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THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

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_ MONTHLY MAGAZINE

GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE,

VOL. XXXVI.
OCTOBER, 1882, TO MARCH, 1883.

NEW YORK

THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY CO.,
9 Barclay Street.

1883.

tllk NATION PRESS, 27 ROSt StREEt, K'fiW VORtfj

CONTENTS.

A Brave Life. Jane Dickens, . . . 365 Guido Monaco.' Ella Edes, . . . . 354

A Crisis in Congregational Theology. The Henry VIII., Incidents of the Reign of. S 1 .

Rev. A . F. Hewit, 289 Hubert Burke, 65

^Esthetics, A New Theory of. C. M. Home Rule, The Fact oL Margaret F. Sul-

O^Leary, 471 livan, 563

All Saints at Vienna, The Festival of. Mary Impending Issue of the School Question, The. .

Alice Seymour, 245 The Rev. I. T, Hecker, . . . 849

A London Literary Pilgrimage. A. J. Faust, 699 Incidents of the Reign of Henry VIII. 5.

Among our Diplomats. Jo/in MacCarthy, . 599 Hubert Burke, ...... 65

Ancient Art and Modern Thought. The Rev* In the Next House. Sara T* Smith, . , 224

H. J. Heuser, 589 James Florant Meline, 52

A New but False Plea for Public Schools. Jem ; or, " It brings Luck," t . . 550

The Rev. I. T. Hecker, . . . .412 Letter-Book of an Irish Viceroy, The. W. f\

Anti-Catholic Spirit of Certain Writers, The. Dennehy, ....... 278

Eugene L. Didier, 658 Literature and the Laity. John R. G. Hat-

A Real Barry Lyndon. Alfred M, Wil- sard, I

Hams, 194 Location of the Earthly Paradise. The Very

A Scrap of Unwritten History. Julia C, Rev. James H. Defouri, .... 778

Smallcy, . ..... 345 Meline, James Flotant, 92

Auvergne, Mountain Legends of. M. P* Memory and its Diseases. C. M. O'Leary, . 100

Thompson, 751 Modern German Religious Poets. A'. M.

Bancroft's (Mr.) New Volumes. W,J.Ten- Johnston, 764

ney, . 219 Monks and Nuns at the " Reformation," The.

Catholic Element in English Life and Letters, S. Hubert Burke, 239

The. Jokn MacCarthy, .... 250 Mountain Legends of Auvergne. M. P.

Comedy of Conference, The, . . 9, 185, 330, 532 Thompson, 751

Comet, The Great. The Rev. George M. Mozley's Reminiscences. Os-wald Keatinge, 438

Sea-rle, 406 Mr. Bancroft's New Volumes. IV. J, Tenney, 219

Congregational Theology, A Crisis in. The M. Renan an Infidel ? Was it Love of the

Rev. A . I-. Heivit, 289 Truth made, 829

Crusades, The. Hugh P. McElrone, . . 112 Origen, The Eschatology of. The Rev. A.

Dante and his Portrait at Ravenna, The F. Heivit, 577, 731

Tomb of, 352 Our Lady of the Lilacs. Elizabtth Ray-

Daylight at Last. Christine Faber, . . 612 mond-Barker, xjg

Dr. Pusey: His Life and Doings. Oswald Out of the West. Henrietta M. K. Bro-wnell,

Keatinge, 810 302, 502, 668

English Life and Letters, The Catholic Ele- Oxford and Cambridge. Arthur Feather-

ment in. John MacCarthy, . . . 250 stone Marshall, 2O j

English Lower Orders, The. Arthur Fenth- Paradise, The Location of the Earthly. The

erstone Marshall, 796 Very Rev. James H. Defouri, . . . 778

Eschatology of Origen, The. The Rev. A. Public Schools, A New but False Plea for.

F. Hewit, 577, 721 The Rev. I. T. Hecker, . . . .412

Festival of All Saints at Vienna, The. Mary Puy-en-Velay. M. P. Thompson, . . . 264

Alice Seymour, 245 " Reformation," The Monks and Nuns at the.

German Religious Poets, Modern R. M. S. Hubert Burke, 239

Johnston 764 Saints, The Good Humor of. Agnes Rep-

God or Nothing. Oswald Keatinge, . . 145 flier, 127

Good Humor of the Saints, The. Agnes Rep- " Salvation Army " in Great Britain, The.

plier, 127 Henry Bellingham, 174

Greatest of Mediaeval Hymns, The. A. J. School Grievance and its Remedy^ The. The

Faust, Ph.D 38 Rev. Walter Elliott, . . . .713

CONTENTS.

School Question, The Impending Issue of

the. The Rev. I. T. Hecker, . . .849

Sir Thomas More and his Times. S. Hutert

Burke, 627

St. Anne de Beaupre'. Anna T. Sadlier, . 85

St. Peter's Chair in the First Two Centuries,

The Fact of Home Rule. Margaret F. Sut*

livan, . . 563

The Great Comet. The Rev. George M.

Searle, 406

The Pilot's Daughter. William Seton, . 41

The Poor Millionaire. William Seton,*-. . 460

Part Third. The Rev. A. F. Hewit, . 482 Tracadie, New Brunswick, At. A. M. Pope, 737

POETRY.

A Ballad of Things Beautiful. Inigo Deane,

S.J. 126

A Legend of Christmas Eve. Edith M, Cook, 499
A Railway Accident. " Delta" , . . 138
Around the Hearth. Julia CfRyan, . . 433
De Contemptu Vitx Frasentis. A lots Ray-
mond, 598

Evening Hymn. M. J. A. McCaffery, . . 549
Pan is Dead. C. M. O'Keeffe, . . .458

Powerscourt Waterfall. C. M. O'Keeffe, . 393
St. Cecilia and the Organ. The Rev. Alfred

Young, ....... 351

Saint Magdalene, 83

The Seven Dead. D. Connolly, . . . 422

The Sphinx. Agnes Repplier, . . . 531

To a Water-Lily, 193

Twilight Stars. Richard Storn Willis, . 736

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

A Catholic Priest and Scientists, . . . 719 Pearls from the Casket of the Sacred Heart of

A History of England in the Eighteenth Cen- ' Jesus, 288

tury, 139, 428 Pen and Lute, 859

A Memoir of the late Father A. H. Law, Rachel's Fate, and other Tales, . . .431

S.J., 857 Report of the Association for Befriending

A Short Sketch of Modern Philosophies, . 574 Children and Young Girls, . . . 573

A Thought of St. Teresa's for Every Day in Sacred Rhetoric, 575

the Year, a88 Safeguards of Divine Faith in the Presence of

Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac, . 573 Sceptics, etc., 430

Ceremonial for the Use of the Catholic Secret Societies, 144

Churches in the United States, . . . 575 Solid Virtue, 720

Christmas Rhymes and New Year's Chimes, 431 Some of the Causes of Modern Religious Scep-

Conferences on the Blessed Trinity, . . 574 ticism, 858

Constitution and Proceedings of the Catholic Stephanie, 720

Total Abstinence Union of America, . 284 The Blind Friend of the Poor, . . . 858

Die Holle, 855 The Groundwork of the Christian Virtues, . 426

Dr. Brownson's Works, . . . . .427 The Holy Exercise of the Presence of God, . 576

Elfinland, 431 The Illustrated Catholic Family Annual for

Eliane, 141 ^83, a86

Esquisse Biographique de 1'Archeveque Per- The Irish Question, 573

che, .432 The Life and Times of the Most Rev. John

Growth in the Knowledge of Our Lord, . . 573 MacHale, 143

Half-Hours with the Saints and Servants of The Life of Mary Ward, 143

God, 144 The Longfellow Calendar for 1883, . . . 57

Herbert Spencer on the Americans, . . 719 The Mystery Solved, 570

Kerney's Compendium of Ancient and Modern The Sacred Heart of Jesus, . . . .144

History, 432 The Sodality Director's Manual, . . . 857

Lexique* de la Langue Iroquoise, . . .576 The Works and Words of our Saviour, . . 856

Life of the Rev. Father Herman, . , .859 True Wayside Tales, 858

Little Hinges to Great Doors, .... 860 Uncle Ned's Stories for Boys and Girls, . . 288

Maxims of St. Francis of Sales, . . .720 Uncle Pat's Cabin 142

Names that Live in Catholic Hearts, . . 144 Violation by the Managers of the House of

New-Year Greetings 720 Refuge oi the Religious Rights ot Catho-

Oswin the baxon, 142 lie Minors, 427

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXVI. OCTOBER, 1882. No. 211.

LITERATURE AND THE LAITY.

THE excellent series of Lectures and Discourses by the Bishop
of Peoria, noticed in THE CATHOLIC WORLD a short time ago,
opens appropriately with an address on Religious Indifference.
That, for Catholics, is the characteristic danger of the age. Out-
side the church the case is somewhat complicated. A stolid un-
concern for the practical side of religion, as well as for nearly
all the points of denominational controversy, is combined with a
great deal of speculative interest in the fundamental questions of
the existence of God and the origin of the universe. A ration-
alistic writer has recently declared that " the popular instinct
which is keenly alive to all that affects religion is at the same
time pretty indifferent to the fate of theology." We cannot ac-
cept his distinction between religion and theology ; but, using
the words in the sense intended, it must be admitted that they
express quite accurately the state of mind of a very large part
of the non-Catholic world of Europe and America. Disputes
between sects have lost their bitterness because in the eyes of so
many they have lost reality. There is little discussion of the
claims of rival churches, the divinity of Christ, the inspiration of
the Scriptures, the necessity of sacraments, the rule of faith ;
even the great question between Rome and the " Reformation "
hardly disturbs the public serenity. And yet there is a certain
kind of religious speculation for which people have an extraor-
dinary fondness. They have ceased to care what God requires
of them ; the majority have hardly brought themselves to deny

2 LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. [Oct.,

that God exists ; and between a dead conscience and a dying
faith they amuse themselves with philosophical theories which
reduce the Almighty to a vague abstraction, an insoluble prob-
lem, or to anything else which removes him from the active gov-
ernment of the world. We have only to look at a catalogue of
new books to discern the tendency of contemporary thought.
In the natural sciences it is unwilling to recognize any force dis-
tinct from the order of the material universe. In ethics it seeks
for a rule of human conduct in the suggestions of a sort of sen-
timental selfishness. Biblical criticism is popular just in propor-
tion to the boldness with which it assails the authenticity and
the veracity of the sacred books ; and it has become the fashion
to consider religion apart from any hypothesis of revelation, as
an outgrowth of prehistoric superstitions, developed from pri-
mitive worship of the sun, the trees, .the wind, and the sky, or
from the fear of ancestral ghosts, or from the veneration of
fetiches. A favorite writer of our day has published a book to
show that faith in a personal and benevolent Creator is practical-
ly extinct, yet that the world is not atheistic, because Nature is a
good enough God for us, if we can only agree to think so. Men
of science perceive in the laws of physics a power higher than
themselves. They have, therefore, in Nature "a most glorious
God," and in the stud} r and veneration of Nature's laws a theo-
logy and a worship. " Comparing their religion in its fresh
youth to the present confused forms of Christianity, I think a
bystander would say that though Christianity had in it some-
thing far higher and deeper and more ennobling, yet the average
scientific man worships just at present a more awful and, as
it were, a greater Deity than the average Christian" {Natural
Religion, by the author of Ecce Homo]. Philosophy of this sort,
which separates religion from supernaturalism the author just
cited does that in so many words which secularizes the Al-
mighty, which reduces creeds, worship, and moral obligation to
.a worldly level, is in high favor in these days of the decay of
faith, because it is a justification of the prevailing sceptical indif-
ference. It eliminates the practical questions of religion, What
must I believe? What is the divine rule of conduct? and
leaves men free to follow after the things of this life without any
embarrassing consideration of a life to come. Contemporary
literature in nearly all branches is deeply influenced by it ; and
so it happens that, in spite of the activity of a quasi-religious
dilettanteism notable for the absence of religious feeling, the
period in which we live is distinguished on the speculative side

1 882.] LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. 3

for the decline of serious thought, and on the practical side for
the decay of moral earnestness and the prevalence of a hard ma-
terialism, with the dishonest) 7 which naturally attends it.

Our Catholic college graduates lament the characteristics of
the age so eloquently in their commencement speeches, and refer
to them so often as the fruit of Protestant principles, that we
might suppose they were unaware of the extent to which our
own community is affected by the vices of the generation. Let
us cherish no delusions on this head. We Catholics have certain
safeguards against the overthrow of faith which others lack, and
so far the} 7 have protected us. Our people are not becoming
either Protestants or atheists. Some remarkable statistics have
recently been published which show that they are gaining rapid-
ly in numbers ; and there is no evidence that the spirit of doubt
and denial which is disintegrating the Protestant churches has
made any inroads whatever upon the Catholic Church in this
country and it is of the condition of Catholics in this country
that we are now speaking. But when we have counted the in-
crease of our church buildings and our free schools, and sur-
veyed the swelling estimates of our congregations, have we
really got all the facts that we require for a test of our progress ?
How far is our faith a mere habit of assent and how far is it a
living spring of conduct? Are we less engrossed in money-get-
ting, in coarse pleasures, and in vulgar ambitions than the rest
of the community ? Are we vindicating our faith by the earnest-
ness and dignity of our lives ? Are we proving the superiority
of a true Christian culture to the sceptical culture reflected by
so many of the poets, the essayists, the historians, the critics, and
the liberal preachers ? We are no longer a poor and illiterate
people, looked upon by our countrymen as foreigners and inter-
lopers. Catholics are taking foremost places in the professions
and trades. There are Catholic schools everywhere. Catholic
colleges in the United States number about seventy, and many of
them are flourishing and well equippeq 1 . The teaching orders
which have done so much good in other countries have been estab-
lished here for many years. It is surely time to look for conside-
rable results from our sacrifices and our zeal in the cause of Cath-
olic education. Certainly in one respect the schools are accom-
plishing nearly all that could be expected of them, for they sup-
ply us with devout and energetic priests and with many recruits
for the religious communities. But what is to be said of the
intellectual advancement of the Catholic laity ? What influence
are they exercising upon the literature, thought, morality, and

4 LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. [Oct.,

social customs of the community of which they form so large a
part?

Perhaps the answers to all the questions embraced in the fore-
going paragraph may be indicated by the answer to the last one,
and that will not be hard to find. The Catholics are by far the
largest body of Christians in the United States ; in the metropo-
lis they are nearly as many as all the rest of the population com-
bined ; and yet nobody who reads the newspapers will question
that they are of less account in public affairs than any other de-
nomination with which the public condescends to reckon at all
far less than the Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Episco-
palians ; less than the Jews or the ethical-culture atheists; less
even than some of the minor sects whom most of us hardly know
by name. We hear a great deal of ignorant and random talk
about an assumed political force called " the Catholic vote " ; but
how little influence the Catholics as a body are supposed to exert
upon the development of American culture and the tendencies of
American thought may be illustrated by a single fact : namely,
they are the only religious denomination whom the newspapers
are not afraid of. The secular press, professing to be neutral in
theology, takes pains not to wound the susceptibilities of any
class of believers or non-believers, except the most numerous
class of all the Catholics. If a reflection upon any Protestant
sect, or upon Hebrews, or upon infidels is inadvertently printed
the editor is ready to apologize and explain. These people are
his customers and he cannot afford to offend them. But the
Catholics are his customers, too. He wants their money, and
the party which he serves wants their votes. Yet he affronts
them every day. There are prominent journals which never let
pass a chance for a whack at the papists ; and the papers which
Catholics are supposed, rightly or wrongly, to be most in the
habit of reading are sometimes more unfair and injurious to
them than any of the others. It seems to be an accepted belief
in newspaper offices that it is not worth while to be civil to
Catholics, because they will not resent anything, or do not know
how. In point of fact they do not resent anything. Irritating
misrepresentations of Catholic doctrines and practices, or of the
facts of Catholic history, or of the relation of current events
to the Catholic Church rarely provoke a protest in the place
where the falsehood appeared. The Catholic weekly papers
perhaps take up the matter and publish an answer which nobody
sees except Catholics, who do not need it not even the offending
editor to whom it is addressed. The secular journalist knows

1 882.] LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. 5

by experience that if he attacks Catholics no Catholic will be
likely to annoy him by asking space for a reply, nor will Catho-
lics stop their subscriptions. He learns to think of them as a
class apart from the rest, who read carelessly, if they read at all ;
who have not much literature of their own and not much interest
in the literature of their neighbors ; who are quite indifferent to
the usual agencies by which other men try to enforce respect for
their sentiments. Thus we have the anomaly that, while every-
body looks upon the Catholic Church as the most redoubtable of
institutions, nobody pays much regard to the opinions of the
Catholic public.

We shall have no difficulty in understanding why we are
thus regarded if we look a little at the kind of life we are lead-
ing. The materialism of the age affects us in common with our
Protestant friends, but not in just the same way. We are not
losing ourselves in the vagaries of atheistic speculation, but then
we are not thinking at all. We are indifferent to the sceptical
and agnostic literature of the day, but equally indifferent to all
other literature. Our reading is almost confined to the daily
press, and even that exercise is performed with the least possible
thought. For there are different ways of reading the newspa-
per : one man sees nothing in it but the murders, the horse-races,
the defalcations, the glove-fights, the trivial miscellany of news
which is not news, while another finds the record of ideas and
events which have a practical significance for mankind ; and
those who read without thought always read what is not worth
remembering. Our seventy colleges are turning out every year
some thousands of young men trained more or less in the higher
studies, and our schools and academies are preparing many thou-
sands more to compete on fair terms with non-Catholics of ave-
rage education. What are all these cultivated Catholics doing
in the world ? They are buying and selling. They are speculat-
ing in corners. They are building railroads and wrecking them.
They are deep in faction politics. The) 7 are all in a hurry to get
rich and to have a place in society. Lives more destitute than
theirs of intellectual activity it would be hard to imagine among
an educated people.

That is a rude thing to say of our Catholic laity ; but every-
body who has studied the literary movement of the present gene-
ration knows that the Catholic share in it we are speaking
always of the Catholics of the United States far from keeping
pace with the growth of the population, is actually on the de-
cline. A fe\v weeks ago the principal Catholic publishers of the

6 LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. [Oct.,

United States joined in a circular letter to the clergy, the heads
of institutions, etc., in the course of which they told some start-
ling truths: " The average sale of any new Catholic book pub-
lished within the past ten years has not reached by one-half the
number of copies sold of similar books twenty years ago." Nor
can it be said that, while the circulation of each particular work
has fallen off, the increase in the number of works has raised the
total sales to a respectable aggregate. There is no such increase.
The loss is absolute, and it represents an absolute reduction in
the number of Catholic buyers.

Consider for a moment what this means. Literature is rapid-
ly expanding in this country and acquiring an enormous influ-
ence. It is occupying the place which in the Protestant commu-
nity was once filled by the pulpit. It is the only acquisition
except money for which Americans entertain a great respect.
The strength of any class in the formation and direction of the
national character may be measured by its literary progress.
Yet while our countrymen hurry forward we go back. As we
increase in numbers, as we heap up wealth, as we build schools
and colleges, as we manufacture bachelors and masters of arts
we cease to read. The number of retail booksellers is less than
it was twenty years ago. For the past ten years the Catholic
book-business generally has been conducted at a loss. Attempts
to increase the circulation of works of the best class by printing
them in cheap editions have failed. Attempts to commend them
to people of taste and means by handsome editions have fared
not much better. If it were proper to give figures of the sale of
certain of the ablest, the most interesting, and the best known of
the Catholic books now in the market the disclosures would be
astonishing. It is true that now and then a book achieves popu-
larity, but the rare cases of capricious success only make the sur-
rounding failures more disheartening. Prayer-books and school-
books apart, all branches of literature history, biography,
dogma, philosophy, fiction, the belles-lettres wither under the
general blight. Catholic publishers have tried hard, but they
cannot find anything that the Catholic public will read. Even
Cardinal Newman, whom the world recognizes as one of the
greatest masters of English style and dialectics, at once one of
the strongest and most delightful writers of the century, is read
much more by Protestants than by the Catholic laity.

The general neglect of reading works evil in more than one
way. It paralyzes publishers and it kills authors. Twenty years
ago there was fair promise of the growth of a vigorous Catholic

1 882.] LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. 7

literature in this country. To-day there is hardly a sign of it.
Something is accomplished by the periodical press ; but a large
proportion of the articles in reviews and magazines must be,
from the nature of the case, of a light and an ephemeral cha-
racter, otherwise they would not sell. Few of us can afford to
write a book, and nobody can earn a living as a Catholic " man
of letters." Those who have the taste and scholarship to make
literature their profession are quickly rebuffed if they address
themselves to Catholics. Either they are driven to some other
calling, and their lives, it may be, are spoiled, or they write
their books for non-Catholics and keep their religion for domes-
tic use.

The circular of the publishers just referred to suggests the
establishment of lending-libraries in Catholic parishes. This is
a good scheme, and it will be especially useful in creating an
interest in books among a class of laymen whose indifference to
serious reading is more the result of habit and example than of
actual distaste. Whatever may be done to improve the condi-
tion of things should be undertaken on the principle that the
road to reform is not by forcing the distribution of books but
by cultivating a taste for them. The inquiry naturally arises
whether our institutions of learning are at all responsible for the
prevailing apathy. Of course that question is asked. When-
ever we convict ourselves of intellectual indolence we try to
throw the blame upon our colleges. Some of them perhaps
most of them are doing all that lies in their power to develop
the literary instinct in their students. If the results have not
been brilliant it must be remembered that the colleges often
deal with rough material ; that only a small proportion of the
pupils go through a full course ; that much has to be done in a
short time ; and that the instruction must usually be adapted to
the average capacity of the class rather than to the few superior
intellects. Still, it will hardly be denied that an ampler recognition
of the great importance of the literary life, and the command-
ing position which the man of letters is assuming in society,
might well be urged upon certain of our institutions ; that the col-
lege libraries might be improved ; that the exercises of college
societies might be directed with wiser reference to the wants of
the time ; and that professors might more generally accept it as
their function not only to lay down rules and state facts but also
to cultivate taste. The Young Men's Literary Societies which
have been established in many parishes are in a certain sense
supplements to the schools, and they can continue a great deal of

8 LITERATURE AND THE LAITY. [Oct.,

the school influence. Still more important are or, let us rather
say, might be the college alumni associations, comprising, as
they -dp, so large a proportion of professional men with whom
study in one form or another ought to be a lifelong pursuit.
Founded principally for social purposes, these organizations have
proved in several instances of practical benefit to the colleges,
and they are always useful to their members by strengthening
a comradeship formed under Catholic influences. How easily
might their value be doubled if their meetings were also made to
nourish and expand the literary spirit, and to remind young men
that when they take their degrees they have not done with
books, but have just learned how to use them ! There is no
need that alumni associations should degenerate into debating
societies ; but, without the formality of set literary exercises, it
would be a simple matter to give them the character of a literary
club, in which conversation runs naturally upon books, and au-
thors, and movements in the intellectual world, and all the various
miscellany of topics which interest refined and educated persons.
Here the young man fresh from the class-room might meet the
elder scholar whose culture, begun at college, has been enlarged
by time and use. Here the friendly intercourse of old associates
might be celebrated with a modicum of talk somewhat better than
the gossip of the street. Here the latest products of the press
might afford a theme for entertaining talk ; and whenever we do
have a glimpse of Catholic literature it might obtain an appreci-
ative mention. It only needs the example and personal efforts of
a few of the best-equipped members, priests and laymen, to give
these associations an elevated tone and a most valuable literary
influence. Thus improved they will be sure to attract the best
of the alumni ; and where the best men go the others will be apt
to follow. Make the assembly of the graduates a centre of taste,
intelligence, scholarship, criticism, and not only will the effect
be felt in Catholic society, and ultimately in general society, but
there will be a reflex influence upon the college also. Nothing
will so readily strengthen intellectual habits among the students
as a consciousness that intellectual habits prevail among the
alumni. Then we may look for the development of a higher life.
But in the meantime we may profitably remember the reply of
Pius IX. to an amiable Italian who lamented that there was no
way of reforming the country. " Oh ! yes," said the pope, '' 1
know an excellent way. Let every man begin by reforming
himself."

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE.

THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE, k
SCENE: Exeter Hall, London. TIME: 18 . v
PERSONS REPRESENTED.

AMERICAN DELEGATES. ENGLISH DELEGATES.

Rev. Bishop Latitude, Methodist Rev. Dr. Chosen, Presbyterian.

Episcopal. Rev. Dr. Sophical, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Topheavy, Baptist. -Rev. Dr. Ballast, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Flurry, Presbyterian. Rev. Dr. Whistle, Independent.

Rev. Dr. Liberal, Congregationalist. Rev. Washington Dipwell, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Bounce, Lutheran. Rev. Luther Knockpope, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Jocund, Methodist Episco- Rev. Amen Hallelujah, Primitive

pal. Methodist.

Prof. Augustus Synonym, having Prof. Jeremy Ratio, holding the

the chair of Lost Arts and Occult chair of Algebraic Inequalities,

Sciences, - - College. etc., etc., University.

Together with a large, enthusiastic, and somewhat demonstrative audience.

In the Conference this afternoon Dr. Topheavy, from the Committee
on Amusements, moved to suspend the rules and take up for consideration
the motion offered by Dr. Chosen relating to a definition of church unity.
This was agreed to, and the house proceeded to consider the motion as
in Committee of the Whole, Bishop Latitude in the chair.

(The resolution referred to was as follows : Resolved, That Conference
proceed to define the unity of the evangelical denominations.)

THE CHAIR hoped gentlemen would not embarrass the discus-
sion of the measure by a repetition of the asperities which had
attended its introduction. He approved the resolution and
urged its adoption. (Hear.) He trusted Conference would be
able to grapple with the difficulties of the case. He saw a differ-
ence between a definition and the reality of unity, but assumed
the mover of the resolution had faith that the former would be-
get the latter. None could doubt the necessity of the definition,
for it was clear that up to the present time Protestantism had
shown its vitality chiefly in the multiplication of sects.

PROF. SYNONYM pointed out that a definition of unity presup-
posed the existence of tangible unity. At present, however, the
nucleus of that unity was invisible. He therefore recommended
the immediate materialization of a nucleus or centre of unity

io THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

about which the various atoms of their proposed ecclesiastical
structure might be balanced. (Hear, hear.)

PROF. RATIO thought the idea a happy one. The church
could then be brought into stable equilibrium. (Cheers.)

DR. TOPHEAVY hoped the learned professor would explain,
as this appeared to be a consideration of no small moment.

PROF. RATIO replied that were the church brought into stable
equilibrium by the harmony of their action it could not be per-
manently disturbed by any hell-contrived scheme, but would, on
the removal of the disturbing cause, immediately resume its posi-
tion of rest. (Applause.)

DR. WHISTLE argued that evangelical unity was of a nebu-
lous nature. An ecclesiastical nebulosity was something start-
ling, he admitted. (Laughter.) On examination, however, the
idea would be found reasonable. Nebulas were known to be
variously organized, some species being resolved by the tele-
scope into separate stars, while others appeared to consist of a
substance pervading space, the separation of whose atoms was
not discernible. Therefore if the proposed definition should
recognize the different churches, to quote Hudibras, in

" Their entity and quiddity "

as integers, of which this class of nebulae would be a forcible nu-
meric symbol, it would be a nebulous definition after the first
order named by him ; but if the definition should ascertain a con-
glomerate unity it would be after the second order, but still
nebulous. (Hear, hear.)

