to beg for more. Over and above
these material objects, the synod pro-
fessed its aim to preserve Anglican
churchmen throughout the world in
theological harmony. This, too, it ac-
complished, at least negatively. Eng-
lish churchmen were able to testify that
Protestant bishops from the east and
from the west resembled each other very
closely in demeanor and in their forms
of thought. They even had, surmount-
ing the obstacles of their local accent,

The English Press and tlic Pan-Anglican Synod. 853

the very tone of voice which no other
body of clergy throughout the civilized
world can boast, and which gives Church-
of-England ministers a virtual monopoly
of the clerical sore throat. Our visitors,
whose episcopal residences and cathe-
drals are scattered over the globe, carried
home, we believe, an equally good re-
port of church conservatism in the
mother-country "

But the subtle mind of the late
Bishop of Winchester, who was the
reputed author of this episcopal
picnic, had deeper views at bottom.
He intended the first Pan-Anglican
Synod as an answer to the sneer
that the Church of England is a
local accident, without any princi-
ple of spiritual authority, growth,
or development. The synod was
held, but the Bishop of Winches-
ter was disappointed: the bishops
would do nothing; they would not
even order Bishop Colenso to the
stake; and, "as clergymen, what
they manifested above all else was
that the Anglican Church in Eng-
land and the Anglican Church out
of England resemble each other
almost to identity. The special
peculiarities of the Church of Eng-
land come into even more promi-
nence abroad than at home. We
are more impressed with the spirit
of the state church carved out by
King Henry VIII. when we meet
with its foreign professors than we
are in the country of its birth."
How biting is this sarcasm, and
how deeply it must cut into the
heart of the Anglican or the Ameri-
can Episcopalian who stills fancies
that the mind of England is true to
Anglicanism !

The Lambeth Conference which
has lately ended was as barren of
results as was its predecessor. On
the day before its first meeting a
number of the American and co-
lonial bishops went down to Can-
terbury, where Dr. Tait, perhaps as

an undress rehearsal of his antici-
pated elevation to the post of Pro-
testant Pope, had "the chair of
St. Augustine " brought forth, en-
throned himself in it, and delivered
a discourse. The audacity of this
performance was extreme; perhaps
the thoughts which it must have
suggested to the spectators will
yield their proper fruit. In face of
the disjecta membra of a creed be-
fore him Dr. Tait had the extreme
rashness, not to use a harsher term,
to say in this*discourse that he and
his hearers " had advantages which
the great St. Augustine had not,"
for " they stood nearer to the pure,
primitive Christianity of the apos-
tles than St. Augustine stood, . . ."
and that St. Augustine's faith, which
is that of the whole Catholic Church
to-day, was " a sort of semi-pa-
gan Christianity." St. Augustine
preached in England in the sixth
century; Dr. Tait talks in the nine-
teenth ; which is " nearer," chrono-
logically, " pure, primitive Chris-
tianity," and which is nearer, doc-
trinally, the faith that St. Augus-
tine received from Rome or that
which Dr. Tait has received from
Henry VIII. and Queen Eliza-
beth ?

On the next day, July 2, the
conference opened at Lambeth
Palace. There were "something
like eighty-five prelates present," of
whom forty-three were from the
colonies and the United States.
It seems that there are ten bishops
unattached, living in and around
London, who had expected to be
invited and who were disgusted at
being left out; but it is explained
that " the primate felt that the line
must be drawn somewhere, and
these prelates had no jurisdiction,
even of a delegated character," so
he drew it at them. Before enter-
ing the chapel to receive holy com-

854 The English Press and the Pan- Anglican Synod.

munion the bishops adopted the
following declaration :

" We, bishops of Christ's Holy Cath-
olic Church, in visible communion with
the churches of England and Ireland,
professing the faith delivered to us in
Holy Scripture, maintained by the prim-
itive church and by the fathers of the
blessed Reformation, now assembled by
the good providence of God at the archi-
episcopal palace of Lambeth, under the
presidency of the Primate of All England,
desire, first, to give hearty thanks to
Almighty God for having thus brought
us together for common counsel and
united worship ; secondly, we desire to
express the deep sorrow with which we
view the divided condition of the flock
of Christ throughout the world, ardently
longing for the fulfilment of the prayer
of our Lcrd, ' That all may be one, as
thou, Father, art in me and I ia thee,
that they may also be one in us, that the
world might believe that thou hast sent
me '; and, lastly, we do here solemnly re-
cord our conviction that unity will be
more effectually promoted by maintain-
ing the faith in its purity'and integrity
as taught in the Holy Scriptures, held by
the primitive church, summed up in the
creeds, and affirmed by the undisputed
general councils and by drawing each
of us closer to our common Lord by giv-
ing ourselves to much prayer and inter-
cession, by the cultivation of a spirit of
chanty and a love of the Lord's ap-
pearing."