DR. JOCUND said nothing was clearer than that this was a
somewhat opaque subject. (Laughter.) If it were necessary, at
this early stage of debate, to appeal to such extraneous subjects
as the laws of motion and the science of astronomy, the pros-
pects of reaching a definition were not flattering. (Renewed
laughter.)

DR. BOUNCE was unable to see why church unity should be
placed in a category of indefinable subjects, of which the one
named by his learned friend (waving his hand in the direction of
Dr. Whistle) was perhaps the most indefinable. He moved that
the resolution be tabled. (Motion lost.)

DR. CHOSEN agreed with the last speaker. Why cry danger
before it had made its appearance ? He failed to perceive why
this subject should be handled so gingerly. In support of his
measure he contended that a definition of the Scriptural unity
of the church, as held by the evangelical denominations of

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. n

Christians, should be their first care. As the Bible was their
sole guide, it was safe to assume they would not reject that
unity to which the Bible plainly directed them. (Cheers.)

DR. BOUNCE, though a close Bible student, failed to remem-
ber that it included a treatise on the unity of the evangelical
denominations.

DR. CHOSEN admitted that it did not, but he was speaking
of principles, not names.

DR. BOUNCE argued that in the case in point names and
principles were too closely identified to be disassociated. The
names were, in fact, the indices of the principles involved.

DR. CHOSEN granted this, but objected to the use of the plu-
ral term " principles " as applied to* the essence of modern Chris-
tianity, which he considered was 'synonymous with Protestant-
ism. He urged it had but one principle throughout.

DR. SOPHICAL demonstrated that the theory advanced was in-
consistent with itself. If names were indices of principles, then
was the church edified, in round numbers, by one thousand
different principles, the church in the aggregate being possessed
of that number of distinct names.

DR. BOUNCE had long seen the incongruity of preaching a
doctrine of charity which they could not practise. In theory a
chimerical sort of charity knit them together, while in practice
the differences were sufficiently irreconcilable to keep them
asunder. In practice the Christian sects were unlike the sci-
ences, which, as Blackstone had said, " are of a sociable dispo-
sition and flourish best in the neighborhood of each other."
They preached one church militant, in which they charitably
embraced all the denominations in Conference represented. But
in practice they recognized as many churches militant as there
were denominations fighting for separate organization. In other
words, the theory was one church fighting against the pow-
ers of darkness, while the practice was many churches fighting
against each other. In fact, he doubted whether his stable friend
on his right (indicating Dr. Topheavy) fought the powers of
darkness or the pedo-baptists with the greater zeal. (Laughter,
in which Dr. Topheavy good-humoredly joined.) According to
the present status, it was consoling to know that they could
preach a charity the practice of which was not expected. By
altering that status a principle might be created the practice of
which, though obligatory, would be impossible.

DR. FLURRY thought it unwise to invite such a casus omissus
as the last speaker had shown was capable of arising. That the

12 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

denominations collectively were the church he might admit ;
but that his own denomination per se was not the church he
denied. This view, he assumed, was held by each delegate.
(Cries of " Good ! " and cheers.)

DR. SoFHiCALsaid the churches hesitated to accept the doc-
trine that they held the faith only as an aggregation. In such a
case the most positive dogmatist could only claim to expound
but an excerpt from the treasure confided to the church. It
would be manifestly absurd for any of them to profess to ex-
pound the faith while repudiating the possession of that faith
in its entirety. (Sensation.)

DR. WHISTLE suggested that if this subject rose to the dig-
nity of a doctrine it might be termed the doctrine of the um-
brella. (Laughter and calls t<5 order.) As an umbrella had two
distinct formations under different requirements, an extended
and a compressed condition, so as debate advanced would they
find evangelical unity had similar properties. Like the um-
brella, it might be stretched out for service and compressed for
home use. (Renewed laughter and cries of " Order ! order ! ")
When extended for service it was a stretched-out umbrella and re-
ceived all the droppings, in the character of creeds and opinions,
that fell on it ; but when compressed for home use it was a shut-
up umbrella, with a string around it gathering it exclusively to
itself, and was representative of the main idea, " Each man for
himself." (Unrestrained merriment.)

DR. BALLAST was pained to observe that this subject, than
which few were more sacred, was being treated with about as
little reverence as a football usually encountered in a play-
ground.

DR. SOPHICAL, whose reading on the subject had been varied,
would be glad to have some one give a lucid explanation of the
views of the Reformers upon it.

DR. BALLAST said the Confession of Augsburg, in Article
VII., declared : " We teach that there is a holy church, which
must eternally subsist."

DR. SOPHICAL had frequently read this article and viewed it
with alarm. It also taught that " the church is the assembly
of saints, wherein the Gospel is rightly taught and the sacra-
ments rightly administered." This, taken with that part of the
article quoted by the last speaker, showed that even the church
of mediaeval darkness was known by the true preaching of the
word and the right administration of the sacraments. It fol-
lowed that a different preaching and a different administra-

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 13

tion were marks of a fictitious church a denunciation, coming
as it did from the primordial mouthpiece of Protestantism, nei-
ther agreeable nor edifying. As the church of the middle ages
was the " assembly of saints," it resulted that the pope, as its
head, was the chief saint. (Great laughter, mingled with hisses
and cries of " Sit down," etc.) Ignatius of Loyola, the founder
of the Jesuits, was another saint. (Renewed evidences of disap-
probation.) But he would forbear.

(As the speaker resumed his seat he, with a touch of irony, called for
other definitions of the church by the Reformers.)

DR. WHISTLE would be glad to form the acquaintance of any
Reformer who could satisfy him that the church had not come
remotely from the divine Grantor by mesne assignment through
the pope and his satellites.

DR. JOCUND said that Conference regarded this subject in the
light of a patient. The zeal displayed in examining this dead
issue of unity called to his mind, however, the anxiety manifest-
ed by doctors to conduct a post-mortem examination, which, even
if satisfactory to the operators, was of no avail to the subject.
(Laughter.)

DR. BALLAST renewed his objections to the course pursued
in debate, and appealed to the chair to confine speakers to the
question.

THE CHAIR, while disposed to allow the largest freedom
in debate, counselled less levity and closer adherence to the
question.

DR. TOPHEAVY showed that the dilemma which Dr. Sophical
had named grew out of the Confession of Augsburg attempting
to prove that the church was visible in all ages an error which
was reiterated in the apology for that Confession, which said :
" We have never dreamed that the church was a platonic city
not to be found on earth." The Confessions of Bohemia, Wiir-
temberg and Strassburg, and others, asserted substantially the
same error ; but as soon as the difficulty attendant upon that
doctrine became apparent the Reformers, in the Helvetic Con-
fession, announced, " The church may be called invisible"

PROF. RATIO thought if invisibility were a mark of the
church, the church might be termed an unknown quantity, in
which case relief would be found in algebra. (Laughter.) Let
x = the church

(The speaker was interrupted by loud calls to order, and sat down with
an air of disgust.)

14 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

DR. BALLAST said the difficulties arising from both visibility
and invisibility were met in the catechism of the Reformed
Church of France, which, in its article on the Creed, sanctioned
both views. It taught :

"There is, indeed, a visible church of God, conformable to the signs he
hath given us to know her by; but in this place " (i.e., the Creed), "pro-
perly speaking, is meant the society of those whom he hath elected for
salvation, which cannot be fully discerned by the eye."

He believed, however, that the predominating sentiment of the
Reformers was in favor of a visible church, which, in his judg-
ment, Scripture plainly taught. M. Jurieu, the eminent apolo-
gist for the Reformation, had said : " The church is taken, in
Scripture for a society always visible." * The theory of visible
unity, however skilfully maintained, could not, in his (Dr. B.'s)
opinion, outweigh the practical invisibility of the union of evan-
gelical Christendom ; and hence he had ceased to look for Scrip-
tural unity in the church.

DR. CHOSEN said in drafting the resolution he had contem-
plated a definition of Scriptural unity. He did not care a bodle
for the speculative views of the Reformers. Melancthon, for
instance, had asserted " that articles of faith should be frequently
changed in conformity to times and circumstances." f In all
human societies, excepting only the Evangelical Church, men
sought for a living, speaking authority in whom the presiding,
executive, and declaratory power should reside. With it, how-
ever, this rule was reversed. Did any gentleman present dispute
the fact that the administration of a superior in all human socie-
ties was of divine appointment? Since the Reformation, how-
ever, the Evangelical Church had apparently acted upon the
assumption that it had, by some super-divine authority, been ab-
solved from this divine obligation.

DR. TOPHEAVY debated the theory advanced. The rejection
of supreme authority was a fundamental tenet of Protestantism
in fact, the only one of universal acceptance among Protestants.
(Cheers.)

DR. CHOSEN replied that the injunction, " Honor the king," \
showed that whilst God undoubtedly exercised a general do-
minion over all his creatures, there was still an earthly, living,
speaking authority in every organized society, to whom obedi-
ence was directly due, and through whom it was rendered ulti-

*Sys/., p. 215. ^Edinburgh Review, No. 121, October, 1834. |i Peter ii. 17.

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 15

mately to God. That such a headship was necessary in human
affairs was evident from two points of observation : first, from
that of reason and experience ; and, secondly, from the express
command of God enjoining respect to those in authority.

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL failed to see how the gentleman
could animadvert upon the conduct of Protestants in this regard,
since all bowed to the authority of their own churches.

DR. CHOSEN desired to be heard out. Indubitable evidence
that the church had a spokesman was found in the fact that it
was given a voice. The admonition to " hear the church " was
not given to one age or people, but to all times and the whole
world.

(Some commotion followed the speaker's last words, and ejaculations
of "This isn't Protestant ! " " Papist doctrine ! " etc., were heard to emanate
from the Rev. Luther Knockpope and others.)

REV. WESLEY LOVEFEAST inquired how error was condemn-
ed by this voice during fifteen hundred years before the blessed
Reformation.

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL demanded to know how the
present universality of this voice could be held in view of the
fact that evangelical teaching was as yet almost unknown out-
side of the few strongholds of Protestantism.

DR. CHOSEN was not here as an oracle to expound the mys-
teries of the divine page. Should he attempt to do so he
would trench on the inalienable right which each one present
enjoyed of interpreting them according to the light given him.
He repeated that the church had been given a voice, designed
to be heard during all ages, and contended that the church had
at all times constituted an authority to which appeal could be
taken. To allay the impatience which he saw arising he would
take occasion to declare that he abhorred the name and preten-
sions of the papacy. (Cheers.) In law the possibility of the
failure of a court once established to be in readiness to entertain
a cause in action was not contemplated. The court might stand
adjourned, but it was still constituted in such a manner as to be
ready to assemble at the proper time and adjudge causes. In
like manner the speaking or authoritative church possessed Such
characteristics as enabled it to use the voice given it whenever
truth was to be defined or error condemned. In order to have
such powers it possessed a faculty of self-knowledge which
could only spring from a perfect unity. The patriarchs, exer-
cising in their families the double office of priest and governor,

1 6 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

always maintained for the church a visibleness and vigor of
action. The Jewish Church always spoke with the voice of
authority, which continued unsilenced down to the time of
Christ, who said : " The Scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses'
seat ; all, therefore, whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe
and do." * Scripture, in defining the character of the Christian
Church, used no uncertain language. It held out the same one-
ness of doctrine and government which had characterized the
church. of past ages, from which alone the voice which all were
commanded under pain of anathema to hear could emanate.

(At this juncture the Rev. Luther Knockpope, who had been exceed-
ingly restive under Dr. Chosen's remarks, sprang forward as though shot
from a catapult, and in an excited manner addressed the house, leaving
Dr. Chosen in his place looking appealingly to the chair.)

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE rose to inquire what license was
to be allowed this gentleman, who in the course of his remarks
had invoked Scripture to his aid with the apparent intention of
confounding the most sacred tenets of Protestantism ? (Hear,
hear.) The gentleman had assumed there was a superior autho-
rity in the church. Did he arrogate this to his denomination ?
Did he arrogate this to himself personally ? (Derisive laughter.)
Did he hope by his insidious policy to arouse an unholy ambi-
tion in the breast of their amiable chairman? (Renewed laugh-
ter, in which the chair heartily joined.) Where, he (Mr. K.) de-
manded to know, was this authority ? To this, and all kindred
doctrines having their origin on the banks of the Tiber, he
would exclaim, " Get thee behind me, Satan !" (Loud cheering.)
The gentleman had said they must find a Scriptural unity among
themselves. He (the speaker) believed in Scriptural unity only
as he found it in his own denomination, and he doubted not that
each delegate did the same. (Applause.) The gentleman had
attributed a voice to the church, and evidently desired to be re-
cognized as its author. (Laughter.) If this were Scriptural the
sooner Scripture were discarded the better ; for he was free to
say that if Scripture were found to side with popery he was for
upholding Protestantism against both popery and the Bible.

(Tremendous cheering, which lasted several minutes, during which the
reverend speaker, smiling his acknowledgments, sank into his seat.)

DR. CHOSEN, in resuming, said his excitable friend had raised

* Matt, xxiii. 2, 3.

i882.J THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 17

a " no-popery " cry upon very little provocation. He (Dr. C.)
abhorred all sensationalism in religion, and would not stop to
express his disapprobation of the diatribe to which they had just
listened, except to so much of it as bore upon him personally.
He repelled the gentleman's insinuation that he aspired to papal
honors. (Cheers.) Had he (the speaker) been allowed to con-
tinue his remarks their meaning would have been made manifest
to all. None could doubt that the faith was yet extant (cries of
" No ! no !") and that it was joined with unity. As the faith was
one and indivisible, being in fact the exponent of the mind
of the divine Unity, it was clear that the faith could not be ex-
pounded save by the voice of unity. A unity of mind and voice
always went together, else the voice would fail to express the in-
tention of the mind. It was not his province to explain (even
could he do so) the relation existing in the Evangelical Church
between faith and unity. That was a privilege which belonged
to Conference alone, and which he had endeavored to offer for
their acceptance in framing his resolution.

DR. JOCUND, as a member of the house, did not propose to-
stand on his rights in this regard.

PROF. RATIO, as both a mathematician and theologian, looked
upon the proposition as incapable of solution.

DR. BALLAST recurred to an assertion previously made by
him, that Scripture taught a visible church. He was not igno-
rant of the boldness of this declaration. So wide a field had,
however, been opened in debate that he would venture, even at
the risk of adding to present embarrassment, to show what Scrip-
tural unity was. Perhaps Conference had not adequately con-
sidered the full Scriptural proof of the sensible unity of the early
Christian Church. It was a unity which admitted of no ques-
tion as to its integrity. He would invite consideration of some
of the Old-Testament types of the church, each of which would
be found to point to a visible and sensible unity such as was be-
gun on the day of Pentecost. Eve was perhaps the earliest type
of the church. Christ was the second Adam ; and the bride of
the first Adam was a type of the church, the bride of the sec-
ond. Eve was the "mother of all living";* tne church was
styled " the -mother of us all." f As to the application, none
could doubt the unity and visibility of Eve. (Hear, hear.}
Though weak and erring, she was nevertheless a unit. (Ap-
plause.) Tempted of the serpent, and the instrument of her

* Gen. iii. 20. t Gal. iv. 26.

VOL. XXXVI. 2

1 8 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

husband's fall, she still preserved the virtue of unity. (Great
applause.)

DR. CHOSEN inquired at what period in the history of Eve
the virtue of unity had departed from her.

DR. BALLAST insisted that he could, if time were allowed
him, prove by Scripture his supposition of Eve's unity, which, he
observed with amazement, was questioned in some quarters.

(The risibilities of Conference having been excited by the offer to prove
a fact so well authenticated, the close of Dr. Ballast's remarks was not
heard by the reporter; and, amid cries of " Louder " and calls to order, Dr.
B. resumed his chair.)

DR. BOUNCE argued that the pillar, which was admittedly an
emblem of unity, was in the Scriptures a common symbol of
the church. The patriarch Jacob had said : " This stone which
I have set for a pillar shall be God's house." * In the story
of the ladder he had said : " How dreadful is this place ! This
is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of
heaven." The narrative continued : "Jacob rose up early in the
morning, and took the stone that he had put for his pillows,
and set it up for & pillar, and poured oil upon the top of it."f
Again, he said : " This stone which I have set up for a pillar shall
be God's house." In another place it was recorded that he " set
up a pillar in the pTace where God talked with him, even a pillar
of stone," which place Jacob named Bethel. \ If any should
doubt, said Dr. Bounce in conclusion, that the pillar was a type
of the church he would refer them to St. Paul, who, writing to
Timothy, had spoken of " the house of God, which is the church
of the living God, t\\e pillar and ground of the truth."

DR. WHISTLE pointed out that the last speakers might ap-
propriately have united on Lot's wife, who, it would be remem
bered, had oddly combined in her person the figures employed by
both, and was equally illustrative of the unity of the woman and
the pillar. (Laughter.)

PROF. RATIO thought it was about time for Conference to
determine what sort of unity they were in search of. (Hear.)
Every unit was either abstract or denominate. Each religious
body there represented was obviously either an abstract or deno-
minate number or the naught of the Arabic notation. No dele-
gate would consent to denote his society by the zero sign. (Cries
of " No ! ") Would any gentleman consent to admit that his
society was represented by an abstract number ? (No ! no !)

*Gen. xxviii. 22. tGen. xxviii. 17, 18. JGen. xxxv. 14, 15. i Tim. iii. 15.

i882.j THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 19

He thought not. That would be bare notation without sensible
or substantial definition. (Shouts of " Good " and applause.)
Hence each delegate had no choice but to say that he represent-
ed a unit capable of some species of denomination. Suppose,
continued the speaker, a spectator should be interrogated in re-
gard to the constitution of this Conference, and should reply, It
consists of one, two, four, twenty, or fifty and should then stop ;
he would do exactly what Conference was now doing. It hesi-
tated to name the units, and consequently left them abstract.
Should, however, he proceed and add " churches," and thus con-
vert each abstract into a denominate number, he would at once
nullify the conception of a unity of the church by setting up
a collection of units, each designated by the common term
"Church." (Sensation.) If each unit were denominate, and the
term "church " the name of each, Conference had simply to em-
ploy addition, and, by counting the units present, learn the num-
ber of churches in their sum. (Increased sensation,) But in
the event of failure to name the units any addition would be a
mere abstract summation, representing a system of notation, but
defining nothing substantive.

PROF. SYNONYM inquired if his learned brother thought
the idea of fractional church unity applicable to the present
issue.

PROF. RATIO opined not. Considering the church as the unit
of a fraction, and each society as a fractional unit, the number of
equal parts into which the unit would be divided would not be
constant, but variable. For instance, when there were but two
societies the fractional unit would be indicated by \ ; when four,
by \; when twenty, by^ 5 an d he would, of course, be unable
to tell the value of a fraction unless he were advised of the ex-
tent of the denominator, which, in the present case, would be de-
pendent on the number of societies.

DR. JOCUND hoped Prof. Synonym did not aim to show, by
an exhibition of fractional divisibility, the extent of evangelical
truth possessed by each fractional unit of his ecclesiastical digit.
(Laughter.)

PROF. SYNONYM, with some heat of manner, resented the im-
putation. He was unaware that any expression had escaped
him which could be tortured into such a meaning.

DR. JOCUND disclaimed any intention to distort the sense of
the learned professor's words if, indeed, there was in them any
sense which could be distorted. The idea of a fractional distri-
bution of Gospel truth (Laughter.)

20 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

PROF. SYNONYM rose to order. Was the gentleman still
harping on him ?

DR. JOCUND replied he was not, but thanked the professor
for suggesting a thought which struck him as inexpressibly
funny. As he was saying, the idea of a fractional distribution of
Gospel truth was too good to be passed without comment. It
was a logical, he might say common-fractional, apology for the
ungodliness of the present generation. It was a demonstration !
" No wonder," he continued, " our preaching is vain, when the
Gospel-power of each pulpit is only one-fiftieth of the standard
pressure." (Great laughter and calls to order.)

PROF. SYNONYM rejoiced that he had, though unintentionally,
contributed so greatly to the amusement of Conference. The
question, however, arose : Was the house assembled simply for
purposes of entertainment?

DR. JOCUND thought it was. The pending question, by what
arrangement he knew not, had emanated from the chairman of
the Committee on Amusements. (Renewed laughter.)

DR. TOPHEAVY rose to explain. In proposing the measure
he had not acted officially. He, however, regretted the circum-
stance. Had it occurred to him in time it would have deterred
him from assuming the parentage of a resolution of such moment.

DR. FLURRY moved that Conference sit with closed doors.

(This motion was seconded amid noisy adverse demonstrations on the
part of the audience.)

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL objected. The audience needed
enlightenment. Why send them away empty ? Let them be
relieved from the state of uncertainty into which they had, pro-
bably unconsciously,' drifted. (General applause.)

DR. JOCUND had supposed the motion was made in the in-
terests of the audience, and in their behalf would support it.
(Laughter and calls for the question. Motion lost.)

THE CHAIR said something was wanting. Was it the nucleus
of which a delegate had spoken? He thought it was. The
worn-out field of argument, whose barrenness could only produce
the tares of illogical conclusions, must be fertilized by original
thought before the proposed definition could be reaped. Fame
and honor were before the delegate who should be able to vary
debate with any effective originality.

PROF. SYNONYM felt a pride which he trusted was pardonable
n reverting to a suggestion previously made by him. He might

1 8 82.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 21

be remembered as having, at the opening of debate, pointed out
the necessity now recognized by the chair.

PROF. RATIO failed to see how his brother professor could
experience a pardonable, or indeed any, pride in having address-
ed an insolvable proposition to the house.

(At this juncture the Rev. Dr. Topheavy, who for several minutes had
been occupied in intense thought, arose with a countenance beaming with
satisfaction and confidently announced that he had discovered the primum
mobile, the mainspring which should overcome the inertia of debate. A
profound interest having been immediately created )

DR. TOPHEAVY proceeded to argue that the existing difficul-
ties were lessened by an appeal to Holy Writ and the voice of
antiquity. The sacred record and the patristic writings showed
that the primitive church, in its worship and discipline, differed
materially from all the denominations here represented. (Sensa-
tion.) From that let them take courage.

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE failed to see how encouragement
was to be derived from evidence that the Protestant Church was
not conformable to the church of the Bible. It was, however,
his privilege to feel that Protestantism was divine, whether found
to be wholly in accord with Scripture or not.

DR. WHISTLE begged Dr. Topheavy to unfold his novel
theory, which appeared to be the converse of the legend similia
similibus curantur. (Laughter.)

DR. TOPHEAVY said that were no denominational distinctions
to be found among them, in which event they would possess the
visible unity of the early church, they would reasonably expect
to find all the practices of the early church perpetuated in their
midst. He called attention to the fact, attested by Josephus
and other historians, that the Jewish Church, the unity of which
centred in all ages around the high-priest, had in no wise abated
or changed its ceremonial from the time of Moses to the coming
of Christ. Had, he continued, the celebration of the Passover
or of the feast of unleavened bread at any time been discontinued
in the Jewish Church ; or had at any time its altars been found
made of hewn stone, contrary to appointment ; or had the veil
of the Temple at any time been found of colors other than blue
and purple and scarlet, or the Jewish priests been found minis-
tering without the prescribed coats, girdles, and bonnets, the ob-
server would probably have expected also to find the visible
unity departed and the occupation of its exponent and centre
that important functionary the high-priest gone. Taking for

22 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

his premises the assumption that one of the ends of a visible
centre of jurisdiction was to promote uniformity of practice, the
reverend speaker argued that in the Christian Church the spec-
tacle of a changed practice was proof of a changed organization.
Therefore if the Evangelical Church had to-day the visible unity
of the church as first established, it, the former, would be inex-
cusable in not having the practice of the latter. But however
they might be found to differ from those of the first ages of
Christianity, none present could doubt the propriety and legal-
ity of the practices of their respective denominations, to a be-
lief in the integrity of which each delegate was in fact commit-
ted. Hence, as these practices were notoriously different from
those of the primitive church, it was futile to attempt to recon-
cile them with primitive unity. In the Evangelical Church, he
contended, true faith and true practice were united. He was
content to possess the faith, which he deemed of greater im-
portance than any other consideration. It was clear that this,
in their day, could not be joined with recognizable unity, for the
obvious reason that the faith namely, the principles of Protes-
tantism, as also lawful practice (so conceded) was held only in
disunity. This view was strengthened by the consideration
that the church which was now the only exponent of visible
unity was the one xvhose articles of faith, it was their work and
privilege to protest against and dissent from. He referred to
the Roman Catholic Church. The papists had the unity, and
hence his (the speaker's) joy ; for, not participating in the unity
of the papists, he concluded that he had the faith of the saints.
(Great applause.)

DR. CHOSEN desired to remark that until now theology had
been a sealed book and a dead letter to him.

DR. TOPHEAVY failed to hear the gentleman's words, which,
however, he took to be offensive. He demanded their repetition.
(Sensation.)

DR. CHOSEN, with some degree of sarcasm, replied that pos-
sibly the doctor's hearing would come by faith. Certainly his
faith had not corne by hearing. (Calls to order and cries of
" Louder ! ")

DR. TOPHEAVY excitedly inquired if the gentleman's rejoin-
der was meant to be personal. " Was he personally or theo-
logically attacked ? " (Renewed calls to order and derisive
laughter.)

DR. BALLAST objected to any reflections upon members of
Conference. (Cries of " Order," " Chair," etc., etc.)

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 23

DR. FLURRY demanded that Dr. Chosen's last words be taken
down and ruled on by the chair.

(Cries of "Mr. Chairman" from all parts of the hall. The chair held
that if the words were used with an individual or personal reference they
were not parliamentary ; if with a theological reference they were parlia-
mentary.)

DR. CHOSEN disclaimed any individual reference. He simply
thought the gentleman a theological idiot.

(Uproar. Dr. Topheavy rose to a question of f privilege, but was inter-
rupted by energetic calls to order, upon which the chair decided Dr.
Chosen still in order. Theological idiocy was not necessarily joined with
individual stupidity. So long as this discrimination was made the allusion
was clearly parliamentary.)

DR. TOPHEAVY, recognizing the important yet fine distinc-
tion drawn by the chair, repeated that visible unity, if found
among them, would be a mark of apostasy from the faith ; for as
the Roman apostasy was now the monopolist of visible unity, it
was meet that Protestantism, as the exponent of the true faith,
should be in possession of a unity of a less discernible nature.
(Hear, hear.)

DR. FLURRY concurred in Dr. Topheavy 's views. In support
of them he referred to a liturgical worship as a characteristic of
the church of visible unity, the church of the Scriptures and the
primitive ages. The absence of this characteristic in the Evan-
gelical Church was one proof, of which he hoped many might be
adduced, of the soundness of the theory advanced. Archdeacon
Paley, in book v. of his Moral Philosophy, had asserted that
" our Saviour authorized a fixed form of prayer by appointing the
Lord's Prayer."* The Encyclopedia Britannica said the Psalms
of David constituted a public liturgy.f That same standard
Protestant work computed that the ancient Coptic liturgies were
twelve in number the liturgy of St. John the Evangelist, of
the fathers of the Council of Nice, of Epiphanius, of St. James
the Syrian, of St. John Chrysostom, of Jesus Christ, of the
Apostles, of St. Cyriac, of St. Gregory, of the patriarch Dios-
corus, of St. Basil, and of St. Cyril. \ Mr. Palmer, in his Ori-
gines Liturgicce,^ had reduced all the liturgies of the primitive
churches to four the great Oriental, the Alexandrian, the

* See also Wheatley, Rational Illustration, pp. 3-8, and Lightfoot's works, vol. ii. p. 1036
et seq.

t (Eighth edition) vol. xiii. p. 516. % Ibid. Oxford, 1813.

24 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

Roman, and the Galilean.* Such valued authorities as the Pan-
talogia\ and the New American Cyclop<zdia,\ in their articles on
liturgies, had admitted the authenticity of the liturgies ascribed
to SS. Peter, Chrysostom, James, and Basil, the Armenian lit-
urgy, the liturgy of the Maronites and of the Copts, the Am-
brosian liturgy, etc. Pliny, in the second century, writing to
the Emperor Trajan an account of the Christian mode of wor-
ship, had said : " They are used to meet on a certain day before
it is light and sing a hymn alternately to Christ as God, binding
themselves by an oath (not to anything wicked, but) that they
will not steal, nor rob, nor commit adultery, nor break their
faith, nor withhold the pledge." This statement, the speaker
proceeded to show, had been confirmed by Socrates, who had
declared || that Ignatius 1" introduced alternate singing into the
church of Antioch. Johnson's Cyclopedia, having among its asso-
ciate editors such stanch Protestants as ex-President Woolsey,
of Yale College, Horace Greeley, and Prof. Henry, stated that
" in substance more than one " (of the primitive liturgies) " can
be traced to about the date of the oldest MSS. of the Bible,"
and declared that all " by their common structure suggest a com-
mon origin." The reverend speaker adverted to the fact that
Justin Martyr** had spoken of " common prayers "; Origen ff of
" constituted or appointed prayers " ; and Cyprian ^ of " solemn
prayers. " The Ambrosian liturgy to which he (the speaker)
had referred was found by St. Ambrose |||| in use in the cathedral
of Milan when he became bishop.

(The learned doctor spoke for one hour and commanded marked atten-
tion.)

THE REV. WESLEY LOVEFEAST said it was questionable
whether the position taken by Dr. Topheavy was strengthened
by allusion to the Scriptural and primitive authority for litur-
gies. The evangelical churches, or some of them, had liturgies.
Where, then, was the difference in practice to be seen from
which the corollary of an unscriptural and unprimitive unity was
to be derived ?

DR. FLURRY replied it was true that various liturgies had
been prepared for use in the evangelical churches. All the Re-
formers had more or less engaged at the work. Of the more

* See also Kircher's Bibliotheca Liturgica. f London, 1813.

| New York, Appleton & Co., 1860. Antiphonally. ) Liber vi. c. 8.

1 First century. ** Second century. ft Second century. JJ Third century.

Encycl. Metropolitan^ pp. 493-4. \\ Fourth century. ^Encycl. Met., p. 494.

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 25

modern liturgies were Dr. Samuel Clarke's Reformed Liturgy
a reformation of one previously pronounced free from error ;
The Sunday Services ; the Wesleyan Methodist Liturgy, prepared
by John Wesley ; and, on the Continent, that of the Unitas
Fratruni, or Moravian Brethren.* As to the inquiry put by the
last speaker, the existence of those reformed liturgies added
weight to Dr. Topheavy's theory by showing that their framers
admitted the Scriptural and primitive character of liturgies ;
while their practical disuse, though in existence, pointed to the
radical change which he trusted the unity of the church would
be found to have sustained. He argued that the universal use
of liturgies in primitive ages things in themselves not essential
proved an appointing power or centre of jurisdiction, while
their disuse pointed with equal clearness to a rejection of, or
separation from, such centre.

DR. LIBERAL congratulated Conference on the opening ot
such a treasure of profound thought. He would strive to fortify
the position taken by a view of the organization of the inferior
clergy in the primitive church. Under that head the learned
Bingham \ named subdeacons, acolytes, exorcists, lectors or read-
ers, and ostiarii or doorkeepers, as all existing in the church be-
fore the fourth century. Others were named by him, but the eru
dite author failed to show that they were set apart, as those just
named were, by any species of ordination. He (the speaker)
thought it impossible for the most vivid imagination to trace a
similitude between any of these and the exhorters, licentiates, and
class-leaders of the modern churches. An acolyte of the third
century, with his candles and incense, would, for instance, be
just as much out of place at a Presbyterian synod as an ancient
doorkeeper, with his keys, at a Methodist camp-meeting.

DR. WHISTLE said the disuse of vestments and ecclesiastical
paraphernalia in general was another point to be considered.
If any present doubted the revulsion of feeling in the Evangeli-
cal Church against such primitive adornments, let them imagine
the negligent ease and comfortable pose of their portly chairman
destroyed by the assumption of mitre, chasuble, and dalmatica.
He was satisfied of the primitive nature of these things, which,
however he might admire them for their aesthetic effect, were, he
opined, wholly too rigid and exacting to be adopted by any
easy-going evangelical divine.

DR. BOUNCE felt unalloyed pleasure in hearing that his jovial
friend had become converted to this way of thinking. Perhaps

* Encycl. Brit., eighth edition, vol. xiii. p. 517. f Bingham, Antiy., book iii.

26 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Oct.,

others, however, had not. He then proceeded to argue that the
cloak which St. Paul had left at Troas was an ecclesiastical gar-
ment, and cited eminent Protestant and Catholic authority for
this belief. Constantine, he continued, had given a vestment
richly embroidered with gold to Macarius, Bishop of Jerusalem,
while Athanasius had taxed the Egyptians to raise a fund for
ecclesiastical garments. Jerome and Chrysostom respectively
had written of " white vestments " and " white and shining gar-
ments " as belonging to the ecclesiastics of their day. An au-
thority which had been cited by a former speaker, in its learned
article on vestments, had said :

" To sum up the whole matter, it is only, necessary to add that the same
vestments have been in use from time immemorial in both the Eastern and
Western churches ; and that, though they may have been, and doubtless
were, introduced gradually in the way already mentioned (i.e., as a heritage
from the Jewish Church, or by adoption from the ancient garments of daily
life), they varied from each other only in matters of detail or in bearing
different names in different places. The idea" of a dress peculiar to the
ministers of religion at their ministrations is older than Christianity itself,
and is recognized not only by Roman Catholics but by several denomina-
tions of Protestants."*

DR. JOCUND rather liked vestments. An amusing episode in
his early ministerial career had helped his predilections in their
favor. He had been invited to preach by a brother who had
one of the most fashionable Methodist congregations in New
York. He (the speaker) then had a small country charge, at a
salary which, after his board and washing had been paid, admit-
ted of no balance, unless it were in favor of some indulgent cre-
ditor. (Laughter.) His wardrobe had not been replenished since
his ordination, and a growth in the direction of corpulence,
which from motives of economy he had in vain endeavored to
check, had produced an apparent shrinkage in the dimensions of
his coat. To add to his discomfort the sleeves had become
quite tight at the armpits (laughter), which rendered gesticu-
lation a matter of some danger to the fabric. His trousers also
had got uncomfortably close, and as the broadcloth was fragile
some generalship was needed on his part, while leaning over the
preaching-desk, as a safeguard against the danger of an involun-
tary rending of his garments. (Laughter.) Upon one occasion,
however, having allowed his zeal to outrun his prudence, the
long-dreaded catastrophe came. He was about to conclude his
peroration, and had brought his hand down upon the book with

* Johnson's Cyclopaedia, vol. iv. p. 1143.

i882.J THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 27

some energy, when he instantly observed the sounds and sensa-
tion of two rents. These were repaired by the village tailor,
who, to his dismay, put strengthening strips over the places of a
material foreign in color and texture to that of the garments.
Immediately on receiving the aforementioned invitation to preach
his mind was equally engrossed by contemplating the courtesy
extended to him and wondering what would be the effect of his
attire upon the fashionables who would assemble to hear from
his lips the words of life. The Sunday came. When he arose
to preach he was seized with a fear that his clerical friend, who
sat immediately behind him, if he departed from the perpendi-
cular, would notice the heterogeneous patch ; and that if, in a
flight of oratory, he raised his right arm his well-dressed hear-
ers, especially a giggling young "woman who sat just in front,
would see the coat-patch, which, as might be conjectured, was
exactly under the shoulder ; and he inwardly vowed that neither
should be made visible by any overt act on his part. The result
might have been foreseen. The restraint under which he labor-
ed ruined his sermon. He was nearing the end, and in the act
of taking a glass of water for the closing effort, when his clerical
friend exclaimed in a whisper: " A little more animation, Jocund,
and it's a success." Thus prompted, he was thrown off his guard
.and at the supreme moment bent forward and raised his arm !
A sound of suppressed mirth, followed by a cough and a clearing
of the throat from behind, was accompanied with a shriek of laugh
ter from the young woman before him, who, all along evidently
amused by his appearance, was now thrown into violent hyster-
ics and was receiving the assiduous attentions of sundry deacons
and sisters. (Laughter.) What would he not have given at that
moment for a cassock, a gown, an alb, a cope, or any other conve-
nient vestment ! (Laughter.) All the millinery of a Roman car-
dinal would have been acceptable to him on that trying occasion.

DR. BOUNCE was not altogether averse to vestments. He
could not forget that the Word of God, according to the nine-
teenth chapter of Revelation, was " clothed with a vesture
dipped in blood," and that the armies which followed Him were
" clothed in fine linen white and clean," which showed that vest-
ments of contrasted colors were not unknown in heaven, how-
ever distasteful they might be to any of the brethren present.

DR. WHISTLE thought much of what might be termed the
romance of religion would fail were the mind brought to con-
template the heroes of the stately religious ceremonials and pro-
cessions of the middle ages the era of romance clad in the

28 THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.

russet coats, kersey slops or breeches, party-colored hose, piked
shoes, and other tomfooleries of the age.* Present experience,
he regretted to say, proved that many of the younger clergy, to
say nothing of the older, were prone to follow many of the fri-
volities of fashion ; and it was reasonable to suppose that, had
such a thing been possible in the middle ages, the ceremonials
and processions which had formed themes for the painter, the
poet, and the novelist would have constituted subjects for the
ridicule of all ages. The bishop with kersey slops, the dean
with russet coat, and the parochial clergy with party-colored
hose would be a sight which the severest Puritan would be
scarcely prepared to view with any spiritual edification.
THE CHAIR insisted on a return to the pending measure.

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE GREATEST OF MEDIAEVAL HYMNS.

"Quantum flevi in hymnis et canticis tuis, suave sonatis 'ecclesias tuas vocibus commotis
acriter ! . . . Eliquabatur veritas tua in cormeum." ST. AUGUSTINE, Confessiones, ix. 6.

THE thirteenth century, when compared with the ages which,
had preceded it since the dawn of the Christian era, was one
of unusual brilliancy and activity. It was a century fruitful in
great men and great events, and although angry contests be-
tween the secular powers and the Holy See menaced the social
and civil order, yet it was a period favorable to advancement in
every sphere of human endeavor. It was the century of great
popes who wrought lasting benefits for religion and society, and,
whether in power or in exile, in wealth or in poverty, always ex-
hibited an heroic faith in the commission to which their divine
office had called them. The Rock of Peter was the adamantine
foundation upon which they built, whether their work was for
time or for eternity. Upon it they rested their hopes, secure in
the promises of Him whose vicars they were. The thirteenth
was in fact the formative century of the middle ages, during
which was laid the broad and enduring basis of a later civiliza-
tion. M. Ozanam thus characterizes it as a tentative rather than
a progressive period :

' fipoque plus douee d'inspiration que de mesure, plus prompte a conce-
voir de grandes pensees que perseverante a les soutenir, qui commenga
* Vide Planche on British Costumes.

1 882.] THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. 29

tant de monumens et en acheva si peu, qui poussa si vigoureusement la re-
forme chretienne et qui laissa subsister tant de desordres, capable de tout,
en un mot, hormis de cette mediocrite sans gloire dont se contentent volon-
tiers les siecles faibles." *

A deep religious movement agitating- the current of the
times found expression in the two great mendicant orders of St.
Dominic and St. Francis, whose zeal and enthusiasm were mani-
fested in every field of profound thought and practical work.
The ardor of their missionary spirit was felt in remote quarters
of the globe, and their educational energy established schools in
which were nurtured the illustrious doctors upon whom have
been conferred the distinguishing appellations of the Angelic
and the Seraphic, the Admirable and the Irrefragable. It was to
these schools also that the age was indebted for the noblest
architectural achievements. The Romanesque and the Norman
styles were the types of rest and repose, but the Gothic was that
of life and action. The desecrated cathedrals of Salisbury and
Wells, of Lincoln and Chichester, are not only monuments of
England's ancient faith, but they still bear witness to the vigor
and purity of the taste possessed by the architects of the thir-
teenth century. The material and the political, the moral and
the social, conditions of society were subject to the quicken-
ing spirit of the times and passed through important changes.
Under the influences then dominant the Italian republics of
Pisa, Genoa, and Venice rose to power and made settlements in
Syria and Egypt, thus opening European marts to the wealth of
the Oriental world, to its arts and its manufactures, its science
and its philosophy. The art inspired by the genius of Giotto,
Cimabue, and Niccolo Pisano became the teacher of succeeding
centuries, and the scientific theories of Roger Bacon anticipated
many of the discoveries announced in subsequent times. He
pointed out the corrections of the calendar afterwards made by
Gregory XIII., and developed the outlines of a system of inquiry
in the domain of nature which was elaborated three centuries
later by his ungenerous namesake.f The age which showed
such an appreciation for art, and science, and philosophy pre-
pared the way for its poetic culmination in Dante by an innu-
merable band of lesser singers who are now almost overshad-
owed by the majesty of his name.

* Les Poetes Franciscains en Italie au XII le. Siecle.

t " Bacon spoke slightingly enough of the only monk who had borne his name, but who had
nevertheless inserted in his writings more truths than the chancellor of England was acquainted
with" (De Maistre, Examen de la Philosophic de Bacon, chap, i.)

30 THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.,

Among- the creations which preceded the song of the Floren-
tine are the incomparable mediaeval hymns which the Catholic
Church has garnered up in what Cardinal Newman * so appro-
priately calls " that most wonderful and most attractive monu-
ment of the devotion of the saints " the Breviarium Romanum.
In earlier times, when a familiar knowledge of the language in
which its divine offices are enshrined was more practically com-
mon than now, many of the educated laity used the Roman Bre-
viary as a manual of daily prayer and observed the canonical
hours with some degree of regularity.f Among Protestants
generally the Breviary is an unknown book, and we have never
seen it in any private libraries except those of Anglican clergy-
men. The late Hurrell Froude was an earnest student of its pages,
and the copy which he carried with him to the Barbados is still
constantly used by Cardinal Newman. To this keepsake of his
early friend he owes his knowledge of its treasures, and from it
he wrote his tract on the Breviary which appeared in the Tracts
for the Times. The " Stabat Mater," the most touching hymn
which poet ever sung or musician ever attuned to melody, the
church has preserved in the Breviary as part of the Officium
Septem Dolorum of the Blessed Mother. From the thirteenth
century to the present day that plaintive wail, by its exquisite
pathos, has moved countless generations in the Old World and in
the New to a deeper compassion and a more lasting love. Sug-
gested, perhaps, by a beautiful passage from St. Ambrose, ^ it
depicts the longing of the human heart to centre itself in that
divine sorrow, the crowning act in the stupendous drama of
Calvary. The opening stanza presents the final picture in the
august mystery of love as it is'recorded in the narrative of the
Gospel. Its chiefest charm lies in the rhythmical simplicity of
the words of the hymn, so in unison with the sacred record. A
few verses paint the scene which the sublimest pencil cannot
rival. In art the story of the cross by its accessories may move
to contemplative moods, but the severe language of the poet,
softened by the harmonies of Palestrina, or Pergolesi, or Haydn,
thrills the soul with the reality of the mystery, with the divinity
of the Passion :

* Apologia pro ViiaSua,p. 119.

t We are not unmindful of the fact that a distinguished layman, the Marquess of Bute, has
lately made a spirited translation of the Breviary.

\ "Stabat ante crucem Mater, et fugientibus viris, stabat intrepida. . . . Spectabat piis
oculis Filii vulnera, per quem sciebat omnibus fufuram redemptionem. Stabat non degeneri
Mater spectaculo quas non metuebat peremptorem. Pendebat in cruce Filius, Mater se persecu-
toribus offerebat" (De Instit. Virginis, c. vii. xlix.)

1 8 8 2 .] THE GREA TEST OF MEDIAE VA L H YMNS. 3 1

" Stabat Mater dolorosa
Juxta crucem lacrymosa,

Dum pendebat Filius.
Cujus animam gementem,
Contristatam, et dolentem,

Pertransivit gladius." *

The spectacle of the Virgin Mother transfixed with silent grief
at the foot of the cross opens every avenue of love, and the poet
bursts forth in words trembling with emotion :

" O quam tristis et afflicta
Fuit ilia benedicta
Mater Unigeniti ! " \

Again the sacred song assumes 'the narrative form, but the
calm self-poise needful for dramatic action and all that it involves
is quickened by the intensity of human instincts and loses itself
in the vision of such a death and such a grief. The yearning
sensibility of the spirit forgetful of self and self-consciousness is
manifested in a passionate prayer to be made partaker of the
bitterness of the cross. The lips of the poet, pale with the
divine frenzy of an enraptured soul, utter its burden of love :

" Sancta Mater, istud agas,
Crucifixi fige plagas

Cordi meo valide.
Tui Nati vulnerati,
Tarn dignati pro me pati,

Pcenas mecum divide." \

There can be little question that a hymn of such intrinsic
beauty, so intense in devotion and yet so plastic in form, would
soon attract the skill of the composer to test the capabilities of
its verse. More than one monastic musician had caught the fire

*The few stanzas which we give are from the version of Lord Lindsay :
"By the cross, sad vigil keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,

While on it the Saviour hung ;
In that hour of deep distress
Pierced the sword of bitterness

Through her heart with sorrow wrung."
t " Oh ! how sad, how woe-begone
Was that ever-blessed one,

Mother of the Son of God ! "
t " Print, O Mother ! on my heart,
Deeply print the wounds, the smart

Of my Saviour's chastisement ;
He who, to redeem my loss,
Deigned to bleed upon the cross
Make me share his punishment. "

32 THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.,

of its inspiration, and in the seclusion of a monk's cell, under the
shadow of a monk's cowl, had partially developed the latent
possibilities which were to find greater amplitude of treatment
as the science of music progressed towards a strict polyphonic
structure. First in point of time on the roll of maestros who
attempted to interpret its wealth of harmony stands the name of
Josquin des Pres, the celebrated pupil of the Flemish composer,
Jan Okeghem. Living at a period not very remote, if we con-
sider the slow advance of technical art, from the epoch which is
regarded as the beginning of modern music, certain elements
still lingered which critics of our day would pronounce crude
and monotonous in their results. However that may be, we
know that the harmony of Des Pres possessed the essential princi-
ples of modulation and progression, that he was a leader in the
brilliant choir of Pope Sixtus IV. and the most learned con-
trapuntist of his age. His " Stabat Mater," popular in his day as
the prolonged notes of a soul wearied by its own supplications,
is now only a tradition with the average musician. The next great
master whose fame is associated with the " Stabat Mater " oc-
cupies a large space in the history of musical art in the sixteenth
century. The career of Giovanni Pierluigi, known as Palestrina
from the place of his birth, was entirely spent in Rome. He
always displayed a rooted attachment and deep reverence for the
Eternal City, the scene of his early study and of all his musical
triumphs. While he lived the church appreciated the genius
which he consecrated to her service, and one of her greatest
sons, St. Philip Neri, ministered to him in his last moments ;
when dead he was laid to rest under the spacious dome of her
most magnificent cathedral. The reforms in ecclesiastical music
which the Council of Trent inaugurated were successfully car-
ried on by the aid of this severely conscientious artist. Pales-
trina never sacrificed his principles or his tastes in constructing
contrapuntal puzzles and clever fugues, in which some composers
delight to exhibit their ingenious powers. The sincere and
practical piety which colored his art was superior to such dis-
plays of musical pedantry. He aimed in his compositions to es-
chew all that was merely meretricious or that was unworthy of
the subject, and to infuse soul and intelligence into musical ex-
pression. His is still the model of what church music ought to
be the severe exponent of devotion, which makes the altar, and
not the choir, the centre of its aspiration and its thought. The
far-famed music which is performed in the Papal Chapel during
Holy Week is the joint production of Palestrina and his friend

1 882.] THE GREATEST OF MEDIAEVAL HYMNS. 33

Allegri, author of the matchless " Miserere." The " Improperia "
of Palestrina, which was first rendered on Good Friday, 1560, in
the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, of which he was chapelmas-
ter, was published in England by Dr. Charles Burney, the historian
of music, and his " Stabat Mater " by the French musician, Alex-
andre fitienne Choron. With those whose tastes have been culti-
vated after the elaborate style of Rossini the " Stabat Mater " of
Palestrina can never prove a favorite. It is free from whimsical
intricacies of counterpoint and all kinds of chromatic ostentation.
Its music is chaste and subdued, yet lacking neither warmth of
expression nor breadth of scope. Its skilful modulations carry
aloft toward heaven the appeal of a sustained hope rather
than the wild notes of an anguish, bordering on despair. Pales-
trina's harmonies are full of noble simplicity combined with
unaffected dignity. His art is peculiarly adapted to the lan-
guage of the Catholic ritual, and a return to its earnestness
will displace the sensuous passion and florid ornament with
which the school of Rossini has surcharged the music of the
last half-century.

Events in the lives of Astorga and Pergolesi, two composers
who followed Palestrina, turned their thoughts to the " Stabat
Mater." In fact, the shadows of death in each case awakened the
deep and sombre music which characterizes their compositions.
If they were unlike as to the age in which they lived they were
alike in this : that a kindred sorrow moved both to find a respite
in the musical interpretation of that sublime hymn. The ardent
soul of the Sicilian, who had witnessed the execution of his fa-
ther through the treachery of his own soldiers, and the death of
his mother from a grief that was inconsolable, had early drained
the bitter chalice to its dregs. No innocent memories of youth,
softening all the pains of subsequent years, had sweetened the
early days of Astorga, and in the darkness of this tragedy his
reason became for a time eclipsed. When at length the cloud
was lifted he found himself forced by the decree of a stern des-
tiny to take up the burden of a solitary life whose earthly bright-
ness was for ever departed. Such experiences, when mind and
heart are plastic, either deaden or deepen faith. Under the do-
minion of divine truth the vision is radiant with the promises of
supernatural gifts, but, perverted by the will of man, the bow of
peace recedes from view :

" In la sua volontade e nostra pace." *

* " In His will is our peace " (Dante, Paradiso, iii. 85).
VOL. XXXVI. 3

34 THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.,

By a severe spiritual discipline the early sorrows of Astorga
were assimilated with a love and a sympathy far-reaching- in in-
tensity of grasp. Instead of profaning they nourished a sublimer
faith and a livelier hope which hallowed, exalted, and refined all
human associations. Although the impetuosity of his character
was subjugated by the interior life of a religious community, it
was but natural that he should still hear the echoes, even in the
words of the " Stabat Mater," of those memories which were chas-
tened but not obliterated. However sad in themselves, when
purified by faith they became propitious for the expression of
the beatitude of suffering commemorated in that hymn. In the
music of Pergolesi there is a certain pictorial grandeur which
defies description, and some one, in endeavoring to convey an
iclea of the living picture which his "Stabat Mater" presents,
simply abandoned all effort in that direction by remarking that
" the angels could not help weeping as they listened to it." The
perfection of his art lies in the masterly power of the distri-
bution of harmonies in keeping with the subject-matter of his
compositions. There is a natural flow of cadences from se-
quence to sequence which makes the unity of the whole com-
plete without being harsh or monotonous. The music of his
"Stabat Mater ".is its own interpreter and needs no words to
reveal the sufferings of the Mater dolorosa. In declining health
Pergolesi resigned his position as chapelmaster in Loreto and
removed to Torre del Greco, at the foot of the fiery Vesuvius.
Here in these last days, broken by disease and subdued by the
inevitable end which was rapidly approaching, he produced
among other compositions a "Stabat Mater " which alone is wor-
thy to perpetuate his fame. It is said that the spectacle of an exe-
cution and the grief of the victim's surviving relative, of which
Pergolesi was an unwilling witness, so touched his heart and
racked his memory that he could find no rest till calmed by the
sweet influences which his own music inspired, then composed
in honor of Our Lady of Sorrows

" Sancta Mater, fons amoris."

Divested of the sympathy which flows from the cross, how de-
grading are the effects of all exhibitions of physical pain !
Herein lies the difference of view between the thought that is
Christian and the thought that is pagan. The brutalizing power
of a faith which sees no life beyond this, the beginning and the
end of man's destiny, is portrayed in the ghastly legend which
Seneca has recorded of one of the greatest paintings of an-

1 8 82.] THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. 35

tiquity,* the "Prometheus Chained," and which Mr. N. P. Willis
has made the subject of his most graphic poem :

" If beyond

The grave there is no heaven in whose wide air
The spirit may find room, and in the love
Of whose bright habitants the lavish heart
May spend itself, what thrice-mocked fools are we ! "

The prevailing musical taste of our day is represented by a
group of composers consisting of Haydn, Meyerbeer, and Rossini,
each of whom has produced a " Stabat Mater." If we exclude
the art moulded by the practice and theory of Wagner, for
whom exists a fierce opposition no less than an earnest advocacy,,
the three names are typical of the popular style. A criticism,,
therefore, which deals with the compositions of the one is appli-
cable to all, with slight modifications as to the individualities of
Haydn, a marvel in instrumentation and professional industry..
Meyerbeer was greatly influenced by Rossini, who is in music
what Hiram Powers is in sculpture a genius that spurned the
best traditions of his art, and followed his own fancies a ad ca<-
prices instead of the fixed and determinate principles of recog-
nized authorities. Each contracted his sphere in art and encum-
bered it with difficulties. After persistent effort Rossini secured'
the plaudits of the musical world, which at first was surprised by
the vivacity of his style and the audacity of his treatment. Sen-
sitive to the praise lavished upon his rival, Beethoven called him
a good scene-painter ; but his William Tell proves the injustice
of such scorn. Rossini had all the qualities essential for suc-
cess in opera, but he was destitute of that fine discrimination in
ecclesiastical music which never mistakes animation for fervor.
His " Stabat Mater " is the product of his life in light and plea-
sure-loving Paris, and never rises above commonplace. Mos-
cheles could only speak of its " singableness" but as a musical expo-
nent of the hymn we cannot regard it as other than a profanation.
A vain and sordid mind like Rossini's, incapable of any high ideals
either of love or of sorrow in his art, could never penetrate into
a region of joy or suffering in which the animal emotions do not
largely predominate. How could his " Stabat Mater " glow with*
devotion when his own soul responded only to the earthly ? If
we recall the narrow thoughts and crafty devices which had.

* The story is told of Parrhasius, the painter, who had an aged Olynthian captive crucified^
that he might catch from nature the expression of physical agony. It is believed to be a myth.

36 THE GREATEST OF MEDIAEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.,

taken possession of him at the period of its production we will
not be astonished at the results. Having accepted the position
of Intendant Gen6ral de la Musique du Roi, et Inspecteur du
Chant en France, which yielded him an annual salary of twenty
thousand francs, with a guarantee, in case its functions ceased, of
a pension of six thousand francs, Rossini's greed of gain was in a
measure appeased. But the revolution of 1830 swept away his
office and threatened his pension. He was rich, however, in his
own right and in the fortune of his wife ; in Bologna he owned
a splendid palace filled with the treasures of art. Nevertheless
he began a lawsuit, which continued six years, to secure the pen-
sion attached to his defunct office. In order to create sympa-
thy and win popular favor he simulated dire poverty and took
squalid apartments in the attic of the Italian theatre. Here, un-
der the guise of a beggar, with deceit in his heart and on his lips,
he received his distinguished visitors, and here he essayed to
evoke in music the spirit of the hymn ; but it deigned not to re-
spond to the call of a mean and avaricious soul, and Rossini's
" Stabat Mater " is what it is, the ignoble musical expression of a
gifted but ignoble man.