Is it not extraordinary that men
of intelligence will persist in befog-
ging themselves with phrases about
" the deep sorrow'' with which they
view the divided condition of the
flock of Christ throughout the
world, and their longing for the
fulfilment of the prayer of our
Lord for the unity of his people ?
The flock of Christ is not divided ;
it has never been divided, and can
never be divided for the reason
that he not only prayed for its
unity but willed its unity, and pro-
vided infallible means for the pre-
servation of its unity.

The communion service over,
Dr. Thomson, the Archbishop of

York, pronounced a somewhat re-
markable discourse, in which Cath-
olic truth, Protestant error, and
fanciful theory were strangely mix-
ed, from the words of St. Paul,
"But when Peter was come to
Antioch I withstood him to the
face, because he was to be blamed."
He exposed the fallacy of the theo-
ry that the great apostle of the gen-
tiles and the first Supreme Pontiff
were in antagonism to each other,
and he did this ably; but he ended
his sermon with the following ab-
surd passage :

" More than one writer has been pleas-
ed to point out that in the first century
there were three periods, in which three
apostles Peter, Paul, and John pre-
dominated in succession ; and they
think they can trace the same succession
in the larger field of church history, so
that the Petrine period ends at the Re-
formation, and the Pauline succeeds it,
whilst the time of St. John is supposed
to be the beginning. There is something
fanciful in this arrangement. Yet pardon
the fancy for the truth that underlies it.
And when Peter falters, impulsive, and
is inconsistent with himself, and Paul
withstands him to the face, let the third
apostle enter on the scene and remind
us that we can afford to use the largest
chanty whilst we hold still the firmest
trust. His contribution to the eternal
diapason of the church's faith and love
shall be this: 'Whosoever shall confess
that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwell-
eth in him and he in Gcd. . . . And
this commandment have we from him,
that he who loveth God love his brother
also ' (i John iv. 15, 21)."

It will not do to set up St. Paul
as the John the Baptist of Luther
and Henry VIII. 's Reformation ;
nor will it do to assume that Peter,
whose province it is to confirm the
faith of his brethren, " falters and
is inconsistent with himself," or
that the church has waited until
now to understand the words of St.
John.

But here the curtain falls upon

New Publications.

855

the public proceedings of the con-
ference. They retired from the
profane sight of men, and, shut up
in company with "four reporters
pledged to secrecy," and who duly
gave to the journals every day ac-
counts of all that happened, they
spent a few hours of each day in
discussing " not creeds," but
" modern forms of infidelity " ;
" the best mode of maintaining
unity among the various churches
of the Anglican communion "; "Vol-
untary Boards of Arbitration for
churches to which such an arrange-
ment may be applicable"; "the
relation to each other of missionary
bishops and of missionaries in va-
rious branches of the Anglican com-
munity acting in the same country ";
and " the position of Anglican

chaplains and chaplaincies on the

Continent of Europe and else-
where." Nothing could be less in-
teresting than much of this ; and
the prelates were no doubt glad
when all was over, and when they
closed their meetings by a sermon
from the Bishop of Pennsylvania in
St. Paul's Cathedral.