We do not advert to the English translations of the hymn,
much less do we here attempt anything like a critical exami-
nation of them. Another question of greater interest has natu-
rally occurred to the mind of the reader : Who wrote the " Sta-
bat Mater " ? Since the pontificate of Benedict XIV. Catholic
writers have almost uniformly attributed the authorship of the
hymn to Pope Innocent III.; but before the former wrote his
treatise " De Festis " St. Gregory the Great and St. Bonaven-
tura were numbered among its reputed authors.* In our
own times the best critical opinions appear to reduce the claim-
ants to two Innocent III. and Jacobus de Benedictis, or Jaco-
pone, as he is more familiarly known. The late Cardinal Wise-
man, in speaking of the former, remarks : " As a poet the two
unrivalled hymns, 'Stabat Mater' and ' Veni Sancte Spiritus,'
must sufficiently stamp his reputation "; \ and the late Father
O'Brien, a recent writer on liturgical subjects, says: " We fol-
low the majority, however, in ascribing it to Pope Innocent
III." \ The strongest argument against Jacopone's claims to its
authorship is that given in the History of the Mass, which cites
his hymn for Christmas morning modelled after the " Stabat

*Benedicti XIV. Opera omnia, " De Festis," t. ix. 1. ii. cap. iv. 5, p. 260.

t Essays, vol. v. p. 275.

% History of the Mass, fifth edition, p. "226.

1 8 82.] THE GREATEST OF MEDIAEVAL HYMNS. 37

Mater." In Tresatti's edition* of the works of Jacopone his
poems are divided into seven books, none of which contain the
" Stabat Mater " ; but if this be used as an argument against his
claim it will lose its force by the counter-statement that Tresatti
omits from his poems " Cur Mundus," the authenticity of which
may be said to be undisputed. The memory of Pope Innocent
III., so traduced by Protestant historians, has been amply vindicat-
ed by Friedrich Hurter, a writer of rare abilities, who was sub-
sequently led into the Catholic Church by a critical study of eccle-
siastical history. The fame of this great pope of the thirteenth
century now rests secure in his learned and exhaustive work.f
As a sentiment quite independent of critical judgment, we, for
our part, prefer to associate the " Stabat Mater," so full of reli-
gious emotions for both Protestant \ and Catholic, with the lowly
Franciscan poet, of whom M. Ampere says that he was " dans
ses effusions mystiques, un precurseur de Saint Jean de la Croix
et de Sainte Therese," but whom we would call, from a literary
point of view, a precursor of Dante.

In the unrest of his great soul the divine Florentine, wander-
ing across the mountains of Lunigiana, stopped one day at the
gate of the monastery of the Santa Croce del Corvo. The trav-
eller, weary and sore of foot, knocked for admittance, and the
monk who opened its portal, peering into that strange, wan face
with which art has made us so familiar, asked : " What seek
you here?" Dante, harassed by conflicts from without and by
sorrows from within, looked wistfully about as he answered,
" Peace " pacem, the aspiration of the saint and the longing of
the worldling. There is something in this story of the fiery poet
seeking consolation in the cloistral quiet of a monk's cell typical
of the spiritual anguish which agitated the soul of more than one
of his poetic precursors. Sorrow, whether or not we consider it
the mysterious dower of genius which we can neither under-
stand nor express, seems to tinge with its sombre coloring the
vision of all great hearts who have moved the world to higher
realms of thought by the pathos of verse. The undertone of

*The seven books given in Tresatti's edition are as follows : book i. Le Satire ; book ii.
/ Cantici morali ; book iii. Le Odi ; book iv. / Cantici penitentiali ; book v. Tlieorica del divino
amore ; book vi. Cantici spirituali amatorii ; book vii. Segreto spirituale.

t Hurter's Geschichte Papst Innocenz III. und seiner Zeitgenossen was published from 1834
to 1842. In 1844 he became a Catholic.

J In describing the last moments of Sir Walter Scott, Lockhart says : "We very often heard
distinctly the cadence of the " Dies Iras " ; and I think the very last stanza that we could make
out was the first of a still greater favorite ' Stabat Mater dolorosa ' " (Lockhart's Scoff, vol. x.
p. 214).

Revue des Deux Mondes, Juin, 1853, p. 1261.

38 THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.

sadness is the refrain of our humanity. The impassioned strain
only suggests a still higher which dwells in regions out of sight,
and the poetic lights which wander here and there through the
centuries are

" Signallings from some high land
Of One they feel, but dimly understand."

The mystic, unfathomable song, whether it be the march of
stately epic or the wail of plaintive hymn, but reveals that after
all " it is through mystery to mystery, from God to God."
Kindred with the tragical life of the author of the Divina Corn-
media is that of Jacopone, the child of St. Francis. If the poem
of the Florentine, as Carlyle says, is the voice of ten silent cen-
turies, the pathetic melody of the Franciscan is the echo of all
human hearts since the dawn of Christianity.

To the northwest of Spoleto, on the left bank of the yellow
Tiber, was situated the ancient town of Tuder, subsequently
known as Todi. Built on an eminence which commanded an ex-
tensive view of the beautiful scenery of Umbria, it was strongly
fortified both by nature and by the skill of its inhabitants. Its
walls and its castle were imposing structures and evidenced the
martial spirit of its citizens. In the history of the Gothic mon-
archies of Italy it is memorable as the place at which Nares de-
feated and killed the Barbarian king Totila, who, in the ponti-
ficate of Vigilius, had plundered Rome and broken down its
walls. Here in the early part of the thirteenth century Jacobus
de Benedictis was born. The annals of his family are brief and
unsatisfactory. His parents were persons of rank and fortune,
and Jacobus was accustomed to the luxury and refinement which
surrounded the noble and wealthy class of society. Of his youth
we know little beyond these isolated facts. The University of
Bologna at this time was one of the chief centres of learning in
Italy, and gathered into its halls students from all parts of Eu-
rope. It was especially celebrated for its department of juris-
prudence, and thither Jacobus went to prepare himself for a
career in the law. Beyond his own words we possess no infor-
mation as to his university course whether he was brilliant or
silent, industrious or indolent. " If you desire to talk and to
gossip," says he, " if you wish to shirk your duty, you may suc-
ceed with the wisdom gathered at Bologna, but this even is a
matter of doubt. It will but increase your desires and lead you
to seek more and more. It will enkindle your ambition, and the
outcome of it all will be pain and sorrow." Having completed

1 882.] THE GREATEST OF MEDIAEVAL HYMNS. 39

the curriculum of study at Bologna, Jacobus returned to his
native town and began his legal life. The next act in the drama
was as natural in the career of the professional young man of
that period as it is now. Jacobus was thinking of marriage, and
when the thoughts of youth turn in that direction the fruition
of hope is seldom very remote. He married a woman who,
while remarkable for beauty of person, possessed other charms
than those which fade with the flight of years. While living in
the gay and fashionable society of her day, and enjoying its in-
nocent pleasures, she was not unmindful of the duties of life, its
aim and its destiny. Her piety, however, was of a kind that
sought the shade rather than the garish light, and even Jacobus
had scarcely opportunity to discover its sincerity or its depth.
But the time had come which was' to reveal its rigor of self-dis-
cipline and convert the ambitious lawyer into the humble ascetic.
An entertainment was given in the town-hall of Todi at which a
number of ladies of rank were present, among whom was the
wife of Jacobus. The beams which supported the flooring gave
way, and in an instant the interior of the edifice buried the spec-
tators beneath the ruins. Word was sent to Jacobus, who had
remained at home engaged in the business of the law. He
reached the scene of disaster in time to receive the latest breath
of his young and beautiful bride. In unfastening her costly gar-
ments to aid her breathing Jacobus beheld under her clothing,
rich in texture and ornament, a coarse hair-shirt which she had
not put aside even in the midst of festivities. Thus vanished the
brief day-dream of Jacobus, in which love and ambition were
united. " From that moment," says Kenelm Digby, " he began
to philosophize subtilely in the school of Christ, became a most
holy man, and so verified the apostle's words, that an infidel
husband is sanctified by a faithful wife." * Called to a career of
abnegation, he obeyed quickly. His surrender to the divine
command addressed to the young man in the Gospel f was literal
and complete without dwelling on its temporal consequences
attachment to kindred and to friends, brilliant prospects, and
the easy ways of a luxurious and enviable life. His poem " Cur
Mundus " shows how he now valued the honors and applause ofj
men :

"Nil tuum dixeris, quod potes perdere,
Quod mundus tribuit, intendit rapere.
Superna cogita, cor sit in aethere,
Felix qui potuit mundum contemnere."

* Mores CathoJici ; or. Ages of Faith, vol. iii. p. 420. t St. Mark x. 21.

4O THE GREATEST OF MEDIEVAL HYMNS. [Oct.,

Assuming- a coarse habit, he no longer appeared in the streets
of his native town as the popular lawyer, but as the stern as-
cetic, who was willing to be considered mad for the kingdom of
heaven's sake. Henceforth he was called in derision Jacopone
" mad Jack." Cheerfully he accepted the title and gloried in it.
" Whoever has made himself a madman," says he, " for the Lord's
sake, has gained great wisdom. In Paris they do not fancy phi-
losophy like this, and he that becomes a fool for Christ's sake
must expect nothing save vexation and sorrow."

After ten years spent in the severest austerities, with no com-
panions but his pen and his crucifix, Jacopone finally applied for
admittance as a lay brother in the Franciscan convent. The
good friars of St. Francis, whose bride was Poverty, feared to
receive such a wild and untamed intellect among them. He re-
tired to his solitude for a time, but again importuned them to
admit him. He left two poems, " Udite Nova Pazzia " and " Cur
Mundus," for the guardian of the friary. These were the reve-
lations which explained the secret of his madness and opened to
him the portals of cloistral life. Gladly would we follow Fra
Jacopone through the checkered years which remained, full of
sorrow and strife, of rashness and submission ; but space forbids.
We must also pass over in silence the conflict with Pope Boni-
face VIII., who, as his ablest defender against the charges of
Sismondi has said, " was indeed unfortunate in having the poets
among his enemies." * Sheltered at last within the walls of the
convent at Cellarino, the grief and vehemence of the poet's soul
could only be calmed in death. In the exquisite imagery bor-
rowed from Jean Paul Richter,f the unseen hand which sends
the last arrow could alone lift from his aching brows the crown
of thorns. M. Ozanam, who has written a beautiful life of Fra
Jacopone which was a great favorite with Cardinal Mai, has
drawn his portrait with a coloring neither too brilliant nor too
sombre. These are its salient features :

" Ce poete, qui se detache si bien de la foule, qu'il.faut aller chercher
sons des haillons et dans un cachot ; de ce poete tout brulant d'amour de
Dieu et de passions politiques, humble et temeraire, savant et capricieux,
capable de tous les ravissemens quand il contemple, de tous les emporte-
mens quand il chatie, et lorsqu'il ecrit pour le peuple, descendant a des
trivialites incroyables, au milieu desquelles il trouve tout a coup le sublime
et la grace." \

* Wiseman's Essays, vol. v. p. 198.

t " Aber das Grab ist nicht tief ; es ist der leuchtende Fusstritt eines Engels, der uns sucht.
Wenn die unbekannte Hand den letzten Pfeil an das Haupt des Menschen sendet, so buckt er
vorher das Haupt, und der Pfeil hebt bloss die Dornenkrone von seinen Wunden ab."

f Les Poetes Franciscains en Italic au XI lie. Siecle.

i882.J THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 41

THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER.

AT the head of a long, winding creek which opens into a
broader one called Hutchinson's Creek there stood during the
Revolution a plain log-cabin inhabited by Robert Reed, better
known in the township of East Chester as Captain Bob. Even
to-day this is a secluded spot. But a century ago the primeval
forest came almost to the water's edge and formed a semicircle
round about it ; on some of the trees marks of Indian tomahawks
were still visible, and it was difficult to believe that the city of
New York was only fifteen miles away.

But Captain Bob, who had spent his best years piloting ves-
sels up and down the Sound, was now old and blind ; he cared
not how retired his home was, provided only his dear Phebe were
near him. And Phebe loved him as tenderly as ever daughter
loved her father. There were prettier girls than she in East
Chester. Her complexion was bronzed by exposure to the sun,
her hands were not so soft and delicate as they might have been,
while her nose was decidedly tip-tilted toward the sky. But her
eyes, which were the color of the deep blue sea, were the bright-
est and merriest eyes you had ever looked into, and her healthy,
well-developed figure made her a worthy offspring of the tough
old pilot.

" This is your birthday, child. To-day you are twenty-five,"
spoke Captain Bob one April morning in 1777, after Phebe had
ensconced him in a high-backed chair on the porch where the
early sunbeams might fall upon him.

" Yes, twenty-five," answered Phebe cheerily : she knew not
what it was to be otherwise than cheerful.

" Well, child, stay with me as long as you can. Plenty of
time to settle down plenty of time." " I will stay with you
always," said Phebe. " Why, where could I be happier than
here with you in this sweet, sweet home ? "

" Ay, close by tide-water," continued her father.

" And where I can smell the salt meadows, which I like ten
times better than clover-fields," said Phebe, drawing in a full
breath of bracing air wafted from the creek. " But these are
gloomy days ; have you heard any news ?" inquired the pilot.
" Some Skinners rode into the village last evening and broke
Nat Hunt's windows," answered Phebe " for you know that

42 THE PI-LOT" s DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

he is a Tory and they might have plundered his store had not a
band of Cowboys appeared and driven them off."

" Well, the war has lasted now two years. It is two whole
years since the fight at Lexington. The Lord knows when it
will end," sighed Captain Bob, shaking his head.

" It will end when we have won our independence not be-
fore," said Phebe. "Right! right!" exclaimed a voice at the
corner of the house, and in another moment a stout, strongly-
built young man approached with quick, agile step. He was
barely an inch taller than Phebe, his hair was black and curly,
he had earrings in his ears, and his eyes were the same color as
her own.

" Good-morning, Ben Barry ; good-morning," quoth the pilot,
stretching forth his hand. " Good-morning," said Ben. Then,
turning to Phebe, he added : " I am a little late ; but all is ready.
Will you christen her ?" "To be sure I will ; and there could
not be a finer day for the ceremony," replied Phebe. " Well,
the boys have worked like beavers ; they must be smart mechan-
ics. Have you let any of them into the secret?" inquired her
father. " I have told only three of the most trusty ones," said
Ben. "Well, are you really ready? "said Phebe; "for if you
are I will fetch a bottle of gooseberry-wine." " Yes, all is
ready," answered Ben. A few minutes later the girl took her
father's hand, and, carrying under her arm the bottle of home-
made wine, they sallied forth to the christening.

Turning to the right, they entered a path which led them
across a little garden, then into a shadowy maze of oaks and
hickory-trees, the haunt of raccoons and partridges, and after
proceeding a short distance came to a babbling trout-stream,
which still retains its old name of Rattlesnake Brook, albeit
rattlesnakes have long disappeared from Westchester County.
"Do you remember this spot? "said Ben, glancing at Phebe.
" Indeed I do," she said. " And the anchor is just where you
put it, and will be there to my dying day. But it hurt a lit-
tle : your pin went deep." " Well, I have three anchors on
each arm," said Ben, smiling. " And I have one more than both
of you together," put in Captain Bob.

Thus pleasantly chatting, they stepped across the brook and
in a little while found themselves once more in view of the creek,
but at a point where it was broader and deeper.

" Oh ! would that I could see," exclaimed the pilot. " But
you must let me feel her ; do bring me close ! And there is quite
a crowd here ; is there not? I hear many voices."

1 882.] THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 43

Well might the old man now lament the loss of his vision, for
he would have beheld an interesting scene. About two acres of
woods had been cleared away, and in the clearing a hundred
people or more were assembled in groups, while all were looking
at a schooner which was resting on the stocks and tricked out
from bow to stern with branches of evergreens and cedars.

Phebe led her father close to the pretty craft, so that he
might run his hands along her hull, which he did with care and
muttering all the while to himself. Then she conducted him up
a gangway to the deck, which he paced twice, saying at last :
" Ben, my boy, you have given her a good deal of sheer ; she will
ride like a duck on the water." By this time a dozen youths
and maidens invited to the deck by Ben were standing around
him, whispering and speaking his praise. Presently Ben's eye
rested on one of them a tall, slender girl with lily-white com-
plexion, save a spot like a rosebud glowing on either cheek,
which suddenly expanded and bloomed into a beautiful rose
when she saw him looking at her.

" Why, Mehitable, I am glad to see you. I scarcely hoped
to meet you here to-day," said Ben.

"I got back from my visit to Mamaroneck early this morn-
ing; I journeyed by starlight on purpose to be present at the
launch," answered the daughter of Nat Hunt, the Tory. " 'Tis
well you did not return last evening," said Ben.

" Ay, or I might have been frightened to death by those
thievish Skinners who attacked my father's store," said Mehit-
able, speaking as if she cared not who heard her and there
were sympathizers with the Skinners present as well as Tories.
Then in a milder tone she added : " Pray who is going to
baptize your schooner, Captain Ben?" " Captain Bob's daugh-
ter," answered Ben, half turning to Phebe, whose open, art-
less countenance betrayed not the least jealousy of the other.
She knew that Mehitable was the belle of the township, and that
she herself was homely ; it was therefore quite natural for Ben to
gaze wistfully on Mehitable.

" Methinks 'tis a bottle of gooseberry-wine she intends to
break over the bow," continued the latter, with an ill-concealed
sneer. " My father would have furnished something better for
the occasion." " By thunder and lightning ! knock away the
blocks and let her glide into the water," growled the old pilot,
who was boiling with anger and would have given Mehitable a
piece of his mind, only that he was afraid it might injure his
friend Barry, who was supposed to be neutral in his feelings and

44 THE PiLofs DAUGHTER, [Oct.,

had given out that his vessel was to be used for catching cod-
fish.

Obedient to her parent's emphatically-expressed wish, Phebe
now tucked up her right sleeve, and as the arm became exposed
to view you were struck by its whiteness as compared with her
sunburnt hand ; it was as white as Mehitable's arm, except for a
big bluish spot on the inner side, where was distinctly marked
the figure of an anchor. Mehitable smiled scornfully when she
perceived it, and whispered something to Ben, who made no re-
sponse, but advanced with Phebe and her father to the extreme
end of the bow. " All ready ? " he called out presently.

" Ay, ay, sir," came the quick response from below. In an-
other moment the hull began to move, slowly at first, very slowly,
then faster and faster, and at length, just as the keel parted the
deep, inflowing tide, Phebe shivered the bottle of wine against
her side, crying out as she did so : " Squall is the name I give
thee, beautiful schooner ! May Heaven prosper thee in every
cruise ! " Immediately arose a loud huzza, and many hands were
clapped, and, startled perhaps by the unwonted sight and the
cheering, an eagle flew out of a pine-tree on the edge of the
wood, and, circling three times overhead, screamed a wild, pierc-
ing Godspeed of its own to the American privateer.

This evening, a little after sundown, Ben was seated on the
porch of Captain Bob's house, sipping a glass of grog which
Phebe had made for him ; she would rather have given him tea,
but tea was not to be had in East Chester during these Revolu-
tionary days. Phebe herself was busy trailing a vine of morn-
ing-glories about an ancient figurehead of a ship placed in front
of the door, and which her father had found floating in Hell Gate
many years gone by. It represented Neptune, and, despite its
age and weather-beaten aspect, it formed not an unseemly orna-
ment to his humble home. " Verily, we never know what will
become of our bones," observed the pilot, whose sightless eyes
were turned toward the figurehead. " The ship to which that
once belonged was built far away in ' Bilbo.' " " And the Spa-
nish skipper had not you for pilot, or he would not have wreck-
ed his bark on the Hog's Back," observed Phebe. " Alas ! let
us not talk of those days," sighed her father. " I am good for
nothing now; I shall never steer another ship."

" Well, when peace returns I can take your place and earn
something, so cheer up," said Phebe. Then, perceiving him
smile, " But I am in earnest," she continued. " Why, during
the past winter I have studied all your charts and soundings,

1 882.] THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. 45

and I know the reefs and channels between New York and
Sand's Point almost as well as as "

" As myself, eh ? " interrupted her father.

" Well, no, I don't mean to say that. But I am quite ca-
pable of guiding a vessel through the dangerous places. You
know that 1 have been with you a score of times when you were
acting as pilot, and I have sharp eyes and a good memory."

" Well, child, I guess that this small patch of ground, if pro-
perly cultivated, will keep you and me from want ; you need do
no such work as that," said the pilot. " But I love the water,"
pursued Phebe. " And even now it might be better if we were
afloat instead of ashore. Who knows what night the Cowboys
may not pay us a visit and steal our chickens and burn our house
down ? "

" Well, if that were to happen 1 could take you aboard the
Squall" put in Ben Barry, laughing.

" Ay, and teach me how to fire a cannon," said Phebe.
"You'd make a first-rate gunner," said Ben. " Well, you cannot
think how glad I am that you are going to command a priva-
teer," went on Phebe. " And when we shall have achieved our
independence it will not bp said that you stayed in East Chester
doing nothing while others were fighting."

" Hush ! hush ! not so loud," said Ben in a low, hurried voice.
He had scarcely spoken when Nat Hunt and his daughter made
their appearance.

" Why, are you here?" exclaimed Mehitable, feigning sur-
prise. She knew well enough that Ben was here. " And your
beautiful schooner where is she ? "

" At the mouth of the creek," answered Ben, advancing and
pressing her hand. " Oh ! what a beauty she is," added Me-
hitable.

"And the first cargo of codfish he brings home from the
Banks he hopes that you will dispose of for him," said Phebe,
addressing the storekeeper ; whereupon Mehitable shifted her
position so as to place herself exactly between Ben and Phebe.
Then, in a slow and measured way, she said : " Captain Ben, why
did you give your schooner such a horrid name ? The Squall is
a perfectly horrid name." " So it is," growled the pilot ; " do
change it and call her the Apple-dumplings eh, Miss Hunt?"
"A good idea. Why did I not think of it this morning?" ob-
served Phebe calmly. " It matters little what a fishing or trading
vessel is called : she is to be employed in earning filthy lucre.
Were she a bold, dashing man-of-war it would be different.

46 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

Therefore let her name be changed to Apple-dumplings" It
were difficult to describe Mehitable's expression at this moment
as she turned her graceful head and stared at Phebe ; any other
girl but the pilot's daughter would have quailed beneath her
haughty gaze. "Well, what name would you have me give my
schooner?" inquired Ben in a semi- whisper. "Don't askw<?/
I care not now what you call her," replied Mehitable angrily.

With this she quitted Ben's side and went and stood near her
father. " Tut, tut ! Be not vexed about a trifle," spoke the lat-
ter. " And if Captain Ben will bring his codfish to my store I
guarantee to sell them for a good price that is, provided the ras-
cally Skinners leave me unmolested." " They are no worse than
the Cowboys, who plunder honest folk in the name of King
George," remarked Phebe.

" Humph ! I guess you are about right," answered Hunt.
" One side is as bad as the other. Why, I am told that at the
tavern called the Old Stone Jug, on the Boston Post-Road, the
Skinners and Cowboys sometimes meet at night and amicably
divide spoils ; and between the two poor Westchester County
is fast going to the dogs."

Then, glancing at his daughter, he added : "Why, child, we
have not been here five minutes yet. Why do you wish to re-
turn home ? " " Let us go," said Mehitable.

Here Ben gave her an entreating look. But in vain ; the
artful beauty pouted and shook her head. She was anxious to
prove to Phebe how much influence she wielded over him, and
it would not do to yield too readily to his entreaties. So she re-
peated : " Let us go home, father ; let us go home." " No, no ;
you shall not leave us so soon," exclaimed Ben, catching her
snowy wrist. Then he breathed a few words in her ear.

" Well, well, since you hold me a prisoner what can I do? I
must stay," continued Mehitable, her ire suddenly subsiding and
lifting her eyes to Ben with an arch expression which went
straight where she meant it to go to his susceptible heart.
"Yes, remain and let us be friends," spoke the generous Phebe.
" I wish I had a dish of tea to offer you." Without deigning
to answer this kindly speech Mehitable let Ben lead her to a
chair somewhat apart from where the others were sitting, and
there for a good half-hour, and until darkness concealed the
broad meadows and winding creek, they chatted pleasantly to-
gether in undertones.

" Ben, you are no better than a booby to let that girl twist
you round her finger," said the pilot after Nat Hunt and his

1 8 8 2 .] THE PIL OT'S DA UGHTER. 4 7

daughter had taken their departure. At this Phebe jerked her
father's sleeve as a sign for him to hold his tongue. But he was
not to be quieted, and presently he went on : " You surely would
not make love to such a saucy ' critter,' would you ? Although I
am blind I can tell that she is a perfect she-devil."

" O father ! " whispered Phebe pleadingly and jerking his
sleeve harder. " Well, child, I will believe your word, for it is
better than gold," continued the pilot ; " so tell me what this
Mehitable Hunt is like." " She is the handsomest girl between
here and the Harlem River," replied Phebe. " Well, would you
have the brave, honest, patriotic Ben Barry spark the daughter
of the blackest Tory in the township, no matter how bonny she
might be? " continued the old man, thumping his cane on the
ground. " Well, if he loves her, and she loves him, he may turn
her into a patriot ; who knows ? " answered Phebe. Then, after a
pause, she added : " But because Captain Ben has been uncommon
civil to Mehitable does not signify that he is sparking, does it?"
" Well, well, all sailors are alike," concluded the pilot. " Afloat
they know what they're about, but ashore they are boobies."
Here Phebe turned to Ben, and, although she spoke not, she
seemed to say : " Heed not my father's words." But the young
man was bound to the latter by too firm a friendship to grow net-
tled by anything he might say now that he was sightless and
worried by rheumatism; and presently, taking his arm, they
went into the house together.

A fortnight after the launch the Squall was ready for a trial
cruise. It was a bright and breezy morning, and when Phebe
rose from her couch and discovered the schooner's raking masts
towering high above the sedge-grass she clapped her hands for
joy. " Verily," she exclaimed, " Ben is smart ; he has worked
like a beaver. Right here in the forest, surrounded by spies and
enemies, he has built his privateer, and now yonder she is, all
tautly rigged and nothing wanting to make her perfect but her
guns." Then, bursting into a laugh, Phebe added : " And they
think the Squall is meant to catch codfish ha ! ha ! ha ! "

Shortly after sunrise Ben made his appearance, rowing up
the creek in a scow, whistling a merry tune and hoping that
Mehitable would be prompt and not keep him waiting ; for he
had invited her to take a sail up the Sound, and the tide would
begin to .ebb in a quarter of an hour.

Ben greeted Phebe, who of course was to form one of the
party, with a familiar wave of the hand nothing more and
merely said " Thank you " when she offered him a roll of charts,

48 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

telling him at the same time that he need not return them.
" Poor father can have no further use for them," she said, " and
they may help you to win honor and glory." " How's the tide ?"
shouted the pilot from the doorway. " About high, sir," an-
swered Ben. " Oh ! you are there, are you, Ben ? Good ! Then
let's be off. Come and get me, Phebe. Make haste ! " cried the
old man. Phebe accordingly went and brought him carefully
down to the water's edge ; then, having seated him in the stern of
the boat ; herself took the oars, for she was fond of rowing.

" Here she is," said Phebe presently. " Who ? Who is com-
ing? " inquired her father. " Mehitable Hunt," answered Phebe.
" Mehitable ! Oh ! then may it blow great guns," growled Captain
Bob. " Any clouds, child any clouds ? " " No, sir ; the sky is as
clear as a bell." " Confound it ! I wish it was November and the
wind howling from the northeast," he added just as Miss Hunt
stopped and began looking at them with an expression of de-
spair. " Why, how shall I ever get .to where you are, Captain
Barry?" she exclaimed. " Can't you bring a plank? Can't you
make me a little bridge ? And, O my ! there goes a horrid
snake," pointing to an eel wriggling through the mud. " Ay,
and it's a rattlesnake. Run! run! " cried the pilot. "Dear fa-
ther, do not scare her," said Phebe.

In another moment Ben was at Mehitable's side; then, lifting
her in his arms to her unbounded delight he carried her into
the scow with as much ease as if she had been a feather. " Does
she know how to row? Won't Phebe upset us?" whispered
Mehitable. " Well, I know how to swim," replied Ben as he
dropped her tenderly in the bow.

And now off they went, the pilot muttering something about
a storm brewing. " And if anything happens, Phebe," he said,
" save your precious self, child ; don't mind me." At these omi-
nous words Mehitable, for whose ears they were intended, nestled
closer to Ben's side, who presently stole one of her pretty hands,
and, after feasting his eyes on it a moment, looked at Phebe's
brown, strong hand. What a contrast between them ! How
helpful the one, how puny the other ! O perverse, passion-
blinded youth ! How canst thou hesitate for a moment which
hand to choose ? Ben had known the pilot's daughter ever since
she was five years old a romping, barefooted, chubby-faced
creature, as fond of wading in the water as a snipe. In the first
year of her teens Phebe had let him tattoo an anchor on her
arm, wincing a little when the needle pierced the flesh, then kiss-
ing him and saying, " It didn't hurt much, Ben." Since that

1 882.] THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. 49

now seemingly far-off day his lips had never once met hers not
once ; more like brother and sister they had grown toward each
other. On one occasion he had told her that she would make a
fine sailor-boy, whereupon Phebe had said : " And I would like to
sail with you, Ben, all round the world." These words her father
had overheard, and we cannot wonder that, loath as he would
have been to have parted with Phebe, Ben was the man who, he
hoped, might one day win her heart. And now to have him
showing attention to the daughter of a sneaking Tory was in-
deed enough to make him call Ben a booby. Yet it must be
owned that in the matter of wiving all men are like Ben Barry.
But if the latter thought Mehitable's hand much pleasanter to
hold and to fondle than Phebe's hand, her tiny foot charmed
him even more.

" My shoes are all covered with, nasty creek-mud," spoke
Mehitable presently. " Can't you scrape it off? 'Twill spoil my
new shoes." " With pleasure," answered Ben, and, forthwith
picking up a clam-shell from the bottom of the boat, he went
about his task so agreeably to Mehitable that when he got
through she wished that she could plunge- her feet again in the
mud. " But you are handy at everything you do, Captain Ben
at everything," she said. " And I hope that you will catch lots
of codfish more than any other skipper." Not a spark of jeal-
ousy entered Phebe's breast when she heard them thus cooing
together. Her blind parent drew to himself all her affection ;
him she all but adored. Ben was merely a good friend whom
she had known as far back as her memory ran. " And I am not
good-looking," thought Phebe as she made the boat skim along
the water. " Ben will choose a handsome girl for his wife. I
will never leave dear father."*

When they reached the schooner, which was anchored near
the island now called Goose Island, Phebe clambered aboard
with the agility of a sailor ; then, having shown her father where
to place his hands, the latter followed her example and was pre-
sently standing beside her at the helm.

But Mehitable got to the deck with difficulty. Thrice did
her wrists slip through Ben's fingers one might almost have
fancied that she did it on purpose while poor Ben looked puz-
zled and knew not what to say when she giggled and tossed her
curls in his eyes. At length, concluding that she had had fun
enough with him, and hearing what sounded very like an oath
coming from the direction of the wheel, Mehitable uttered a
shriek, then rolled on deck. In less than ten minutes, with a

VOL. xxxvi. 4

5o THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

spanking breeze from] the northwest, the Squall was speeding
toward the Sound.

Mehitable had never been in so large a craft before, and as
there was no unpleasant motion just yet she was beside herself
with delight. Past Locust Point they flew in those days really
covered with beautiful locust-trees ; Throg's Neck, City Island,
and the Chimney-Sweeps were soon left astern, and it was not
until they came abreast of what is known as Execution Rock that
anything exciting occurred. Here Mehitable gave a little
scream when she heard a cannon boom, but ceased to tremble
the moment Ben assured her that there was no danger. " Only
a British frigate that wishes to know who we are and whither
bound," he said, soothingly stroking her arm. " It's a pirate !
We are lost! " exclaimed Phebe's father. " Hush ! " said Phebe,
who was steering " hush ! or you'll frighten Mehitable into
a fit." "O Lord! It's a pirate," repeated the old man "a
bloody pirate ! "

" He is only joking," whispered Ben. Whereupon Mehita-
ble answered : " I trust in you, kind sir, to protect me ; I am not
afraid with you." "Bewitching creature!" thought Ben as he
gazed upon her. " Thou art more like a lily than ever."

The man-of-war, after a brief inspection, allowed them to pro-
ceed. Up, up the broadening Sound the} 7 sailed ; fresher and
fresher blew the breeze and higher rolled the waves. "The
wind is hauling round to the northeast, Ben," spoke the pilot
when they were off Huntington Harbor. " It is blowing more
in my face than when we started." Ben nodded, and did not
breathe another word to Mehitable for five minutes, but anx-
iously scanned the horizon, especially a dark spot a little east of
north. " Yes, we are going to hfeve a blow. The foresail is
beginning to shake ; we cannot keep this course much longer,"
spoke Phebe, whose deft hands were still guiding the schooner,
and who knew the signs of the sky. " Be not alarmed," said Ben
to Mehitable, who was again trembling, and whose visage had
assumed a deathly pallor. " Stay where you are while I go and
attend to the sails." With this he went away, leaving the moan-
ing, agitated maiden with her head pillowed on his overcoat ; and
never in all her life had Mehitable felt so utterly forlorn. " Alas !
why did I come aboard this hateful vessel ? Oh ! how sick I feel,"
she said.

Within an hour a long line of angry clouds was sweeping
down from the northeast. The foresail had been taken in and
Ben was wishing that he had brought a larger crew ; there were

1 882.] THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 51

only himself and two striplings to manage his schooner, unless
he counted Phebe. He had not gone far enough yet to prove
all her sailing qualities; he did not wish to return home so soon.
And so, under jib, flying-jib, and mainsail, close-hauled, almost
in the very teeth of the wind, the Squall kept ploughing her way
up the Sound. On and onward she went until Eaton's Neck was
lost in the distance. "O dear Ben ! I am dying. Do come to me,
Ben ! " ejaculated the unhappy Mehitable as the spray dashed
over her. But the rising gale, which was howling through the
rigging, carried her words and her lamentations far to leeward,
and Ben heard them not. At this moment he was helping to
lower the jib, and there was no time to lose; white- caps were
already breaking in every direction ; the Connecticut shore, as
well as Long Island, was hidden from view ; an awful darkness
was enveloping them. " If I could leave the wheel in your
charge for a moment," said Phebe to her father, " I might help
poor Mehitable, who is in a pitiable condition. But for the
bulwark which protects her she would be swept into the sea."
" Stick to your post and let her be," growled the pilot. " The
Apple-dumplings won't capsize ; let the gal be, I say." He had
scarcely spoken when a violent gust struck the schooner and
well-nigh threw her on her beam-ends. The foresail, as we have
said, had been lowered, and so by this time were the jib and the
flying-jib. But the mainsail a brand-new, splendid pie.ce of
canvas split in twain with a report which sounded like thunder,
and ere Mehitable could catch hold of anything she was rolling
across the deck into the lee-scuppers. Truth to say, in this emer-
gency Ben did not even think about the seasick beauty. A huge
wave had curled over the bow and carried him off his feet ; he
was clinging for dear life to a rope, while Phebe, assisted by the
pilot, was striving with all her might to put the wheel hard
a-starboard, so as to throw the schooner's head into the wind.
But although Captain Bob knew that it was a critical moment,-
he could not restrain a loud peal of laughter for Phebe had told
him what had happened to Mehitable and even above the din
of the blast his stentorian lungs were heard shouting : " Hoorah,
Miss Hunt, for the Apple-dumplings ! Hoorah ! hoorah ! " Then
in a few minutes, after the vessel had righted herself, he added :
" She's a perfect duck on the water a perfect duck ! Hoorah,
Miss Hunt, for the Apple-dumplings ! Hoorah ! "

" You hard-hearted, hoary-headed old sinner ! I hear you,"
muttered Mehitable, whose ten fingers were buried deep in a
coil of tarry rope ; and, imminent though her peril seemed to be,

52 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

she breathed dire vengeance on Phebe's father for his cruel,
jeering- laughter.

In a little while brave Ben contrived to set the storm-staysail,
after which the Squall was put about, and then away she went
scudding before the tempest at a furious rate the stormy petrels
could hardly overtake her ; rolling, too, from side to side, and you
might almost have believed that she was going to roll completely
over.

Of course the deck was deluged with water. Mehitable was
soaked from head to foot, and her contortions and groans, which
the pitying Phebe described to him, caused the pilot again to
split his sides with uproarious laughter. " I don't care about
living. I wish I were dead. Oh ! why did I come aboard this
nasty, horrid schooner?" sighed the half-drowned girl, who
indeed had some cause for her grimaces and her despair.

But all things have an end ; in the month of May turbulent
weather seldom lasts many hours, and by the time the schooner
got back to Hutchinson's Creek the wind had nearly subsided, the
evening sun was breaking through the clouds, and the fair suf-
ferer stood leaning against the bulwark, gazing wistfully in the
direction of her native village and breathing bitter words against
Phebe's parent. Ben was by her side, but he spoke not. What
could he say ? At length, when they dropped anchor and Phebe
resigned her charge of the wheel, he approached her and said :
" Phebe, I cannot praise you enough. You are a most skilful
sailor. Had you not luffed as quickly as you did when that
squall struck us we might all have been drowned." Here the
pilot said something about apple-dumplings which caused Phebe
to smile, and Mehitable's name was audibly mentioned. The lat-
ter, who knew what an ignoble part she had played, and who was
boiling with anger as well as deeply mortified, took six hasty
strides toward Phebe, then, lifting up her right hand, she gave
her a stinging slap on the face. The astounded Phebe reddened,
but uttered not a syllable ; she merely folded her arms and gaz-
ed sorrowfully on Mehitable, who presently turned away and
hung down her head as if ashamed of what she had done.

As for Captain Bob, he was blind ; he had heard the blow, but
could do nothing except gnash his teeth and swear. But the
imprecations which he heaped upon Mehitable, as well as upon
her Tory father and all the Cowboys in the Neutral Ground, were
terrible to listen to, and Ben and Phebe feared lest trouble
might grow out of this trial cruise of the privateer.

" Never mind, dear Phebe," whispered Ben after he had

1 882.] THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 53

silently rowed them to the head of the creek not one of the
party had broken the silence "never mind. You have done
nobly to-day." Then, while Phebe's countenance brightened
with a tearful smile, he pressed his lips to her cheek the same
cheek which had been slapped, and where was a tiny drop of
blood, for Mehitable's ring- had cut into the flesh. Nat Hunt
met his daughter at the landing-place, and as he took her home
he wondered if anything had gone amiss. She was moody, her
gown had a bedraggled appearance, and when he asked what
was the matter Mehitable would not answer. But later in the
evening she revealed to him how the pilot had cursed all the
friends of the king. " And Phebe thinks just as he does," con-
cluded Mehitable. " And so does sly Ben Barry," answered the
storekeeper in an undertone. " Ay, let me tell you a secret,
child : 'tis not to catch codfish but to prey on loyal merchant-
men that his schooner was built."

" Really ! Do you believe Captain Ben is a rebel ? " exclaim-
ed Mehitable. " I do ; I have positive proof of it ; and he ought
to be hung."

"Hung!" repeated Mehitable inwardly, while her parent
wondered why she shook her head, Then, still speaking to her-
self, " No, indeed," she added ; " so bold and handsome a fel-
low shall never be hung, if I can help it." " And it is well that
his friend Captain Bob has lost his sight, or he'd be giving the
king's ships trouble, too, nowadays," pursued Hunt. "Oh! I
hate him ; I could tear his blind eyes out," exclaimed Mehitable,
her long, slender fingers crumpling up her calico apron like so
many spiteful claws. "What has he said to you? What has he
done ? " continued Hunt, after cautioning her not to speak so loud.

" Nothing, nothing," replied Mehitable, who now rose from
her chair and proceeded to set the table for supper. But once
or twice she paused in her work, and, as she gazed musingly
on the floor, murmured to herself : " Yes, I hate him, but I am
sorry that I struck Phebe very sorry." Mehitable remembered
how often during her mother's last illness the pilot's daughter
had brought her catnip and other wholesome herbs, as well as
oysters and fish from the creek, and never for her trouble had
Phebe been willing to accept a penny. The calm, reproachful
look, too, which the poor girl had given her after being slapped
haunted Mehitable. " I have likewise," she said, " given a woful
exhibition of my temper to Ben Barry ; and I am not surprised
that he spoke never a word to me as he rowed us ashore. Nor
did the parting shake of his hand have any warmth in it. Alas !

54 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

I have made a fool of myself to-day." At the meal which follow-
ed Mehitable ate very little, and her sleep this night was not
so sound as usual.

On the morrow Ben stayed ashore, and a rarely pleasant
time he had with Phebe. The high wind of the day before had
torn loose the morning-glories from about the venerable figure-
head of Neptune, and he helped her to twine the vine in its place
again. But if Ben could handle ropes, if he could tie knots and
untie them, he was uncommonly clumsy at this sort of work, and
once he twisted Phebe's fingers instead of the vine. Then, when
the sun was high above the horizon, she donned her hood and
went forth to plant some peas and pumpkins in the garden be-
hind the house. But Ben took the seeds out of her hand, and
the hoe too, and insisted on performing this task himself. " Ben
was always good," thought Phebe. " He was always willing to
bait my hook, to help me at the oar, to call me sister. But I
never knew him to act as he does to-day. One might almost
think he had a fever from the color of his cheeks."

After her companion had finished sowing half a dozen rows of
seeds he let the hoe drop, and, catching her two hands in his,
"Dear girl," he said, "you did enough hard work yesterday.
To-day you shall do nothing but look on." " Well, methinks
you make a pretty good gardener," returned Phebe, smiling ;
and what teeth she had ! like the pearls which Ben had seen
fished up out of the deep sea. " Well, I wish I were as good a
gardener as you are a sailor," he continued. " Oh ! if I had a crew
composed of Phebes I'd defy the whole British fleet." Here
Phebe laughed outright, while her father, who heard her merry
voice, called out from a window : " Ship ahoy ! Where away ? "
" Well, Ben, this isn't the way for either of us to do much gar-
dening, is it ? " pursued Phebe, glancing coyly at him.

" Gardening! gardening ! " answered Ben, with a faint tremor
in his deep voice. " What do I care about gardening? I am
cruising, I am a privateer, and I wish to know if this pretty
craft will surrender. Will she be my prize ? "

"Your prize!" exclaimed Phebe, opening her blue eyes
ever so wide. " Why, Ben, what do you mean ? " " Lay your
.topsails aback, child ! " shouted the pilot, whose keen ears had
already heard enough to satisfy him that Ben was following up
his kiss of the day before by something more serious. " I say,
lay your topsails aback and let him come aboard! " Then, speak-
ing to himself, the old man added : " By heaven ! Ben isn't such
a booby after all."

1 882.] THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. 55

Phebe stood almost a minute without answering an age it
seemed to impatient Ben and, while her heart was in a terrible
flutter, many thoughts rushed through her mind. She could
not help considering her lover exceedingly fickle. He had un-
doubtedly been smitten with Mehitable Hunt. During the past
winter he had spent several hours every day at her father's
store. On the Sabbath he had been very distracted whenever
Mehitable had sung in the choir, and everybody knew that he
had dubbed her the belle of East Chester.

" Verily, I blame you not for hesitating," spoke Ben humbly.
" I have been for a year chasing another craft. But, thank the
Lord ! I did not ask her to surrender. O Phebe ! you are the
gem of the seas. There is more love, more soul in your sunburnt
face than in ten thousand Mchitables."

" I say, lay your topsails aback ! " repeated the pilot, now
roaring through a speaking-trumpet. " Down, down with your
flag and let him come aboard ! " " Well, you may take me into
port ; I am your prize," murmured Phebe in a low tone. Then,
suddenly breaking loose from Ben's grasp and flinging wide her
arms, while her eyes seemed to be searching into the depths of
the beautiful sky, " O my God ! " she cried, " it is come at last.
I never, never can thank thee enough for this happy, happy
day ! "

During the following week Ben did not show himself in East
Chester. What a blissful, golden week it was ! How often in
after-years did he look to it ! In shining letters it was graven on
his memory. But when the seven days were ended he disap-
peared altogether ; after dark his schooner weighed anchor, and
nobody except Captain Bob and his daughter could tell whither
she had gone. But Nat Hunt made a pretty shrewd guess and
told his Tory friends that the Squall had not gone after codfish.
" It would not surprise me," he said, " if some night we heard
the boom of cannon in the creek."

Late one evening, a month after Ben's departure, Phebe
and her father were standing at the cabin-door listening. " It is
about time for Ben to return," spoke the old man. " Methinks I
hear the sound of oars." Phebe shook her head. " I hear only
the cry of a bittern and a fish jumping out of the water," she an-
swered. Nor, although the full moon had risen high above Pel-
ham Heights, could her eyes distinguish anybody approaching.
To the left, almost a mile away, gleamed the white tombstones
in St. Paul's churchyard ; the big mill in West Chester was dimly
visible far to the right, while in front lay a broad expanse of

56 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

lonely salt meadow with the glistening, dimpling water winding-
through it. But not a speck which might be taken for a human
being or a boat could the anxious, impatient girl discover. At
length, after they had waited and listened for half an hour, they
were startled by the sound of footsteps near by, and in another
moment, to Phebe's great surprise, Mehitable Hunt appeared.
" What can she want ? " she asked herself, for she knew that Me-
hitable hated her. Mehitable paused and made a sign for Phebe
to approach. Then as Phebe obeyed she withdrew a few steps
and Phebe followed her round the corner of the house. " You
are doubtless astonished to see me," began Mehitable. " Well,
you never could guess what has brought me here never."
"What is it? Who has sent you? Have you a message for
me ? " inquired Phebe, her heart throbbing faster, for she thought
that Mehitable might in some roundabout way have got tidings
of Ben.

" It is my conscience which has forced me to come to you
all alone through the woods at this hour," went on Mehitable.
" I have thought of you a great deal of late. You were so good,
so kind to my dear mother when she was dying ; and now I wish
to beg pardon for the cruel slap I once gave you." Phebe's re-
sponse was a kiss, and Mehitable continued : " You are too
generous. Indeed you are. Oh ! how could I ever have insulted
you ? "

"Speak no more about it," replied Phebe. "We are now
friends ; let us stay friends." And so saying, she gave the penitent
maiden another embrace. " Well, good-by. My visit has been
extremely brief," said Mehitable. " But I dare not tarry longer,
or father would suspect something; even now he may be looking
for me. However, one word more : warn Captain Ben to be-
ware of false lights on Locust Point ; don't forget false lights
on Locust Point." With this Mehitable turned and walked
away ; but she had proceeded only a few steps when she halted
and said : " Has Captain Ben come back ? " " No," answered
Phebe. " Will he come soon ? " "I hope so," said Phebe.
" Well, don't forget false lights on Locust Point," said Mehita-
ble. " Warn him, warn him if you can."

The old pilot was right it was time for Ben to show himself.
But it was not until long after he and his daughter had retired
to rest that Ben got to the head of the creek ; it was past mid-
night when he stepped ashore.

But Phebe was dreaming about him. Light, very light was
her slumber; she soon heard his raps on the door. We need not

1 882.] THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. 57

describe the meeting between them ; let the imagination paint it.
But during the rest of this happy night Phebe's eyes did not
close again, and every home-made candle in the cabin was light-
ed in honor of the occasion.

" How I wish you could see the Squall now ! " spoke Ben, as
he sat between the radiant Phebe and her father, the latter in his
red flannel night-cap and with a corncob pipe in his mouth.

" Ay, she must look splendid in her war-rig," answered the
pilot "splendid!" "She has two nine-pound swivel-guns,
one at the bow, the other at the stern," went on Ben, " as well
as plenty of cutlasses and boarding-pikes, and a jovial, daring
crew from New Bedford."

" How I wish that I could go with you on a cruise ! " said
Phebe. " Nay, my beloved, stay "at home," said Ben. "Alas! "
sighed the pilot, " if I only had my eyesight I would certainly
form one of your merry crew."

" And then what shouldn't we do ! " ejaculated the enthusi-
astic Phebe. " For I would go, too. And if the enemy ever got
us on a lee shore we might blow the Squall up, but never sur-
render."

This speech made Ben and the captain smile, after which the
former asked if there was any news. " Nothing good," answer-
ed Phebe. " There is a rumor that a large army ten thousand
strong, under General Burgoyne, is about to make a descent
upon Albany ; and from Albany Burgoyne intends to go down
the Hudson and unite his forces with the main British army,
thus cutting off New England from the middle and southern
colonies." " If he succeeds it will go hard with the cause of in-
dependence," said Ben. " Ay, spies and traitors are as thick as
flies," observed the pilot.

" Well, dear Ben," said Phebe, "keep a bright lookout when
you venture again to enter Hutchinson's Creek ; for I suppose
the Squall is anchored below, is she not ? " " Yes, a mile outside
of Goose Island ; and I have arranged to have certain night-sig-
nals burning on Locust Point." " Well, beware ! " continued
Phebe " beware ! The Cowboys are on the alert and will surely
try to deceive you by false lights on the Point." " Have you
heard anything positive, or is this merely a suspicion ? " inquir-
ed Ben. " Mehitable Hunt was here last evening and bade me
to caution you," replied Phebe.

" Mehitable Hunt ! Did she come here she, who slapped
your face ? " " Truly ; and, moreover, Mehitable begged my par-
don and I have forgiven her. We are good friends now, and so

58 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

you must be her friend, too." " Never ! " answered Ben, who
marvelled how he had ever preferred Nat Hunt's vain daughter
to the genial, warm-hearted creature beside him.

"Alas!" he murmured inwardly, "my eyes made a fool of
me. I can tell a brig from a ship about as far off as any man ;
but when it comes to women-folk my eyes are no better than
marline-spikes. They can't tell a good girl from a vixen. They
see only the outside of her the white skin, the delicate hand,
the tiny foot and then Ben Barry forthwith makes a booby of
himself."

It is needless to say that Ben's visit to his betrothed was a
period of rapture to Phebe ; but, alas ! it was far too brief. He
stayed only one day. And when, after sundown, he entered his
skiff and rowed off she lingered at the water's edge, watching
him as long as he was in sight ; and when she could no longer
see him she listened to the sound of his oars, and listened
and listened, until her father said : " Don't take it so much to
heart, child. Ben will be back afore the katydids are sing-
ing."

Ten weeks later the morning sunbeams were shimmering
through the forest Phebe might have been seen seated on a
rock, a moss-covered rock where she had often played in child-
hood ; it was near the spot where Rattlesnake Brook empties
into the creek. Her face was buried in her hands, and ever and
anon she uttered a moan. Suddenly she heard footsteps, and,
looking up, discovered Mehitable advancing along the path
which led from the village. "Oh! isn't it awful?" exclaimed
Mehitable, whose eyes, too, were red with weeping. " Awful !
awful ! " answered Phebe. " Father and I did not sleep a wink.
We heard the cannon roaring, and toward midnight came that
terrible explosion. O Ben, Ben ! " Here poor Phebe began to
wring her hands and cry again. " But do you really know what
has happened ? " she said presently in broken accents. " What a
fisherman told me may not be true. Is Ben blown up ? Is he
killed ? "

" I fear the worst," answered Mehitable. " It seems that the
Squall was trying to escape from a British frigate which was
chasing her down the Sound ; and she might have succeeded in
getting away for she has a centreboard, you know, and draws
very little water had not Ben doubtless forgotten the warning
which I told you to give him, and plump on a sunken reef he
ran, deceived by a red light which some wretch was waving
from a boat instead of from the end of Locust Point."

1 882.] THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. 59

For several minutes neither of the young women uttered an-
other word ; both sobbed bitterly.

" I am afraid to return home," at length murmured Mehita-
ble. " My father gave me a beating for having upbraided
a couple of Tories who brought the sad news about Ben's
schooner, and who were exulting over it and cheering for King
George. I flew at them like a wildcat. I couldn't help it ; I was
mad with rage and indignation. I almost tore their eyes out.
Then my father took a whip and whipped me, and I ran away."
" Alas ! " sighed Phebe, " your father has beaten you, but you
will get over the pain. But if my Ben does not come back to
me Ben, my betrothed " Here Phebe gave a low, stifled cry
and fell backward. Then, while Mehitable bent in alarm over
the fainting girl and sprinkled her deathlike visage with water
from the stream, she murmured with a bitter pang : " Ben her
betrothed ! Ben her betrothed ! Well, well, I am justly punish-
ed justly punished." With these penitent words Mehitable
pressed her lips to her friend's cold cheek ; again and again she
kissed it until Phebe opened her eyes. Then, gazing around with
a startled look, " Ben," cried Phebe, " dear Ben, where are you ?
Come to me ! Ben ! Ben ! " And, still breathing his name in
wailing accents, Mehitable conducted her back to her lonely,
sorrowful home.

One cloudy, gusty day, three months after the destruction of
the privateer, Mehitable stole out of the village and betook her-
self to Phebe's abode. Phebe and she were now the warmest
of friends ; her father's harsh usage, instead of breaking Mehita-
ble's spirit, had turned her into a pert, outspoken rebel, and only
yesterday she had boxed a Cowboy's ears for saying that he ap-
proved of the cruel treatment of the American captives on the
prison-ships. For this she had got another beating. Nor can
we altogether wonder at Nat Hunt's paternal correction of his
daughter. People were beginning to shake their heads and hint
that the Tory storekeeper might be a rebel in disguise ; and as
the cause of the king was just now in the ascendant it behooved
Hunt to force the girl to hold her saucy tongue.

But brave Ben Barry, who had miraculously escaped death
when his vessel blew up, was ever uppermost in Mehitable's
thoughts. Albeit amazed as well as sorely grieved at his having
preferred the homely Phebe to her own beautiful self, yet she
could not forget the many delightful hours which she had spent
in Ben's company, the sweet kisses he had given her ; and now,
when he lay incarcerated in a loathsome hulk, dying by inches

60 THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

amid hundreds of other unhappy prisoners, Mehitable ardently
wished that she were a man, in order that she might make an at-
tempt to set him free.