As is plain from the comments
already given by the leading organs
of English opinion, the second Pan-
Anglican Synod attracted even
less attention and more general
contempt than the first. When
men come to ask themselves what
has been accomplished by the twen-
ty-five days' session besides tea and
talk, what is the only answer? It
is this : the synod ended, as it be-
gan, in nothing.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

ETHICS, OR MORAL PHILOSOPHY. By
Walter H. Hill, S.J., Professor of Phi-
losophy in the St. Louis University,
author of Logic and Ontology, or Gen-
eral Metaphysics. Baltimore: Murphy
& Co.; London : Washbourne. 1878.
We rejoice to learn that Father Hill's
first volume of the course of philosophy
has met with great success. We have
been long desiring to see the second
part in regular order, namely, the Spe-
cial Metaphysics. This is, undoubted-
ly, the- most difficult part to treat in a
satisfactory manner, as well as the one
most controverted among Catholic wri-
ters, particularly as regards cosmology.
Precisely on this account we were espe-
cially curious to hear Father Hill's ex-
position of the debated questions, and
perhaps this is also the reason why he
has postponed this part of his work, and
published first his Ethics. Ethics is
equally important, and even more gene-
rally necessary and useful. We are,
therefore, glad to welcome the Ethics of
Father Hill, hoping that he may hasten,

as much as his heavy labors in the work
of teaching and in that of the sacred
ministry will permit, the completion of
his Metaphysics.

This volume is, like the first one, an
English text-book of the same grade
and quality with our standard Latin
text-books in philosophy. It is suited
for the educated reader and for the
higher classes in college. Both volumes
are above the capacity of pupils of a
lesser degree of intellectual develop-
ment and instruction. If it is possible
to bring the study of philosophy down
to the level of this class of pupils with-
out reducing the science to a merely
nominal and superficial condition, the
text-book fitted for this purpose still re-
mains a desideratum. For the general
reader and the pupil who is able to un-
derstand it this manual of ethics will
prove of great service. It has always
been the rule and practice of the illus-
trious Society of Jesus to follow in in-
struction the doctrine of St. Thomas, as
understood by the great body of Catho-

856

New Publications.

lie theologians and philosophers, in all
those particulars in which such a com-
mon understanding exists. In ethics,
happily, there does exist such a common
and generally accepted doctrine in re-
gard to all chief and important topics,
and there is consequently a great degree
of unity and harmony in the teaching
imparted by Catholic professors to their
pupils. Without doubt it is the safest
and most practical method to make the
text-books of theology and philosophy,
and the lectures of the class-room, con-
form to this common doctrine. Deeper
and more original and free discussions
of difficult and undecided or imperfectly-
elucidated questions belong to another
class of works.

Father Hill's text-book may be taken
as a safe and sound exponent of the sys-
tem of ethics contained in our approved
Latin manuals and taught in our semi-
naries and colleges. In substance its
doctrine is scholastic, the doctrine of Ar-
istotle, St. Thomas, Suarez, Bellarmine,
Liberatore, and the generality of similar
authors of approved reputation. The
great number of original texts, with trans-
lations, which are interwoven with the
author's own exposition, gives the ordi-
nary reader a notable advantage, by
making him acquainted with the great
writers on ethics, and furnishing a guar-
antee of the fidelity with which their ideas
are presented by the author.

A minute criticism of the work before
us in its minor details would occupy
too much space for a mere notice. We
are obliged, therefore, to content our-
selves with a general expression of our
favorable opinion of the manual as a
whole, and of the treatment given to the
principal topics in its several parts, and
the briefest possible notation of particu-
lar points of remark. The first chapter,
on the Ultimate End of Man, presents
sufficiently for a treatise of such limited
compass the twofold relation of humani-
ty by nature and by grace to God as the
Final Cause. One statement (p. 21), that
" it is not simply impossible for God to
make a creature so perfect that intuitive
vision of the divine essence would be
connatural to it," we cannot concur in,
and it is contrary to the common opin-
ion that grace elevates its subject " su-
per onmem naturam creatam atque crea-
Inlciii" so admirably defended by Father
Mazzella in his De Deo Creante. We
think, also, that the author confuses the

abstractive with the discursive process
in the same context, and refer to Li-
beratore's exposition of the nature of
angelic knowledge and the similar know-
ledge proper to the state of separated
spirits, in his work Deli Uo/no, for our
reasons of dissent from the exposition of
Father Hill. The qualification of "un-
natural," used in respect to a desire of
the soul to see God intuitively, on page
23, seems to us objectionable, on ac-
count of the use of a term at least ambi-
guous, and liable to be taken as signi-
fying a positive opposition between na-
ture and a final term which transcends
its specific active force. The remainder
of the whole division of General Ethics,
comprising the following chapters : ii.,
Action of Man as a Rational Being ; iii ,
Principles of Moral Goodness ; iv., The
Passion's; v., The Virtues; vi., Law;
vii , Civil Law; viii., Conscience, is in
our opinion admirable, and we find no-
thing to criticise. We are particularly
pleased to see that the author refutes a
common fallacy that sin is an infinite
evil, meriting an infinite punishment.
It is most important at this time, when
the doctrine of endless punishment is so
generally and violently assailed, that the
exaggerations and fallacious arguments
which cling around it should be cleared
away, and only that which is the real
doctrine of revelation be presented, sus-
tained by rational arguments which are
solid, which hss been done by Libera-
tore, and also by Father Hill in his sec-
tion of this subject.