" I declare ! " she exclaimed, as a youthful sailor greeted her
at the pilot's door " I declare, Phebe, I hardly recognize you.
Why, you are a perfect Jack Tar." " I rejoice to hear it," an-
swered Phebe, " and I hope that others will find me as well dis-
guised." Then, taking Mehitable's hand, " Come in," she added,
" and make friends with my father. For I am about to leave home,
you know ; when I shall return I cannot tell ; and, Mehitable
here Phebe's voice faltered, " if if anything happens to me if
I do not return take care of my poor blind father." But it was
not easy to induce the latter to pardon Mehitable for the flagrant
insult which she had once offered to his darling Phebe. The
sound of that blow still rang in the old man's ears. Finally, un-
nerved, perhaps, by the moment of parting, he burst into tears,
and, holding forth his broad, weatherbeaten hand, " Well, well,"
he said, " I forgive you, I forgive you." Whereupon Mehitable
solemnly promised to take good care of him until Phebe came
back. " I am a changed girl, Captain Bob," she said. " I would
not have believed it a few months ago; but for the sake of of
well, I may as well speak it out for the sake of Ben Barry I now
detest King George, and there is nothing that I would not do for
you. I would die on this threshold before I'd allow any Cowboy
to injure you."

" Well, where is Phebe going?" whispered the pilot, twitch-
ing Mehitable's sleeve. " She will not tell me ; do you know ?"
Mehitable turned to Phebe with an inquiring look ; but the lat-
ter, who guessed what her parent had whispered, raised her fin-
ger to her lips. Then presently, drawing Mehitable aside, " Fa-
ther," she said, " has implored me to tell him why I am going
away, but I cannot. Although my poor heart is breaking, I can-
not tell him ; it would worry him to death." " Well, tell me,
dear friend," said Mehitable in an undertone, " and I promise not
to breathe it to a living soul."

" I am going to try and liberate Ben Barry from the prison-
ship. Keep it a profound secret," replied Phebe. " Are you ?
are you ? " exclaimed Mehitable. Then, flinging her arms about
Phebe's neck, " Oh ! " she cried, " may the good God grant you
success. May you both come back here safe and sound ! Every
hour in the day I will pray for you. Truly, truly I will."

In the winter of 1777-8 two large transports, the Scorpion and
the Old Jersey, lay moored in Wallabout Bay crowded with Ame-

1 882.] THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 61

rican prisoners. Smallpox was rife amongst them, nor had they
any medical attendance. It was not an uncommon thing to see
five or six dead bodies brought on shore in a single morning, and
the whole beach near Remsen's Mill soon became a place of
graves. When Phebe left home to carry out her daring scheme
fifteen hundred of these unfortunates had already perished.

The prison-ships were guarded by the frigate Hussar, whose
vigilant boats patrolled the bay at night, and it was difficult to
imagine how she could ever rescue her lover. But Phebe, as

O *

Ben used to say, was a chip of the old block. She knew whom
among the oystermen and fishermen of Hutchinson's Creek she
might trust ; her eye could tell a coward at a glance ; she loved
tempests and danger ; and the hardy, dare-devil crew whom she
had enlisted in her cause were willing to go to the bottom or
blow themselves sky-high, if she gave the command.

One afternoon in December eight bells had just struck the
officer of the watch on board the frigate observed an unusual
commotion on the deck of the Scorpion : there were loud shouts
and firing of muskets, while at the same time a fishing-smack
sailed close under the prison-ship's bow and a number of prison-
ers leaped down to her deck.

It was blowing half a gale from the northwest ; the tide ran
flood ; darkness was coming on apace ; there was not a moment
to lose, if the Hussar hoped to catch the nimble little craft, which
presently was flying before the wind in the direction of the
Sound.

In vain did the heavy bow gun send a shot after her, then
another and another ; on flew the fishing-smack with a strange
flag, composed of stars and stripes, impudently streaming at the
masthead.

But the Hussar was one of the fleetest men-of-war in the Brit-
ish navy. It took only a few minutes to slip her cable, then
away she went in pursuit.

" Oh ! if I only had sea-room," muttered the captain, with an
oath, " I'd make quick work with that rebel sloop." But, hap-
pily for Ben Barry, there was not sea-room, and, moreover, the
dreaded Hell Gate was not far ahead. The Hussar, however,
was provided with a pilot who had already twice taken her
through this perilous strip of rocks and whirlpools. He w r as a
mere youth, it is true, but perfectly self-possessed, with an
eagle-eye, and who doubtless might be trusted to do his duty.
But when in a little while they drew nigh to the point of dan-
ger the pilot's usual calmness appeared to forsake him. Four

62 THE PILOT' s DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

able seamen were steering ; they surely needed no assistance
from him. Yet his right hand nervously clutched the wheel,
and when at length the seething, roaring waters came into full
view, and when the fleeing craft ahead seemed to be drawn in
toward the fatal reef called the Hog's Back, the young man's
cheek turned deathly white.

" Can we go through? Shall we strike?" inquired an officer
who was standing beside him. And even as he spoke a shot
from the swivel-gun passed within a few feet of the smack ; the
next one might carry away her mast. The pilot did not answer ;
he was trembling. Presently another cannon boomed, and this
time the shot passed through the smack's mainsail. " We have
got her range at last," spoke the lieutenant exultingly. At this
the pilot drew in a deep breath he was evidently wrought upon
by some very violent emotion and he muttered to himself:
" The Lord have mercy on us all ! It must be done ! " Then, lift-
ing his voice, he cried out in shrill accents : " Hard a-starboard ! "

The steersmen's duty was prompt, implicit obedience, and
round spun the wheel. Yet they stood aghast at such an order,
and immediately every eye was fixed on the pilot ; for the new
course would inevitably bring the frigate on a half-sunken rock,
whose sharp, black point was peering above the angry current
like a warning finger.

" The fellow is gone mad ! " shouted the captain. " Larboard !
Larboard the helm ! Quick! Quick!" But this counter-order
came too late. The great ship was already turning the other
way ; the eddy had caught her ; the Hog's Back was close under
her bow. " Dear Ben, I have saved thee ! Live! Live!" ex-
claimed Phebe ; and, almost before the words had escaped her
lips, with a tremendous crash the Hussar dashed upon the rock.
The scene which followed was terrible to behold : there was a
Babel of cries and commands, a rushing to and fro of many feet,
deep curses on the treacherous pilot ; while the latter, springing
upon the bulwarks, for one moment clasped her hands as if in
fervent prayer, then down into the dark whirlpool Phebe
plunged.

Anxiously indeed was Ben's heart throbbing the next time
he approached the log-cabin where dwelt Captain Bob. The
creek was frozen, for it was midwinter ; he therefore journeyed
afoot, and hy night too, lest he should be recognized, for a big
reward had been offered for his apprehension. Slowly, with un-
steady gait, he trudged through the snow, the cruel confinement

i882.] THE PILOT'S DAUGHTER. 63

on the prison-ship having" taken away his buoyancy and strength.
He was wondering whether his betrothed would come to the
door when he rapped. Would her sweet voice answer his call ?
He had heard a vague report that it was she who had planned
his escape ; that in the guise of a sailor she had acted as pilot
of the Hussar when the latter sank in Hell Gate.

It would be just like Phebe to attempt such a thing. The
report was likely enough to be quite true. But where was
Phebe now ? Was she alive and at home again ? Or had she
perished with so many of the frigate's crew ?

When Mehitable Hunt, in place of his beloved, appeared at the
cabin-door to admit him, and when Mehitable, in response to his
eager query, " Where is Phebe ? " mournfully shook her head
and answered, " Phebe has not" come back," his heart sank
within him ; he guessed that the worst had happened the dear
girl would never come back.

Nor did she. But Time has broad wings, and on them Time
bears away all our griefs. Ben was young, and youth easily for-
gets. After remaining hidden in the pilot's house for two long
winter months he heard one day the song of a robin, and Mehi-
table opened a window and let him inhale a breath of delicious
air from the creek. Immediately his spirits rose, his wan coun-
tenance brightened anew, and he determined, if his faithful guar-
dian reported that the coast was clear, that no prying- Cowboys
were prowling about, to leave his place of concealment and enjoy
a holiday on the water. " Ay, my boy," spoke Captain Bob r " the
coast is quite clear and 'twill do you good. You sadly need fresh
air ; and take Mehitable with you, for she is no longer afraid of
getting sunburnt. Why, only yesterday she rowed all by herself
as far as Goose Island and caught me a fine mess of flounders."
" Did she ? " ejaculated Ben. " And I know not what I should
have done without her," went on the pilot. " She supplies all
my wants, and is plucky too. Her father has threatened to pun-
ish her severely if she does not return home ; but Mehitable tells
him that she is of an age now to take care of herself. And once,
when a sneaking Tory came and thrust his head through the
window and asked if she knew where you were, Mehitable
grabbed him by the two ears and shook him till he howled."

A quarter of an hour later Ben and Mehitable entered a skiff,
and he was about to take the oars when she checked him, say-
ing : " I pray you let me row." Ben smiled and handed her the
oars. Then for a while neither of them uttered a word. Finally
Ben broke the silence. " I cannot express to you how I feel,

64 THE PILOT" s DAUGHTER. [Oct.,

dear Mehitable," he said. " I never saw the sky look so glori-
ously blue as to-day ; it makes me feel young again to be floating
on this dear old creek." "Young ! " exclaimed Mehitable, smil-
ing. "Why, you are not old yet, Ben." "No, true, I am not.
But it seems an age since I was here last ; what things have hap-
pened since ! " Here Mehitable turned her face aside, and when
presently she looked at him again there were tears glistening in
her eyes. Ben's eyes moistened, too, for he likewise was think-
ing of Phebe the noble girl to whom he owed his liberty, and
perhaps his life.

We may be sure that this was not the last excursion on the
water which Ben and Mehitable enjoyed together. The follow-
ing day they went forth again and so far overcame their emotion
as to converse freely about Phebe. Of a sudden Mehitable drop-
ped the oars and said : " Here we are ; this is the very spot.
O Ben ! can you ever forgive me ? "

" Alas ! " answered Ben, "you are thinking, no doubt, of the
day when " When I was wicked enough to strike Phebe.
Oh ! say, can you forgive me for that mean, heartless act ? " in-
terrupted Mehitable.

" I forgive you," murmured Ben. " Thank God ! " exclaim-
ed Mehitable earnestly. " Her father has long since granted me
pardon. But still there lay a heavy weight on my breast ; I
wanted you, too, to forgive me you, whom the blessed Phebe
so tenderly loved."

" And your hand has got to be very like hers," said Ben pre-
sently, stealing Mehitable's hand and spreading it out on his own
hard palm. Then, after he had examined it closely a moment, he
added : " Mehitable, you have proved that you have a kind heart ;
you have courage ; you have turned over a golden leaf since
Phebe left us. O Mehitable ! will you let me keep this hand ?
May I call it mine ? "

Mehitable did not say nay ; and when by and by, after
spending a most happy hour drifting homeward with the flood-
tide, they found themselves once more at the pilot's cabin-door
and told him what had occurred between them, the old man
pressed his lips to Mehitable's blushing cheek and said : " The
ways of the Lord are mysterious ; his will be done. May he
bless you and Ben ! May you live long and happily together ! "
Then, turning from them, he groped his way out into the garden,
now to him all empty and desolate, although full of sunshine and
piping robins, murmuring as he went, " Phebe ! Phebe ! Phebe ! "

1 882.] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENR-Y VIII. 65

INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII.

AMONGST the political instruments used by the Tudor mon-
archs none approach so near the marvellous in their rise and fall
as Thomas Crumwell. This remarkable man was the son of a
blacksmith who lived at Putney, a suburb of the present Lon-
don. His mother was considered a pious Catholic and took
much pains to give a religious training to her " little Tom," who
subsequently became the most sacrilegious church-robber that
ever outraged the established order of the Christian faith.
Canon Dixon designates the rise of Thomas Crumwell as that of
a keen but low-minded adventurer. In his youth he had been
fond of " rambling in various parts of Europe." He describes
himself at one time as " a moss-trooper"; at another as " a cook"
seeking employment from the pope. He practised as a quack doc-
tor in Holland ; in Florence he earned bread by cleaning pictures,
and subsequently robbed his employers. He was then engaged
in Italy by Sir John Russell as a spy. He was afterwards con-
nected with some Italian banditti and betrayed his captain for
one hundred ducats. He carried on smuggling in various forms
at the French ports. He was known to the Jewish money-chan-
gers at Antwerp, from whom he learned " some business ideas "
which were subsequently turned to a profitable account in Lon-
don, where he was known as a money-lender to a class of young
gentlemen who were given to the vice of gaming and a life of
immorality. Amongst his victims whilst in this occupation was
Lord Henry Percy, the lover of Anna Boleyn,* whose life was a
sad romance. In London Crumwell carried on at another time
the calling of a scrivener and became acquainted with attorneys
and lawyers a disreputable class in those days. To some ex-
tent he studied law and was appointed Master of the Rolls. His
memory was marvellous, his industry never tiring ; temperate,
and religious at least he was apparently so. Time rolled on
and this extraordinary man at last became attached to the house-
hold of Cardinal Wolsey, where he soon won favor for his
" piety and intelligence," and was actually consulted by the car-

*See vol. i., pp. 158-163, of the Historical Portraits tor the story of the " Border Chief"
and Cardinal Wolsey ; also the Rev. J. H. Blunt's Reformation of the Church of England, vol. i.
I further refer the reader to a very remarkable admission in Burnet (vol. i. p. 223) as to public
opinion in relation to the monastic confiscation. The motive, however, cannot be now question-
ed by any student of history possessed of a reasonable grasp of mind.
VOL. XXXVI. 5

66 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct.,

dinal on public affairs, and next on the expediency of suppress-
ing the smaller religious houses, which Wolsey dissolved in
order to found his noted colleges. In this scheme Crumwell
promoted his master's views ; but, being a rogue at heart, he
could not resist the temptations offered, so he commenced the
"peculation system " and carried it on undiscovered by the car-
dinal. Of this first sacrilegious action of Crumwell the monks
complained bitterly. Such was Crumwell's early essay on the
art of " church-robbery." On the fall of Wolsey he found him-
self in danger. However, he sought an interview with the king
and gave him much information as to how the royal treasury
might be speedily replenished. Sir John Russell, the founder of
the present Bedford family, assured the monarch that there was
no man in the realm so fit for the projected crusade against the
monastic houses as " Maister Thomas Crumwell." The king and
his future minister met for the first time at Greenwich Palace.*
Henry was an admirable judge of how far men could be utilized
and then flung aside, and Crumwell himself had not studied in
vain to " penetrate the secret minds of princes." He now knelt
before the relentless tyrant who was to use him, to enrich him,
to ennoble him, to delegate to him his own highest functions,
and then after a while to cast him off and assure the populace
that he was the source of all their troubles and the destroying
angel of the monastic houses. Crumwell's cunning was deep,
his resources and ability considerable, his courage great. It
would have been, however, well for him if he had less courage
and had never matched those ordinary qualities against the un-
scrupulous and remorseless astuteness of Henry Tudor. On tak-
ing office Crumwell began by flattering three of the worst pas-
sions that enslaved the king's nature namely, his dishonest pas-
sion for Anna Boleyn, his love of money, and his love of unlim-
ited power without any human agency to interpose.

Crumwell first appeared in Parliament as member for the
borough of Taunton, in Somersetshire. By what means he reach-
ed that position is not correctly known. Cavendish and Loga-
rio affirm that he personated another member, the son of a friend
of his named Sir Thomas Rush. Such a course was simply im-
possible. It is likely that the Duke of Norfolk, then all-powerful,
by the king's instructions caused a vacancy in the Commons.
Crumwell made several speeches in the Commons and a special

* Greenwich Palace, which wag of vast extent, as well as of remarkable architectural beauty,
was originally erected by the noted Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, who, from its charming
site, named it Placentia.

1 882.] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HEN#Y VII L 67

appeal in favor of [his " good maister," the Cardinal of York.
Honors and wealth quickly showered on Crumwell. He was
sometimes styled the king's "vicar-general " a strange title for
a layman to assume. And next he appeared and spoke at the
meetings of Convocation. The Convocation was much dissatis-
fied at his intruding upon them, and Archbishop Cranmer made
an effective speech in opposition to his " intrusion "; but all to
no purpose. Crumwell held several lucrative church livings,
and sold valuable cures on many occasions. The infamous Dr.
Layton paid him one hundred pounds for a deanery in additioa
to other livings he had already possessed.

Crumwell held the office of Lord Privy Seal in the king's,
Council, and was also a Peer of Parliament under the title of/
Earl of Essex ; he was likewise a Knight of the Garter. The-
mercantile people called him Lord Crumwell, and the lower
orders shouted aloud, " There ago Tom of Putney." At the
period to which I refer (1539-40) Crumwell was at the height of
his power, and, having served under such a great minister as ,
Wolsey, was well acquainted with the home management of
public affairs and had some idea of how the national revenue
might be recruited ; But his schemes were for some time con-
cealed. All the ancient families of the realm were more or less,
insulted and annoyed by this political adventurer. There is no.
lack of Protestant testimony as to the despotic rule of this " bold,
bad man." He has been generally set down as a Protestant Re-
former, but he was no such thing. His "religion " was purely
political. When he desired to rouse the lawless and irreligious
people against the monastic orders he patronized the most vio-
lent persons amongst the would-be Reformers of religion ; and
when his design was accomplished he swiftly sought the support
of the opposite party to carry out the Six Articles against the
Reformers, whom he then cruelly persecuted.

The question has been more than once asked.: What could
have been the religious sentiments of a man who had graduated
from youth upwards, and who was the originator and patron of
the shocking and blasphemous scenes which disgraced London
during the government of Thomas Crumwell ? I produce a high;
Protestant authority to throw some light upon the question
asked. The learned Dr. Maitland says: "Lord Crumwell was
the great patron of the ribaldry and the protector of the ribalds, .
of the low jester, the filthy, obscene ballad-monger, .the ale-house
singers, and the hypocritical religious gatherings in short, of all
the blasphemous mocking and scoffing which disgraced the Pro-

68 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII . [Oct.,

testant party at the time of the Reformation." * Crumwell was
of no religion till death approached, and then he supplicated to be
received into the Catholic fold once more. His " last will and
testament "is a most Catholic record of his belief ; yet he struck
down the Catholic Church for the purposes of robbery, and in
this crusade he was supported by a class of men who asserted
that they had been raised up by Providence to reform religion.

For eight years Crumwell ruled England like a despot. He
received large grants of confiscated property and exacted " black-
mail " from the monastic houses and other religious communi-
ties.f Even his friend Archbishop Cranmer thought it a pru-
dent action to win his favor by allowing him forty pounds per
annum as "a memorial of his friendship." Forty pounds in 1539
were equal to two hundred and thirty pounds of the present
money. The archbishop, like many other public men, dreaded
Crumwell's resentment. Here are a few items more, which will
enable the reader to form an idea of King Henry's prime minis-
ter and the terror he had excited in all classes amongst the up-
per ranks, and churchmen, and religious orders in particular.
The Abbess of Godstowe the brave and energetic Catharine
Bulkley in order to " conciliate the Lord Crumwell," appointed
him to the stewardship of the estate belonging to the sisterhood,
which he accepted, as well as all the presents the sisters could
collect. The priory of Durham sent Crumwell presents of gold
and silver ; the offerings of game and fowl were also very large.
The Abbess of Shaftesbury sends him one hundred marks ; " a
noble lord places in Crumwell's hands a sum of forty pounds to
. obtain for him a grant of a well-endowed monastery " / a lady of rank
sends him twenty pounds " to seek his good offices for her at
court in someway not mentioned." The bishops and abbots
: sent him New Year gifts with complimentary notes. There can
be no doubt those churchmen acted from fear, not friendship.
The " private attendants " of King Henry and Queen Jane sent
: sums of money to represent their " love for the Lord Crumwell."
Sums of money were transmitted to him in costly gloves ; gold-
pieces were placed under his pillow, enclosed in papers " with
certain names and requests" ; in the windows of his apartments
.money was also deposited " with requests." This mode of action
was carried to an enormous extent through fear of arrest and
being placed in a dungeon upon some accusation which was
.readily sworn to by a class of villains in Crumwell's secret ser-

* Maitland's English Reformers, p. 236.

t Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty, vol. ii. p. 129.

1 882.] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 69

vice. In fact, poor people sent their " offerings " to him. I must
add, however, that Crumvvell gave large quantities of food to the
destitute. Perhaps his conscience reminded him that he was
himself the pitiless plunderer of the generous benefactors of the
poor.

The spy system was carried to an extreme degree both at
home and abroad by Lord Crumwell. Mr. Froude admits that
his hero " bought information anywhere and at any cost." Here
was a direct encouragement to perjury and fraud, and in too
many cases the judicial murder of honest men. Crumwell has
been described by some Puritan writers as a man " actuated by
pure and honest motives, having no approach to mean or sordid
feeling." Thomas Fuller, whose knowledge of the public men
of Henry's reign can scarcely be doubted, writes in these words
of Crumwell's contemporaries: "Courtiers keep what they catch,
and catch what they can." Thomas Crumwell set down to his
own share of the abbey lands no less than thirty manors no mean
proof that he was in nowise oblivious of personal interests, and
that the " information he purchased " in condemnation of the
monastic houses was worthy of the man by whom it was pur-
chased.

Such is a brief outline of the political life of the statesman
who impeached the " grand old Countess of Salisbury." Distin-
guished for the best and most amiable qualities suited to adorn
her sex and station, her treatment raised an almost universal senti-
ment of sympathy. She appears to have been a woman with the
mind of an heroic Roman matron of old in firmness, dignity, and
fortitude. All her contemporaries speak of her as a woman of
noble, generous, and kindly nature. Whiting states that there
was " no such noble dame in all England as the Countess of Salis-
bury."

The Earl of Southampton and the Bishop of Ely were com-
manded by Lord Crumwell to arrest the Countess of Salisbury.
The report they made to the crown " on the matter with which
they were charged " exhibits in some measure the bearing and
character of this illustrious lady :

" Yesterday [November 13] we travelled with the Lady Salisbury till al-
most night. She would utter and confess little or nothing more than the
first day she did, but she still stood and persisted in the denial of all. This
day, although we entreated her, sometimes with mild words, and now
roughly and aspertly by traitoring her and her sons to the ninth degree,
yet would she nothing utter, but utterly denieth all that is objected unto
her. We suppose that there hath not been saw or heard of a woman so

70 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct.,

earnest, so manlike in countenance as the said countess. We must needs
deem that her sons have not made her privy nor participant of the bottom
and pit of their stomachs, or else she is the most arrant traitress that ever
was seen."

The commissioners then describe the plans they adopted to
"affright her " ; they found " some ' bulls ' and other documents
which proved her sympathies to be rather with the pope than
with the king " ; they describe her " resolute bearing during the
investigation, searching, and journey." " We assure your lord-
ships we have dealed with such a one as men have not dealed
with all before us. We may call her rather a strong and con-
stant man than a woman ; for in all behaviour, howsoever we
have used her, she hath showed herself so earnest, vehement,
and stuck-up that more could not be." Lord Crumwell de-
spatched a note to the king containing his own opinion of " the
traitoress " : " She [the countess] hath been examined ; and in
effect she pretendeth ignorance, and no knowledge of the person
that should report the tale. ... I shall never cease until the
bottom of her stomach may be clearly opened and disclosed."

The countess confessed no treason ; had nothing to confess,
to use her own words ; but her " first allegiance was due to the
Church of Rome, the second to the throne and the realm."
She possessed all the pride and courage and generosity of the
Plantagenets. There is no record extant of the exact charges
made against the Countess of Salisbury ; but we must accept
that she was condemned under the special laws for high treason
enacted during the reign of Henry VIII. She remained a pri-
soner in the Tower for some eighteen months, during which
period she was permitted to suffer incredible privations : " Want
of warm clothing during a severe winter ; placed in a damp cell
zvithout fire; not sufficient bed-covering, and bad food ; added to
this ill-treatment the frequent and untimely visits of those ' men
of iron heart and grosser conduct,' the warders."f To use her
own words, the Countess of Salisbury "was allowed one privi-
lege, for which she was grateful, and valued more than dainty
dishes or good fires in cold weather namely, her Latin prayer-

* Ellis' Royal Letters, pp. 112, 114, 115 ; Lingard, vol. v.

t There is a diary extant in which Queen Catharine Howard entered the names of various
articles of warm clothing which that kind-hearted young queen clandestinely sent to Lady Sal-
isbury ; but it is very possible that these things were never delivered. Catharine Howard plead-
ed earnestly with the king to save the venerable countess, but to no purpose. In a few months
later the beautiful young queen was sent to the scaffold herself. She was the victim of a con-
spiracy concocted by Archbishop Cranmer and Lord Hertford. What times !

i882.j INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VHL 71

book, her crucifix and beads ; the latter was the much-prized
gift of King Henry's mother." *

The Marchioness of Exeter was impeached at the same time
with Lady Salisbury, but was pardoned for her " uncommitted
offence."

There is still a conflict of evidence as to many circum-
stances in connection with the execution of the countess, which
is likely to remain a mystery to the end of the chapter. After
her lengthened confinement in the Tower (2/th of May) Lady
Salisbury was informed that the king had issued his final order
for her execution. Just as the countess reached the scaffold,
according to Lord Herbert, she seemed to have recovered much
of her pristine energy of body and mind. When ordered to pre-
pare for the block she refused, and, with the proud bearing of a
Plantagenet, said : " I have committed no crime ; I have had no
trial. If you ait off my head, then you shall take it as best you can."
With renewed energy of body and mind she moved about the
scaffold and bravely resisted the headsmen, who pursued her
with enormous knives or hatchets in hand, making dreadful
blows at her neck, until she fell covered with wounds and her
long white hair and her hands were bathed with her life-blood.
Finally her head, having been cut off in a butcherly manner, was
held up to the gaze of the people. The women were much af-
fected at the sight, and one matron, who was far advanced in
pregnancy, fell down dead. \

Here is another version of the scene upon the scaffold, writ-
ten by a spectator named Penrose :

"The Countess of Salisbury bore herself to the end with a courage
never surpassed under such dreadful circumstances. I cannot think of the
awful scene without a shudder. I can never forget the ' bloody tustle ' on
the platform. The scaffold was erected on the Tower green just opposite
St. Peter's Church."

The king gave orders that the execution should be private ;
none but the officials were supposed to be present ; yet a few
citizens were also on the scene, for a small bribe was never re-
fused by the warders of those times.

" When the Countess of Salisbury was led forth from her dungeon she

* Thorndale's Memorials.

t English Matrons in t/ie Tower and on the Scaffold. Printed in Brussels, A.D. 1561. Am-
brose Fitzwalter states that the author of this little black-letter book was Sister Varney, one
of the exiled nuns of Shaftesbury. This good lady suffered great destitution. ^She died at
Bristol about 1578.

72 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct.,

surprised all present by her firmness and the noble deportment she ex-
hibited. None of her lofty stature was lost in the procession to the scaf-
fold. A smile irradiated her pale features, and, looking at the courtier
Culpepper, she waved him to approach ; she then said in a low tone : ' I
have left a relic for the queen [Catharine Howard] ; tell her my confessor
will give it to her. God bless you and save you from the scaffold ! for I
fear that the queen and all her friends will perish before long.' With this
observation Lady Salisbury clasped her hands and looked towards the
heavens.

"The procession had now approached the scaffold. The bells issued
a mournful sound. Then all was silent. The sheriff having arrived, Sir
William Kingston immediately handed over his noble prisoner to that
functionary, who led Lady Salisbury up the steps to the platform, where
her confessor, Father Lavenue, received her. Her courage gave way for a
moment when she beheld the two headsmen standing beside the sheriff,
who was in the act of giving his final orders. The noble victim caught the
priest's arm when she heard the coarse, savage laugh of the headsmen.
Father Lavenue was quickly joined by two other priests, who knelt down
with the countess just beside the block. The party prayed aloud, and the
spectators, and even the officials, acted with decent propriety. The exe-
cutioners formed the exception. They retired to the rear of the scaffold
to partake of the liquor served out to them oh such occasions. It was no
wonder that those horrible creatures were callous and without pity, for
that week they had hanged and quartered ten honest men and three vir-
tuous women.

"The pra)'-ers over, the Countess of Salisbury rose, and, accompanied
by the priests, walked over to where Sir William Kingston stood, and with
whom she conversed for a few minutes. A bustle was heard near the scaf-
fold ; a king's messenger had just arrived, but he held up no white wand
in his hand, or crucifix, to denote that the royal mercy had been extended
to the venerable grand-aunt of the king. The monarch's special command
was that the Countess of Salisbury should be immediately placed in the
hands of the headsman,

" The countess then asked permission from the sheriff to address the
crowd, which by this time numbered about three hundred men and wo-
men. Having received permission, she advanced with a firm step to the
front of the platform, Fathers Barlow and Lavenue on her right, the sheriff
and Sir William Kingston on the left. The heroic countess essayed nearly
as follows :

" ' GOOD PEOPLE : No one ever questioned my allegiance to the king un-
til my son Reginald * incurred the royal displeasure. I am nearest to the
king in blood of all his relatives, excepting his own children. A Plantage-
net could not be disloyal to the monarch of this realm. The king's mind
was poisoned against me and my family by Thomas Crumwell, the most
vicious and wicked man that ever directed a king's councils or oppressed a
nation. Good people, I have had many wrongs wrongs that might have
shaken a loyalty less fervent than mine ; but I endured them patiently.

* Subsequently known in England as Cardinal Pole, and the successor of Cranmer in the
see of Canterbury.

1 882.] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 73

Charges were forged against me by Thomas Crumwell. My servants were
seized and interrogated, yet nothing could be extracted from them. Some
papal dispensations were found, together with a few letters from my family.
I committed one great crime in the eyes of that wicked man, Archbishop
Cranmer I was a true daughter of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, with
the pope at its head. Another treasonable action of mine was that of pos-
sessing a small silken banner embroidered with the five wounds of our
Blessed Lord and Redeemer. This, being the symbol of the Pilgrims of
Grace, was considered by the king to be treasonable. But I had no connec-
tion with the Pilgrims ; and, again, the brave Pilgrims were not in arms
against the king, but were forward to protect their holy religion against
the ministers of their sovereign. Unable to extract an admission of guilt
from me, Lord Crumwell had recourse to another expedient and devised a
process of law known as the Bill of Attainder, by means of which I was
attainted and condemned without trial, and all my lands and revenues con-
fiscated to the king.

" ' I have been treated with the utmost cruelty by the officials of the
Tower ; they have left me small quantities of bad food, and no fire in the
damp dungeon to which I have been so long confined. I have been de-
barred from all correspondence with my beloved son, Cardinal Pole.
Every insult and wrong has been piled up against me. I have, however,
recently learned that retribution has at last overtaken the wicked man
who contrived my destruction. Yes, Thomas Crumwell has been caught in
his own snare. Condemned, unheard, and unpitied, he has gone to the scaf-
fold amidst the acclamations of a multitude of men, women, and children
whom he had injured. I have been asked by the king's dear little wife
[Catharine Howard] to humbly petition his highness for mercy. What! a
daughter of the House of York to sue for mercy after the fashion of the
base-born Thomas Crumwell? No, never! Perish the thought ! I am a
Plantagenet to the end.'"

Now for the last scene :

"The brave countess, lifting her hands up to heaven, exclaimed in an
audible voice, ' Blessed are they who suffer persecution for righteousness'
sake.' Her long, white hair was streaming over her shoulders ; and as she
looked with compressed lips upon the people, who were all kneeling, there
appeared to be something of heaven, not of earth, in her whole bearing.
Suddenly she started and trembled, and it was no wonder, for the chief
headsman, touching her upon the shoulder, said in a coarse accent :
'Kneel down, old woman, and put your head upon the block' Lady Salisbury's
proud spirit became equal to the occasion. She indignantly exclaimed :
' Kneel down at thy bidding, man of blood ? No, never ! Place not your
bloody hands upon me. I am the king's near relation, and I nursed him in
childhood, too. It cannot be possible that his highness sanctions your con-
duct to me'

"' Old woman,' exclaimed the executioner, 'you need say no more. /
must cut your head off '. You are a traitor ; so here goes.' The executioner
and his assistants made a motion towards the countess, who quickly ad-
vanced across the platform, crying aloud : ' I am no traitor, and if you want

74 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct.,

my head you must take it as best you can.' The headsman next caught
her white hair and attempted to drag her to the block, but she again re-
sisted. A blow of the 'hatchet-knife 'was then made at her neck, which
caused a deep wound and the blood flowed ; still she resisted ; another
wound was inflicted; the poor lady soon fell from loss of blood, and her
long hair was streaming with blood. She once more recovered her posi-
tion and in a faint voice inquired if the manhood of England would stand
by and see her butchered. The manhood of England, however, did stand
by and like dumb dogs gazed upon the slaughter. At this stage of the
proceedings one of the headsmen, holding her tightly by the arms, forced
her head into the required position, and then, upon a signal from the
sheriff, a dreadful blow was inflicted, the blood flowing at all sides ; an-
other blow followed. The chief executioner then held up the head by the
hair, which was bathed in blood."

The Countess of Salisbury bore herself to the end with a
courage never surpassed, unless in the case of Lady Buhner,
whom King Henry sent to the flames for her sympathy with the
Pilgrims of Grace.

Tradition represents Henry VIII. visiting the Countess of
Salisbury in the Tower, in order to extort some information from
her concerning the movements of her son, Reginald Pole. The
countess stood the cross-examinations of the king and the Duke
of Suffolk bravely. She stated that his accusations against her
family were false and without a shadow of existence.

" Is the old dame mad ? " inquired the monarch.

" No, she is quite in her senses," replied the lieutenant of the
Tower.

" Then she must be quickly handed over to the headsman,"
was the observation of the merciful monarch.

" The headsman has no terrors for me," was the cool remark
of the noble captive.

" Are you a witch or a devil?" observed the king. "Now I
will soon test your courage."

The king suddenly retired from the scene, but returned with-
in an hour and handed the death-warrant to the lieutenant of the
Tower, with an order for execution on the following morning.

" Oh! merc} r ; the time is too short," remarked the humane
governor.

" Dare not dispute my command, or else your head shall roll
in the dust," was the tyrant's final judgment.

The Countess of Salisbury suddenly rose from the stone
bench on which she sat, and stretching out her withered arms,
and in a powerful voice which struck terror in all present, ad-
dressed the king in these words:

1 882.] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 75

" Your highness acts like a being who has no conscience. You look
upon your subjects as if they were born to be your slaves. For many years
back you have been slaughtering innocent people. All the judges and
public men form your footstool ; they are just as you desire base, unprin-
cipled, corrupt, and cowardly, for at your order they trample in the dust all
that is honorable, noble, and virtuous. O thou man of blood ! tremble for
thy hereafter. Your reign has been marked by the most shocking barbari-
ties. You sent the Carthusians and the Observant Fathers to the scaffold ;
your own venerable schoolmaster [Bishop Fisher] was likewise handed
over by you to the headsman because he refused to accept you as the vice-
gerent of our Blessed Lord on earth. You sent the holiest and the best of
our priesthood to the scaffold. Sir Thomas More, the greatest lay Catholic
and the most just judge in the realm, met a similar death at your hands.
You have destroyed nearly all the ancient families who were the pride of
the land, and you have raised low-born men thieves, villains, and mur-
derers to places of honor and trust. Your highness knows well that I am
telling God's truth to your face a sentiment which you will never learn
from your Archbishop of Canterbury [Cranmer] nor from your chancellor.
Now you have turned your warfare against women. You sent Lady Bul-
mer to the flames in Smithfield ; you sent the queenly Katharine to the
grave broken-hearted and deeply wronged. By a process of law of your
own creation you sent your second wife to the scaffold. . . . O cruel, wicked
man ! tremble for the future, for the measure of thine iniquity is nearly
complete."

The narrator states that the king listened attentively to the
admonition of his ancient kinswoman.

As the reader is aware, Crumwell's fall took place before the
Countess of Salisbury was sent to the scaffold. When informed
that the king intended to prosecute him under the statute spe-
cially enacted by himself 'to send the Marchioness of Exeter and
Lady Salisbury to the scaffold, he wrung his hands and in bitter
agony exclaimed : " Alas ! alas ! this is retribution indeed. The
prayers of nty victims have been heard in heaven." When in-
formed that the populace were exulting at the mere thought of
his execution he sobbed, looked down, and trembled. He now
realized his position. The man who had attended so many exe-
cutions at the scaffold and at the stake, to witness the torture
and insult heaped upon his victims, was himself terribly dismiss-
ed from life. The hour of retribution had arrived. A vast mul-
titude of people congregated to behold the " Grand Inquisitor,"
as Crumwell was styled, in the hands of the headsman. No one
anticipated the horrors of the scene. Two unskilful executioners,
in the absence of their chief, are described as " chopping Lord
Crumwell's head for nearly half an hour," the blood flowing
profusely along the scaffold. The ruffian mob of London danced
and shouted in frantic excitement of mingled joy and horror.

76 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct.,

What an awful spectacle! A long roll of terrible deeds sur-
rounds Crum well's memory at all points, yet we are assured
many times by a recent biographer of Crumwell that his " aim
was noble the overthrow of popery." Notwithstanding the Pu-
ritan flourish here quoted, Crumwell's last hours were spent in
contrition and sorrow for having been the sacrilegious agent of
Henry Tudor in his career of blood and robbery. " There were
three priests attached to the Tower at this period, and to one of
them Crumwell made divers confessions." The night before his
execution he sat several hours conversing upon religion with
the priests. Thorndale, who was present at the Mass at six
o'clock in the morning, relates that " Lord Crumwell most reve-
rently received the Bodye and Bloude of our Adorable Maker
and Saviour." And again he says : " The poor man's knees were
much swollen from long kneeling."

A fatality attended the family of the Countess of Salisbury.
Within the chamber, or cell, in which she had been confined at
the Tower, her brother, Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick,
was confined by Henr}' VII. and subsequently beheaded. In
another dungeon of the Tower Lady Salisbury's father was
mysteriously murdered. Henry VIII. 's deadly hatred to the
Pole family became intensified about the period of the Pilgrims
of Grace, when the king, through his foreign agents, offered fifty
thousand crowns to any person who might seize upon Cardinal
Pole and " carry him alive to England." Several members of the
family were beheaded, amongst whom was Lord Montague.
During the disastrous movements of the Pilgrims of Grace many
of the tenants and retainers of the Countess of Salisbury were
" hanged, drawn, and quartered." Amongst the victims were
two fine-looking young women, both of whom died bravely and
exhorted the people " to be true to the old religion of the
country."*

The chivalrous Lord Montague was confined in a cell of the
noted Beauchamp wing of the Tower. The Beauchamp Tower
is the central fortification on the west side of the inner ballium.

The Countess of Salisbury possessed the distinction of being
a countess in her own right, and some historians have described
her under the various names connected with her family. She
was the daughter of George, Duke of Clarence, by Isabel
Neville, the eldest daughter of Richard, Earl of Warwick, the
noted " setter-up and puller-down of kings." The countess was
also the niece of King Edward IV., and therefore no very distant

* Woodville's Anecdotes of the Pilgrims of Grace.

1 882.] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. 77

relative of Henry VIII. himself. Her brother, the Earl of War-
wick, was impeached and beheaded, his only offence consisting
in the fact of a close relationship to the crown. The family
received several warnings from Henry VII., whose suspicious
mind was ever jealous of a Plantagenet. Lady Margaret was
compelled by Henry VII. to marry a Welsh knight named
Richard de la Pole, by whom she had a large family and " lived
in love and peace." Her husband is described by a chronicle
of the times "as a chivalrous knight and a well-meaning man,
who was much esteemed at court and respected by the peo-
ple."

In Henry VI I. 's reign Lady Salisbury was placed in charge
of the royal children, so that Henry VIII. had known her
almost from his infancy. On the arrival of the Infanta (Katha-
rine) from Spain the countess, as she was generally styled, con-
ducted and arranged the young princess' household. A feeling
of mutual friendship sprang up between the lady companion and
the princess. When Katharine was married to Prince Arthur
the countess was still attached to her household ; was at Ludlow
at the period of Arthur's death ; was with the princess during a
great portion of her widowhood, and again at her marriage with
young Henry " so marked with hope and love." The Coun-
tess of Salisbury stood amongst the noble dames who thronged
around the youthful king and queen at their coronation ; when
the Princess Mary was baptized the royal infant was held at the
font by Lady Salisbury. At the Confirmation of Mary she ap-
peared again, enjoying the privilege of kindred as a Plantagenet.
At this period King Henry seemed much attached to his kins-
woman. He visited the royal nursery almost daily and con-
versed freely with her ; he listened with pleasure to her tales
about his own days of childhood ; he had perhaps heard of the
sonnets written on the historical Margaret Plantagenet when
styled the " Maid of the Golden Tresses." Time rolled on and
the " Maid of the Golden Tresses " became an old and a feeble
woman, with snow-white hair, who was impeached for high trea-
son ; a prisoner for nearly two years in one of the dungeons
in the Tower ; next on the scaffold, defying the blood-stained
headsman in the strength of her innocence, and right royally
meeting her death at the command of that kinsman whom she
had nursed in childhood, and to whose own offspring she had
accorded almost a mother's care. Such was the fate of one of
the noblest of the Plantagenet family, of whom the people of
England felt so proud.

78 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VI I L [Oct.,

Several of the London reviewers contend that I have used
unbecoming language in referring to the actions of Henry VIII.
as a sovereign and as a man. I regret, for the credit of human-
ity, that the life of an English ruler should not deserve a more
courteous delineation. However, Protestant writers must and
do admit the evil deeds of this prince. Even Sir Walter
Raleigh, who possessed the friendship of Queen Elizabeth, de-
scribed her father as "the very incarnation of human wicked-
ness." Of course Raleigh did not paint this picture during the
lifetime of the " gentle Queen Bess." Hallam has used strong
epithets in reference to Henry's actions. Miss Strickland de-
signates him in relation to his wives as " a regal ruffian," and
again she styles him as the " English Blue-beard." Dean Hook,
in his great work, the Archbishops of Canterbury, in referring to
Henry's correspondence with Archbishop Cranmer concerning
the marriage with Anne of Cleves, uses the following language :
" Perhaps there is not in historical literature a viler document
than that in which King Henry assigned his reasons for seeking
a divorce from Anne of Cleves. He cared not what he did or
said, if only he could carry his object."

Have the panegyrists of Henry ever seen this document?
Yet there are letters of this " reforming prince " extant equally
infamous.

The reader will be rather astonished at the fashion in which
another English writer of some distinction has written of Henry
VIII. Sharon Turner remarks : " King Henry was warm-hearted,
gentle, and affable in private life, untainted in morals, sincere in reli-
gion, respected abroad, and beloved at home. Happily for mankind,
Henry had none of the inhuman qualities, the fierce spirit, and
persevering insensibility of a great and active conqueror. He
took no pleasure in causing or contemplating fields of human slaugh-
ter" Mr. Sharon Turner must have lost all recollection of the
fate of the " Pilgrims of Grace."

Looking to the valuable space of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, I can-
not enter at greater length in rebutting those falsehoods which
abound in all the relations concerning the English Reformers
and their precursors. I refer the reader to volume ii. p. 264 of
the Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty for King Henry's
instructions to Lord Hertford, who was then commanding the
" army of invasion " about to enter Scotland. The military
despatch in question is one of the most sanguinary and atrocious
passages in all history. Titus could scarcely have issued a more
terrible order to his pagan legions when besieging Jerusalem.

1 882.] IXCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VI II. 79

This never-to-be-forgotten slaughter of the Scots occurred three
years before Henry's death (loth of April, 1544). Yet even to
the present day writers endorsing the eccentricities of Sharon
Turner affirm that Henry took no pleasure in causing or contemplat-
ing fields of human slaughter !

The records of the reign of Henry enable Macaulay's judg-
ment and integrity to present the following: "A king whose
character may be best described by saying that he was des-
potism itself personified ; unprincipled ministers, a rapacious
aristocracy, a servile Parliament such were the instruments by
which England was delivered from the yoke of Rome. The work
which had been begun by Henry the murderer of his wives was
continued by Somerset, the murderer of his own brother, and com-
pleted by Elizabeth, the murderer of her guest"

Sir James Mackintosh observes that " Henry Tudor is the
only prince of modern times who carried judicial murder into
his own bed and imbrued his hands in the blood of those whom he
had once caressed."

An Anglican divine, who has been engaged for some years
in writing a history of the " revolution of Religion in England "
has drawn a portrait of Henry VIII. which is full of acute dis-
crimination :

" Henry VIII. was the man who was fittest to direct the revolution of
the wealthy against the poor. His stupendous will was guided by certain
primary and unfailing instincts ; his fierce temper could not be restrained
or calmed by any human being, however virtuous or exalted. The subt-
lest flattery failed to insinuate itself into him ; the haughtiest spirits got
no hold upon him ; arduous or splendid services awoke in him no sen-
timent of royal confidence. The proud Wolsey or the astute Thomas
Crumwell, to whom in succession he seemed to have abdicated his king-
ship, found that they had no more power over him than the last ' dicing-man
whom he had enriched. When he met with a conscience that resisted his
enormities his resentment was implacable. These evil qualities, however,
were less apparent in his dealings with his brethren of the ' throne and
sceptre ' than in his treatment of his own subjects. In more than one con-
test of obstinacy with the Emperor Charles V. Henry came off baffled ;
and he certainly found his match in the French monarch, Francis I. In
truth, there was something unintelligent in the incapacity of attachment,
the inaccessibility to kindly feeling, which was King Henry's strength.
The savage creatures would bite every hand ; the services and kindness of
the keeper exempt him not from the precautions which must be taken by
the stranger who approaches them. The well-known lineaments of Henry
expressed his character. That large and swelling brow, on which the
clouds of wrath and the lines of hardness might come forth at any
moment ; those steep and ferocious eyes ; that small, full mouth, close-but-
toned, as if to prevent the explosion of perpetual choler these give the

So INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct.,

physiognomy of a remarkable man, but not of a great man. There is no
noble history written in them ; and though well formed, they lack the
clearness of line which has been often traced in a homelier visage, the resi-
dence of a lofty intellect. A great tyrant tries the nature of men ; nor
have we the right, if we witness, to exult over the spectacle of the humilia-
tions, the frailties, or the crimes of those whose fears, whose cupidity,
whose arrogance were excited by such a sovereign as Henry. Under him
all were distorted, all were made worse than they would have been. It is
the last baseness of tyranny not to perceive genius. Of Seneca and of
Lucan the slaughterer was Nero. Henry VIII. laid the foundations of his
revolution in the English Erasmus, and set up the gates thereof in the
English Petrarch." *

I close these few but noted incidents of the reign of Henry
VIII. with a description of the " death-bed scene ":

" The last day of Henry Tudor had now passed, and the night of dying
agony commenced. It was a condition of fearful bodily suffering to the
king, broken by intervals of remorse and prayer. Had human pride van-
ished ? Had mercy returned to the royal breast ? Was the king at peace
with all the world ? No ! Another act of vengeance was to be consummat-
ed. For a year or so before the king's death the warrants for executions
were signed by commission in consequence of the monarch's state of health.
But in this special case the royal tyrant expressed his determination and
pleasure to sign the Duke of Norfolk's death-warrant with his own hand." t

Dean Hook justly remarks that nothing 1 more terrible than
this scene can be imagined : " At ten of the clock, when the cold
sweat of death covered his face, when in dreadful agony from head to
foot, the awfully prostrated monarch was making a faint effort
to sign the fatal document." The action manifested the mastery
of a ruthless spirit and evinced the domination of a final impeni-
tence. In the very arms of death he would destroy the living ;
on the threshold of the grave he would turn from the presence of
his God to make one more sacrifice to the Enemy of Mankind.
Yet even that thirst for the blood of an illustrious subject whose
age he had left nearly childless might not have been the worst,
if it had not been the last, of the crimes of this unforgiving
prince.:]: A few hours more elapsed (two o'clock in the morn-

* Canon Dixon's History of the Church of England, vol. ii. pp. 408-9.

t Domestic State Papers of Henry's Reign ; Historical Portraits of tlie Tudor Dynasty,
vol. ii.

J When the death-warrant was signed, with the aid of the lords in waiting, the king became
immensely exhausted and did not utter a word for some minutes ; then he said, " Let the Duke
of Norfolk be in the hands of the headsman at six of the clock." Being informed that there was
not sufficient light of a January morning at six of the clock for such an important business, he
commanded that when the execution took place to let him know how the traitor died. At this
moment the miserable man was seized with fresh convulsions, when he " roared like a wild beast
upon the rack." Morning came, but the Council hesitated to begin the new reign by shedding
Norfolk's blood.

1 882,] INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. Si

ing), and the shadow of death was casting a deep and solemn
gloom upon the royal chamber. The end now came. The final
contest was brief ; and, in a pulse's throb, the spirit of the long-
dreaded King Henry was wafted to the presence of that Omni-
potent Tribunal where so many of his iniquitous judgments de-
served to be reversed. A death-bed has been described as the
altar of forgiveness, where charity and tears commingle as the
spirit of prayer communes. These attributes were absent from
the dying couch of Henry Tudor, whose last, despairing words,
chronicled by Anthony Browne, " All is lost /" express an awful
consciousness of the retribution due to a merciless, selfish, and
remorseless career.

Some forty minutes after the king's death, before the domes-
tics could even partially recover from the dreadful scene they
had witnessed, Lord Hertford and Sir William Paget held a,
conversation outside the apartment where the body of the dead
monarch lay, still warm and horribly convulsed in feature, the
very sight of which made Sir Anthony Browne fall to the
ground in a swoon. Yet Hertford and his friend Paget were
made of sterner stuff. The subdued parley between the whis.-
perers was the first access to a deliberate perjury in relation to
the late king's " last testament." Paget hesitated, and, glancing at
the door, half open, for a few moments looked thoughtfully at
all that remained of his royal master, and told Hertford that his
" observations were ill-timed." The sudden appearance of Arch-
bishop Cranmer upon the scene gave more confidence to Paget.
A terrific storm raged at the moment (three o'clock in the morn-
ing). A look from one to the other was understood. Still .they
feared one another ; nevertheless the first step had been taken,*
They had resolved to violate Henry's " most Catholic will," and
to keep his death a secret for three days till the conspirators
had arranged their plans.

Mr. Froude remarks that Lord Hertford "did not\ dare to
make public the last conversation he held with the king tjie day before
his death" f This sentence contains a withering verdict, and is an
exposition of the author's sentiments as to Hertford's actions at
this time, not the less valuable from its fortuitous candor. An-
other question remains still unexplained : Did Lord Hertford and
Archbishop Cranmer read for the predoomed boy-king, Edward
VI., at any period of his painful regal pupilage, anything, even a

* MS. Letter of Sir Edward Denny ; Dr. Whyte's secret correspondence with Father Peto
" concerning the last hours of King Henry."
t Froude, vol. v. p. 2.
VOL. XXXVI. 6

82 INCIDENTS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII. [Oct. r

syllable, from his father's last " will and testament " ? Or what
explanation did they give him as to the special command to have
him educated in the ancient Catholic Church of England? Did they
impart to the young king his father's injunctions for Masses for
his (the father's) soul's health and the due maintenance of the
olden religion ? Do the Protestant eulogists of Archbishop
Cranmer approve of the unparalleled deception in this regard of
himself and his confreres in the Council ? Do they approve the
worst kind of perjury the violation of solemn oaths sworn at the
bedside of a dying man f

It is worthy of remark that during his lifetime King Henry
had drawn up no less than eighty-six " last testaments." " The
king had," writes his devoted courtier, Sir Anthony Browne,
a "great horror of death, and when some gloomy feelings visited
his highness he generally began to think of altering his will and
bequeathing more money for Masses for his soul after death."
And now, in memoriam, here is a striking incident, new, per-
haps, to many of your readers :

The royal remains, being carried to Windsor to be buried,
stood all night among the dilapidated walls of the Convent of
Sion, and there the leaden coffin being cleft by the shaking of the
carriage along a bad road in heavy weather, it was placed upon
a stand, and after a while the attendants discovered that the pave-
ment of the chapel was quite wet from a stream of blood proceed-
ing from the coffin. In the morning came plumbers to solder the
coffin, which had burst, when suddenly the men discovered two
dogs licking up the kings blood. The narrator one of the royal
household says: "If you ask me how I know this, I answer,
William Greville,* who could scarcely drive away the dogs, was
my informant." The plumbers, who were greatly affrighted,
corroborated the above statement.

The dismantled convent alluded to had been the prison of
Queen Catharine (Howard), whose execution took place just five
years before the corpse of her ruthless husband reached its tem-
porary resting-place.f The reader will remember the denuncia-
tion of Father Peto at Greenwich Royal Chapel (1533), in the
presence of the haughty monarch and his then idolized Anna
Boleyn, when the fearless friar compared the king to Achab, and
told him to his face that " the dogs would in like manner lick

* Greville was one of the king's domestics, all of whom were attached to their royal master,
who treated them with much kindness and often conversed in a jocular manner with them upon
rural or sporting affairs.

t MS. in the Sloane Collection. Harpsfield to Father Peto. The original MS. is to be found
at the Vatican.

1 882.] SAINT MAGDALENE. 83

his blood." Some Protestant writers question the above relation.
Be it, however, coincidence or the verification of prophecy, the
fact stands and needs no further reference from me.

The Rev. Mr. Dixon, whom I have just quoted, describes
Somerset's government as that of a usurper, and the period one
of the most disastrous in English history. " The doings of un-
bridled fanatics and unscrupulous self-seekers made the late
tyranny seem in comparison a time of law and order ; and men
who groaned beneath the Seymours and the Dudleys were pre-
sently crying out for the church and the laws of Henry VIII.
The magnificent architectural decorations were destroyed, the
frescoes white-washed, and in the rood-loft the royal arms took the
place of the crucifix" The above passage is the honest state-
ment of a learned and painstaking historian, whose object is to
discover facts. The Rev. Canon Dixon's History of the Church
of England from the Period of the Parliamentary Abolition of tJie
Roman Jurisdiction to the Death of Henry VIII. is a most valuable
work for every student of history to consult.

SAINT MAGDALENE.

LIFE'S choicest blessings would I freely give,
Fair Magdalene, fair Magdalene,

If so thy gift of tears I might receive
And weep alone, of men unseen.

For to the feet of Him who spoke to thee
Sweet words that e'en to me give hope,

Through blinding tears alone my way I see
From out the darkness where I grope.

O tears that spring from Hope's eternal fount
And from the bruised heart of love !

These pearls do silver o'er the souls that mount
On wings of light to God above.

84 SAINT MAGDALENE. ' [Oct.,

If sorrow in that blest abode could be
'Twere like to thine, sweet Magdalene,

For in thy grief is such divinity
As pain doth pleasure make, I ween.