In the second part, on Special Ethics,
four chapters are included : i., Rights
and Duties ; ii., Special Duties ; iii., Man
as a Social Being ; iv., Civil Society.
We are glad to see that Father Hill dis-
tinctly asserts the rights of rational crea-
tures before God, a most important
point against Calvinistic, Jansenistic,
and rigoristic exaggerations of the doc-
trine of God absolute dominion and
divine sovereignty, which make theology
odious and drive many minds toward
atheism in their intellectual despair.
The question of veracity, lying, and men-
tal reservation, which Grotius said made
him sweat, is too briefly treated for a
satisfactory enucleation of its difficulties,
especially as the author departs from
the common opinion of Catholic moral-
ists. We are rather disposed to favor
his view, which has strong reasons in
its support, though not prepared to ex-

New Publications.

857

press an opinion that it is altogether
complete and sufficient.

In treating the great question of civil
society, with the subordinate question of
the origin and legitimacy of government,
etc., the author has shown great judg-
ment and discrimination. He adheres
to the theory of Suarez, Bellarmine, and
the great body of the ablest Catholic au-
thors, respecting political society. Ul-
tra-monarchical and ultra-democratic
theories are equally indefensible, and
both are mischievous. We trust that
loyal citizens of our republic who are
reasonably conservative will find evi-
dence, in Father Hill's calm and mode-
rate statements, that the Catholic reli-
gion is admirably suited to give stabi-
lity to our own national institutions, not-
withstanding its total opposition to the
European liberalism and radicalism that
would fain overthrow the constitutions
and governments of the Old World.

In respect to style, the main point in
a work of this kind is to make its ideas
clearly and distinctly intelligible. The
author, in general, has succeeded in his
effort to accomplish this result as well
as the necessity of adhering ^to the
phraseology of Latin authors would per-
mit. Sometimes, however, succinctness
and condensation produce ambiguity
and obscurity a defect which we sus-
pect in some instances is partly or en-
tirely owing to errors in printing.
Again, there are some words used in a
way which is not conformed to the Eng-
lish idiom as, for instance, the word
"avert," used intransitively, and the
phrase to " put an action." There are
many minor faults of this sort which can
be easily corrected in a second edition.
Let us, by all means, have the other
volume as soon as possible. The whole,
when complete, will serve a most im-
portant end, by extending among intel-
ligent readers of English books a know-
ledge and taste for scholastic philoso-
phy. This taste, when awakened, will
demand much larger and more thorough
works on the same subjects. We think,
moreover, that those who write these
works must break away from the tram-
mels of an artificial Latinized style and
write in idiomatic English, like Dr.
Newman and the best writers in the Dub-
lin Review and Month. We desire to
see works on Catholic philosophy which
are as fine specimens of pure English
idiom as those written by Libcratore in

his native language are of a charming
and literary Italian style.

I. A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES

FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES,

AND COLLEGES. By John R. G. Has-
sard, author of Life of Archbishop
Hugh<s, Life of Pi us IX., etc. I vol.
i2mo, illustrated.

II. AN INTRODUCTORY HISTORY OF THE
UNITED STATES FOR THE USE OF
SCHOOLS. Arranged on the Catecheti-
cal Plan, i vol. i6mo, illustrated.
New York : The Catholic Publication
Society Co. 1878.

In this history Mr. Hassard has per-
formed a very rare feat. He has made a
school-book which, while being in every
respect a thorough school-book, is full
of interest from cover to cover. There
is not a dull page in it.

Of course the first thing that com-
mends this book to Catholic teachers
and students is that it is written by a
Caiholic, and Mr. Hassard's eminent
qualifications for the preparation of such
a work are too well known to need any
mention here. The part that Catholics
played, not only in the discovery of this
continent but in its exploration and
colonization ; the part borne by them in
the War of Independence and in the
later history of these United States, has
been carefully forgotten, or slurred
over, or misrepresented, or omitted alto-
gether in the average history set in a
boy's hand at school. This is not his-
tory ; and to remedy this capital defect,
we take it, has been the chief object of
Mr. Hassard's book.

He has done his work thoroughly and
in an excellent manner. He is nowhere
aggressive ; he is simply historical from
first to last. Where Catholicity comes
in he gives it its place ; where it does
not enter he never drags it in. He is
concerned with facts, and he attends
chiefly to them. How he has succeeded
in grouping them together, in collecting
the tangled threads of events that are
scattered over a vast continent, where
so many nations and tribes of men and
forms of religion and government con-
tended for the mastery ; the patient
skill with which he has woven these in-
to a bright, clear, and picturesque whole,
can only be judged by those who read
the book, which, for our own part, we

86o

New Publications.

atmosphere of Lyons and finally finding
its perfection among the hills of Algeria,
these mournful souls may, in the midst
of the seeming decay they weep, find
consolation in a new name added to a
saintly list that in future years may make
some Kenelm Digby sigh for the earnest
and active faith of the church in the
nineteenth century.

And the devoted Agarithe has found in
Lady Herbert a loving biographer, who
writes with a fervor and simplicity
worthy of the high humility of the holy
heroine.

LEGENDS OF HOLY MARY. Baltimore :
John Murphy & Co. 1878.

As we read the preface to this little
book we feel our weapons of criticism
trembling in their sheath, since, should
we use them, we find ourselves well-
nigh denied any seat in that kingdom
whereof Holy Mary is queen ; while our
critic's spoils lie out of our reach safe in
her hands amid whose lilies, as once
wrote St. Bernard, our earthly offerings
lose their stain and wear only the white-
ness of the heavenly bloom.

The writer of the present volume has
gathered from ancient gardens, in the
devotional spirit of old-time minnesin-
ger, a nosegay of legends breathing the
pervading presence of her who is the
'' mother of fair love, and of fear, and of
knowledge, and of holy hope," the ever-
merciful mother of the poor children of
Eve.

Few can fail to gather some sweetness
from such a nosegay one that among its
blossoms counts that fair one of Pro-
vence whose perfect perfume fills one of
Adelaide Procter's most perfect poems
teaching the completeness of the mercy
of God :

" Only Heaven

Means crn<wned, not vanquished, when it says,
' Forgiven !' "

THE YOUNG CATHOLIC.

The Young Catholic, published by the
Catholic Publication Society Co., enters
this month on its ninth year. It may be
that some persons who are interested in
this kind of literature have not yet seen
the Young Catholic. For their benefit we
would say that it is a monthly paper of
eight pages for children and voung peo-
ple. It is finely illustrated and filled

with original matter that is at the same
time entertaining, instructive, and edi-
fying.

As a literary work, our young people
may well be proud of the Yonn^ Catholic.
It can take its place beside the best lite-
rature of that kind in our country.

It is most suitable for Sunday-schools,
convent schools, etc., and the low price
at which it is published brings it within
the reach of all. The fo flowing is the
table of contents for September:

Thinking over the Actions of the Day ;
illustrated. Hero Priests. The Spar-
row and her Children. Twilight Talks.
Beautiful Things. The Mocking-Bird ;
illustrated. Heroism of a Little Girl.
The Holy Rupert of Bingen. What is
He? illustrated. Talk by the Fireside ;
illustrated. Insects of August. A Lake
Asleep. The Little Cricket. Perils of
Missionary Life; illustrated. Stockings.
The Farmboys, Chap. III. Hymn to St.
Aloysius, with music, composed by a
pupil of Loretto Convent, Enniscorthy,
Ireland. A Letter from " Manha from
the Country." Letters from " Uncle
Ned's Sunbeams." Enigmas, Riddles,
etc.

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WE need scarcely call the attention of
our readers to the new serial from the
pen of Miss Kathleen O'Meara, which
has just begun, and which will run
through our next volume. We have no
doubt that Pearl will prove to our rea-
ders, as it has proved to uf, to be by far
the finest story that this accomplished
writer has yet given us.

AP
2

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