Through sweet salt tears and those full eyes of thine,

That upward look with burning love,
As white as lilies washed with dew doth shine

A soul that now no more will rove.

Not purer, fairer on thy mother's breast
Did thy young face in sleep repose

Than, at the feet of thy dear Lord, at rest,
While all thy heart in love o'erflows.

Oh ! that thy griet were mine, as mine thy sin,
That love might lead me to the feast

Where Jesus is, and I might enter in
And of my burden be released.

O Saint, that sinner wast, pray thou for me,
Who walk in darkness and in woe,

Who, bound in heavy chains, but would be free,
If where my Saviour is thou'lt show.

Into the desert then alone I'll go,
Nor miss the world that I do leave ;

And my sweet tears shall never cease to flow,
And I shall never cease to grieve.

1 882.] ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. 85

ST. ANNE DE BEAUPR&.

A WRITER in The Century magazine some time since under-
took to give an account of a certain famous place of pilgrim-
age, St. Anne de Beaupre, which he chose to designate as " the.
Canadian Mecca." But it is not our intention to notice in detail
the idle and misplaced sneers with which this " holiday lounger,"
as he styles himself, saw fit to interlard his article.

Long ago, in some far-away time too distant for actual history
to have recorded the fact, a few Breton sailors, coming up the
great river, were surprised by a terrific storm. In all the terror
of the moment, the blackness of the night, the howling of the
winds, and the rushing of the waters their hearts went back to
distant Brittany. In childhood and in youth they had been
taught to have recourse to the beloved patroness of their chere
Bretagne. Never had St. Anne d'Auray failed to hear a simple
and heartfelt prayer. They registered a vow : if the good saint
brought them once more to land, there w r here their feet touched
they would build her a shrine. A morning came blue and cloud-
less. These brave men were ashore, and where? They looked
about them. To the northward rose the Laurentian hills, to the
southward the wide rolling St. Lawrence, to the eastward a little
stream, now the St. Anne, dividing the settlement from the
neighboring parish of St. Joachim. In such surroundings they
built a simple wooden chapel and laid the foundation of a shrine
now famous throughout America.

The years went on ; these hardy voyageurs passed on their way
and were heard of no more in the village they had founded. But
habitations soon grew up, and the settlement of Petit-Cap began
to be known by the little temple which stood in its very heart.
Meanwhile, in the passing years, the springtime floods and the
winter storms, and even the hand of time itself, began to tell
upon the sturdy wooden frame of the good saint's shrine. The
project of rebuilding it was first seriously entertained some-
where about 1660. A prosperous farmer of the village, named
Etienne Lessard, made a generous donation of land sufficient for
the erection of a church, provided only that the work was begun
at once. A discussion now arose as to the propriety of changing
the site ; but the matter was finally decided, and M. Vignal, a
priest from Quebe \ went down to Petit-Cap to bless the founda-

86 5r. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. [Oct.,

tions. He was accompanied by M. d'Aillebout, governor of New
France, who went thither expressly to lay the corner-stone. But
the people long before this, it seemed even from the very origin
of the settlement, had learned to love and venerate the mother
of Mary, who had come, as it were, in so extraordinary a manner
to their shore. Even the Indians heard in their distant trading-
posts from the voice of the Black-gown this message of peace,
.and, hearing, they believed. So they urged their swift canoes
thitherward over the great, wild river from their homes in the
trackless wilderness, where only the dauntless hearts of the mis-
sionaries had as yet dared to penetrate. Their solemn faces and
uncouth figures gave a savage wildness to the groups of pilgrims
as their grotesque and unfamiliar tongue mingled often at morn
or evening, in prayer or hymn, with the sweet, soft patois of
Brittany or of Normandy. To the Bretons who were so thick-
ly interspersed throughout the colonies this spot truly was a
glimpse of home. Had not St. Anne heard their childish pray-
ers or some passionate heart-cry of fervid youth, and did they
not find her here again among these dreary, rugged wilds
where otherwise the soul of the exile found only desolation?
Many a tear stole down the weather-beaten faces of hardy mari-
ners as they knelt with the familiar " Sainte Anne, Mere de la
Vierge -Marie, priez pour vous" They had found for the moment
home, country, and youth. This second church, which remained
in use till 1876, was built of stone and stood just at the foot of
the hill, where the present chapel for processions now is. Dur-
ing the years following its erection multitudes of pilgrims flocked
thither.

Amongst those whose interest in the welfare of the church
and the propagation of the devotion have woven a halo round
this village shrine is that immortal bishop of Quebec he who,
coming of the ancient and knightly race, the Barons Mont-
morenci de Laval, forsook the splendors of a luxurious court
and the softness of a southern climate to devote his wonderful
intellect to the service of the primitive Canadian Church. He
was truly a knight of God a man whose life, full of all the in-
terest that a lofty and self-denying purpose can give it, is likewise
teeming with the romance engendered by the wild and savage
surroundings from which he shone out with meteoric glory.
Lance in rest, he broke down all bulwarks that separated his mis-
sion from full accomplishment, and, ever ready to seize the means
which the providence of God placed at his hand, he devoted
himself to the work of making St. Anne ever better known and

1 882.] ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. 87

more beloved. Somewhere about 1670 he sought and obtained
from the chapter of Carcassonne a precious relic of that good
mother, to which the Century writer no doubt refers when he
speaks of " the dried bones of a saint." This relic is, in fact, a
portion of the saint's ringer, and is vouched for by the cathedral
chapter of Carcassonne, by Mgr. de Laval, and by the present
Archbishop of Quebec, Mgr. E. A. Taschereau. So that we
'think even the Century s " educated classes " may accept this relic
" without reserve." It was not for more than two centuries later
1877 that the church at Petit-Cap, or St. Anne de Beaupre,
as it is now called, came into possession of a second relic of this
saint, which was brought from Rome by the Rev. M. N. Lali-
berte, some-time cure there.

Rich gifts began to pour in, and the attention of royalty itself
was drawn to the spot ; for a gleam from the magnificence of
that traditionally splendid court of Louis le Grand fell upon that
humble sanctuary hard by the blue stream which still bore the
Indian voyageur upon his way. It is part of the romance which
antiquity has lent to the place, this offering made by the queen-
mother of Louis XIV. Anne of Austria's own royal hands
worked a handsome chasuble as a gift to the good St. Anne.
The ornaments upon it are red, white, and black arrows, and the
whole is richly wrought in gold and silver. Now, though that
splendid pageant of a dream, that gorgeous phantom of a dead
royalty, has passed into tradition, the vestment worked by the
royal mother's hands is still seen at the altar of St. Anne's upon
grand occasions. Another patron of the little temple was the
Marquis de Tracy, viceroy of New France. In danger of perish-
ing by shipwreck, this devout man made a vow that if St. Anne
procured his safety he would make her a handsome offering. So
there the offering is, now hung above the high altar of the new
church. It is a painting from the pencil of Le Brun and repre-
sents St. Anne, Our Blessed Lady, and two pilgrims, a man and
woman. At the base of the picture are the arms of the donor.
A costly silver reliquary adorned with precious stones, and two
pictures painted by the Franciscan friar, Luc Lafrangois, are the
gifts of Mgr. de Laval ; while there is a crucifix of solid silver pre-
sented by the hero of Iberville in 1706 in return for favors obtained.
So does the past intermingle everywhere with the present, and
such tokens speak like the voices of the dead, giving testimony
of answered prayers. Kneeling there before that beloved mo-
ther of the Mother of Christ, we can see in fancy, as humble sup-
pliants by our side, the great and good prelate whose name

88 ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. [Oct.,

shines out from the early Canadian annals with an unsurpassed
lustre, or the valiant soldiers, proud and warlike viceroys, gay
and gallant barons of France, who have bent the knee here, hum-
ble, believing, hopeful as the poor fisher whose boat rocked the
while upon the surging waters without. In 1875 a magnificent
banner, seven feet and a half high by four and a half broad, was
presented to the cur6 by his Excellency Lieutenant-Governor
Caron, of Quebec. On one side of it is St. Anne teaching the
Blessed Virgin, the two figures encircled by a silver shower.
Above and below is inscribed : " St. Anne, Consolation of the
Afflicted, pray for us." The reverse of the banner represents St.
Joachim as a pilgrim, proceeding to the Temple with his simple
gift of two white doves. The work thereupon was done by the
Sisters of Charity. The walls and sanctuary are fairly covered
with crutches, hearts of gold and silver, and the like, each one
telling of a belief in some cure obtained, or petition heard.

But of course all this is in the new church. For the second
edifice, which was in use till 1876, became gradually insufficient
for the growing wants of the mission, even though it had been
several times enlarged and otherwise improved, and in 1787 was
almost totally rebuilt. A dispute again occurred as to whether
this third new church should be built upon the former site or
removed to a greater distance from the water. The ecclesiasti-
cal authorities took the latter view ; but the question was discuss-
ed with more and more warmth, till at last it was agreed upon
that the church should be built upon the old site. Immediately
all discord ceased and the work was soon carried to the desired
end. Clearly the good St. Anne herself preferred the ancient
site.

The chapel during all these years had been served by mis-
sionaries, amongst whom were Jesuits, Franciscan friars of the
branch known as Observantines or Recollets, and secular priests
from the Seminary of Quebec. The lives and incidents in the
lives of many of them are replete with interest. The first re-
corded is Father Andr6 Richard, of the Society of Jesus, who
was a missionary ; the second, Father Lemercier, also a Jesuit
missionary. The latter had been for almost twenty years labor-
ing in the Huron missions, of which he was afterwards superior.
He left Quebec in 1685 and died in the Antilles. Another pas-
tor of St. Anne's from 1690 to 1699 was M. Filon, a secular
priest, who was drowned returning by canoe from Baie Saint-
Paul under the following heroic circumstances : There were
some others in the canoe with him, and in attempting their res-

1 882.] ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. 89

cue he lost his own life. Just as he brought the last passenger
to shore he was struck by a floating spar, which hurled him
among the rocks and caused his death. His body was found
by a young girl named Bouchard. With tender reverence she
placed it in a birch-bark coffin and planted a cross above it.
Some days later she brought it to Cape St. Anne, letting it float
after her canoe. Tradition adds that on its being buried next day
in the little village where the dead priest had ministered a superb
cross of gold was placed above it. This young girl afterwards
became a sister of the Congregation de Notre Dame in Mon-
treal, under the name of Sceur Saint-Paul. Mgr. Morin, also
for some time at St. Anne's, enjoys the distinction of being the
first Canadian priest. M. Portneaf, who, after leaving Petit-
Cap and its shrine, became cure of St. Joachim, was forced to
place himself at the head of his parishioners to offer resistance
to the English, who were putting everything to fire and the
sword. He, with many of his little band, fell victims of their
own heroism on the 23d of August, 1759, and the brave cure was
buried without a coffin.

In or about 1871 the first steps were taken towards the erec-
tion of the present church. In May, 1872, the bishops of the
province issued a pastoral letter calling upon the faithful to
unite heart and soul in this enterprise. The parishioners at
once subscribed amongst themselves the sum of sixteen thousand
dollars, and the foundations of the new structure were laid as
early as June, 1872. But the parishioners were not left alone in
the work. From all parts of the province subscriptions poured
in, and hosts of pilgrims flocked thither, bringing offerings to lay
at the feet of the " good St. Anne." The new church, which has
cost close upon two hundred thousand dollars, is fifty-two feet
long by sixty-four broad. The steeple is forty-five feet high. The
whole stands as a splendid monument of the faith and love of the
people. It is in vain that petty and foolish sneers are directed
against the " superstitious " belief of the French-Canadian peas-
ant. Still with lofty and generous trust in the power of God the
people (if the Province of Quebec have gathered about the sanc-
tuary of the mother of Mary and built this stately temple in
her honor. In 1876 the new church was solemnly blessed. The
bishop, followed by priests, acolytes, the students of the Semi-
nary, and a vast concourse of people, bore the relic from the old
church to the new. Every year pilgrimages go thither from
various parts of the province.

The year of 1876, the year of the building of the new church,

90 ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. [Oct.,

was crowned by a rescript of His Holiness Pius IX., bearing date
the /th of May, by which he declared St. Anne patroness of the
Province of Quebec, as long ago St. Joseph had been declared pa-
tron of all Canada. This decree was received with universal joy
by the faithful.

The interior of the church is adorned with eight altars, the
high altar being the gift of his Grace Mgr. Taschereau, of Que-
bec; the Blessed Virgin's, that of the bishop of Montreal; one
to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, that of the bishop of St. Hyacinth ;
while St. Joseph's is donated by the bishop of Ottawa, the Holy
Angels by the clerks of St. Viateur.

Two really beautiful stained windows which adorn the chan-
cel are the gift of four parishioners. Various pictures upon the
walls commemorate remarkable deliverances from shipwreck and
the like. Such is Le Pere Pierre and the crew of the ship Saint-
Esprit making a vow to St. Anne ; or the king's vessel, Le Htros,
on the point of foundering ; or yet another caught in the ice and
saved through the intercession of St. Anne. Of the artistic ex-
cellence of many of these pictures we say nothing.

Besides the relics of St. Anne already mentioned the church
of Beaupre* can boast many others, such as one of St. Francis
Xavier, of St. Deodatus, St. Benedict, St. Valentine, St. Remi,
St. Eulalie, St. Amantis Pontianus, St. Caesarius, and others.
The Rev. M. Gauvreau, cure from 1875 to 1878, almost complete-
ly finished the exterior of the new church. In 1876 he likewise
built a school chapel for the children of the neighboring conces-
sions. He also conceived the idea of building the Chapel of the
Processions out of the materials of the old church. It was con-
secrated October 2, 1878, and is intended to perpetuate the an-
cient edifice, being erected after the same fashion and surmount-
ed by the same bell-tower, whence the same sweet-toned voice
calls the people to prayer that called the dead and gone genera-
tions ago. Situated upon an eminence, and being used especially
when the concourse of pilgrims is very great, it is an imitation
of the altar of the Scala Sancta at St. Anne d'Auray. There is
a fountain just before the entrance to the new church, where
crowds of pilgrims are seen using the water. It is surmounted
by a statue of St. Anne, which statue, or some image of the mo-
ther of Mary, is, as the author of the "Canadian Mecca " remarks,
seen everywhere throughout the village. Somewhat to the
northeast of the church is the presbytere, or parochial residence,
now occupied by the Redemptorist Fathers, who have been in
charge of the mission since 1878.

1 882.] ST. ANNE DE BEAUPRE. 91

The one principal street of St. Anne's runs along the slope of
a hill which in the summer-time is thickly covered with fruit-
laden trees. Canadian homesteads of comfort and of plenty line
it on either side. The population consists of some hundred and
fifty families, who, experiencing- little of " life's long and fitful
fever," spin out their days in a primitive and rural simplicity
which belonged to the golden epoch of la Nouvelle France. The
traveller fresh from the restless bustle of a modern Babylon
seems to find himself suddenly transported to some far-away
Utopia of simple content which has slept for centuries an en-
chanted sleep, and awakes isolated indeed from the Jugger-
naut of progress. The handsome church, sole token of modern
enterprise, arises like a new Aladdin's tower from amid the
group of quaint, almost mediaeval, dwellings. In the spring and
summer time St. Anne's awakes from a lethargy in which it has
been plunged during the long winter, and, as the city of some
Arabian Nights' tale, is suddenly aglow with life and animation.
Pilgrims of every rank and condition of life fill its street ; ma-
tron and maiden, priest and layman, the young and the old, the
grave and the gay, come thither, an eager but silent and recol-
lected throng, to the feet of the good St. Anne. Prayers go up,
hymns ring out on the stilly evening or at tranquil morn, and
the pilgrims take their homeward way, with a vision of the calm,
restful loveliness of nature there in that favored spot to haunt
them for many days. They remember Nature at St. Anne's,
with her dim and night-empurpled hills, amongst which linger
the memories of hundreds of years, with her flowing sunlit
streams, the waving of trees and grass, the dreamy village life,
and above all a something indescribable. That something is not,
however, of nature, but is beyond and above nature the solemn
spectacle of hundreds of believing souls setting the cold sneers
of an infidel world at defiance and praying heart-prayers that as
surely arise to the throne of God as the sun that gilds their
course mounts at morning to the mountain-tops. The chant, and
the organ-tone, and the murmur of pilgrim voices fade into a
distant memory, but the voyager down that sapphire stream, the
St. Lawrence, to that hill-shadowed sanctuary keeps for a life-
time the impression of what he has seen and heard.

92 JAMES FLORANT MELINE. [Oct.,

JAMES FLORANT MELINE.

THE ancestor of James Florant Meline came out of Sweden
with Gustavus Adolphus and settled at Besangon, in the south
of France. It was here that his father, Florant Meline, was born;
but, full of the spirit of adventure and enthusiastic in his admira-
tion of the young- republic, he left his home at the age of nine-
teen, and, crossing the Atlantic, was commissioned a lieutenant
in the United States army. After seeing some service he be-
came more fully identified with his adopted country by marry-
ing Miss Catharine Butler, daughter of a Catholic gentleman of
Philadelphia, and sister to the Revs. Thomas and James Butler,
both professors at Mt. St. Mary's College, Emmittsburg.

James Florant Meline was born in 1811 in the United States
garrison at Sackett's Harbor. The eldest of four children,
James was cradled upon a battle-field, and thus early learned to
know the flag of his country, which throughout his life he loved
with devotion. At the close of the war of 1812 Lieutenant
Meline, being retained in the peace establishment of the army,
was ordered to Bellefontaine now St. Louis then a little
frontier post in the wilderness. His children were young, their
mother too delicate to undertake the long and dangerous jour-
ney. In exchange Florida swamps were offered, and, as this was
worse, a resignation was unavoidable. Investing his means in
a disastrous business speculation and losing all, there followed
some years of struggle with adverse fortune and failing health,
but he died before he succeeded in re-establishing himself.

James had been sent to Mt. St. Mary's College, the two little
girls to St. Joseph's, where their family had already had a repre-
sentative in the person of Miss Mary Anne Butler, their aunt,
one of the devoted little band who with Mother Seton laid the
foundation and watched over the infancy of the mother-house
of the Sisters of Charity. After the death of Mrs. Meline, who
survived her husband but a short time, Florant, the younger son,
joined his brother at the Mountain. James' career at college
was brilliant. To fine abilities he joined great industry, a strict
adherence to duty, and an unconquerable will qualities which
endured through life. To quote the words of one of his old pro-
fessors :

1 882.] JAMES FLORANT MELINE. 93

" He was noted for his manly bearing and gentlemanly conduct, his
singular talents for almost any pursuit, and his reserve when any one was
ready to say 'Admirable ' after the performance of some difficult piece of
music or declamation, as though to let it be understood that he did not
wish to hear much about it. One instance of his musical ability recurs to
my mind, when, at one of our annual commencements, he took up four in-
struments in succession the oboe, French horn, clarionet, and flute play-
ing his part on each to the satisfaction of the leader and the delight of the
audience. Then his attention to his religious duties was such as to show
that they were ever in his thoughts."

At this period the future litterateur was fortunate in having
for instructors such men as Mr. now Cardinal McCloskey, the
Rev. John B. Purcell, now Archbishop of Cincinnati, Fathers
Sourin, Whelan, Jameson, Hitzelberger, and others who were
distinguished in a broader field in after-years. His circum-
stances forcing him to leave college a year before being graduat-
ed, the faculty presented him with a document certifying to his
high qualities and acquirements.

It was in Cincinnati, already a thriving town, that the
young lad decided to begin the battle of life, and his life, like that
of most men who achieve honor and success, was a record of
struggle with difficulties. When the Rev. Mr. Purcell was ap-
pointed bishop of Cincinnati and established the " Athenaeum "
on Sycamore Street, Mr. Meline became one of the professors,
and in the intervals of his duties studied law and was admitted
to the bar. He also turned his fine talent for music to good use
by teaching the art. It has been said of him that at that time,
and in later years when his home was the favorite resort of
artists and amateurs (where, led by the talented host himself, was
executed such music as was at that time heard nowhere else in
the city), he did much to foster that love of good music in Cin-
cinnati which has found its fruition in the great College of
Music. He may be said, indeed, to have laid a stone in the foun-
dation upon which has risen the mighty Springer Hall, the
princely gift of another Catholic gentleman, whose name it bears
Mr. Reuben R. Springer. He was also engaged in early years,
in addition to his other numerous occupations, in editing the
Catholic Telegraph of Cincinnati, in conjunction with Mr. Young,
afterwards bishop of Erie, then, as ever after up to the period
of his untimely death, the devoted friend of Mr. Meline.

After several years of hard work he was able at last to carry
into effect a long-cherished plan of foreign travel. First visit-
ing his uncle (who resided in Brussels at the head of the

94 JAMES FLORANT MELINE. [Oct.,

publishing house of Meline, Cans & Co.), and enjoying fine
opportunities for study and improvement in the society of men
of letters and note who were entertained at the house of Mr.
Paul Meline, he afterwards spent eighteen months travelling
upon the Continent and in Great Britain.

His journal at this time gives evidence of his powers of ob-
servation and criticism, and of the refined elegance and purity of
his tastes. His love of music, always an unfailing source of en-
joyment, was gratified by hearing the great musical celebrities
of the day in Europe.

Returning to Cincinnati, Mr. Meline began the practice of
law, which he continued successfully for some years ; but he had
determined upon a second visit to Europe, chiefly with the view
of perfecting his knowledge of German French and Italian he
spoke with fluency and studying at the fountain-head various
subjects in which he was interested. Always an ardent and de-
voted student of art and literature, three months' residence at
the University of Heidelberg, and further travel and study in
Munich, Vienna, Dresden, and Berlin, so enriched and strength-
ened his mind that he was said at that time by high authority
to be the most brilliant belles-lettres scholar among the Catho-
lic laity of the United States. Both before and after his return
from Europe he was a frequent contributor to the papers of
the day, and lectured in his own and other cities upon " Educa-
tion in Austria," " The Study of Modern Languages," and various
topics of popular interest and utility.

In 1843 John Quincy Adams was invited to lay the corner-
stone of the Cincinnati Observatory, and in the address which he
delivered on that occasion he repeated the old calumny of the
persecution of Galileo by the " Roman Inquisition." This called
forth from Meline a forcible rejoinder and denial of Mr. Adams'
statements, published first in the daily papers and afterwards in
a brochure in which he made it an introduction to an article
from the Dublin Review on the Galileo controversy. In after-
years, upon the discovery of new light upon the subject, he took
up Galileo's case again in THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

In 1847 Mr. Meline was married to Miss Mary Elizabeth,
daughter of Mr. John Rogers, of Cincinnati, one of the pioneers
of Catholicity in that city. As a shorter road to the attainment
of the scholarly leisure and culture which he craved, Mr. Meline
relinquished his profession, and, in connection with the numerous
foreign consulates which he had gradually acquired, established
a banking and exchange business which for several years proved

1 882.] JAMES FLORA NT MELINE. 95

successful and bade fair to yield in the course of a short time
an assured competence. But these fair hopes were destined
never to be realized. In the financial crash of 1860 his house
was involved in ruin and the savings of his life were entirely
swept away. His newly-built suburban home and all his other
property were at once given up to his creditors. Although
keenly alive to the mortification of failure and morbidly sensitive
to reproach, of which he received a full share, his was not a spirit
to succumb, and he prepared to renew the struggle with ad-
versity.

But other subjects were agitating his mind as well as his own
private affairs, which were peculiarly harassing. The civil war
had begun. Deeply interested in the vital questions at issue, he
had employed his pen in their discussion on various occasions
in his usual earnest and vigorous manner. Now that hostilities
had begun, there was no hesitation as to his duty, and the pen
was laid aside for the sword. As soon as it was possible to
arrange his affairs he joined the army and was appointed major
and judge-advocate on the staff of Major-General Pope. This
was in July, 1862, just previous to the Virginia campaign, so
that his initiation as a soldier was a severe ordeal. He thus
speaks of it :

" From the time we left the Rapidan until we reached the Potomac
we were (literally) sixteen days in the saddle, under fire constantly
marching by night, fighting by day, sleeping on the ground, without a
change of clothing, and half starved. During the terrific battles of Friday
and Saturday (Manassas) I had four hard biscuits for eight-and-forty
hours' sustenance, and was as well off as the remainder of the staff. I
should like to relate to you the whole story of the campaign and the bat-
tles, for I could tell you much that will not find its way into the papers.
One discovery I made that I cannot refrain from telling you of. It was
my entire self-possession and sang-froid under fire. My bapteme de feu was
at Cedar Mountain, when the enemy made a dash at us with infantry and
cavalry to cut off Pope and his staff. We had been under a hot fire
of shell when the dash was made. In the midst of it I was left alone
(through the stupidity or cowardice of my orderly in allowing my horse to
escape) on foot in a ten-acre ploughed field between our own troops and
the enemy, in a cross-fire of musketry, minie-rifles, and carbines. It rained !
My baptfane was not by sprinkling but by total immersion. From that time
we were under fire every day, and I attribute my indifference to it to its
refreshing contrast with the terrific warfare I had sustained for months
previous in which my reputation, far dearer than life, was at stake."

Soon promoted to a colonelcy, he served throughout the war
with a zeal and devotion that seriously impaired his hitherto

96 JAMES FLORANT MELINE. [Oct.,

vigorous health and sowed the seeds of the disease which ulti-
mately caused his death.

In 1865 and 1866, making a tour of inspection with General
Pope through Colorado and New Mexico, Colonel Meline em-
bodied the result of his observations in the sprightly volume, Two
Thousand Miles on Horseback an entertaining melange Q{ description
of scenery and character-etching, containing much new and valu-
able historical information especially concerning the Spanish
conquest and occupation of the Western country. His health
being seriously impaired, Colonel Meline severed his connection
with the army and was about taking up his residence in New
York, with the view of using his pen as a means of support, when
he was once more summoned to public duty as chief of Bureau
of Civil Affairs in the Third Military District, including Georgia,
Alabama, and Florida. Entering upon the duties of this post, he
continued in the work of reconstruction for two years, living in
Atlanta, attached to the staff, first of General Pope, then of
General Meade (his successor), until the State governments were
reorganized all the time acting as correspondent of the Cincin-
nati Commercial and the New York Tribune.

Going then to New York, Colonel Meline at once took a
prominent place among the writers for the Galaxy, Nation, and
THE CATHOLIC WORLD, being foreign critic for the two former,
besides contributing numerous essays, among them one on " The
Man with. the Iron Mask" which excited much interest and dis-
cussion. The subjects treated in THE CATHOLIC WORLD were
chiefly historical viz., " Sixtus V.," afterwards published in a
volume ; " The Fable of Pope Joan," "Jerome Savonarola," " Co-
lumbus at Salamanca," " Sanskrit and the Vedas," " Vansleb, the
Oriental Scholar and Traveller," " Montalembert, a Son of the
Crusaders," " Galileo," " Mary Queen of Scots," etc. In an
article entitled " An Uncivil Journal " a scathing rebuke was ad-
ministered to Harper s Weekly for its unscrupulous and scurril-
ous attacks upon the church and its disgraceful caricatures of the
Holy Father.

But the crowning effort of his life, securing for him solid
eminence in literature, was his Mary Queen of Scots and her
Latest Historian. It is an expansion of four articles that ap-
peared originally in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, controverting
with great ability Mr. Froude's treatment of the character of
Mary Stuart in his History of England. Renewed interest in the
subject was awakened by the appearance of Mr. Froude in the
United States as a lecturer upon " Ireland " shortly after the

1 882.] JAMES FLORA NT MELINE. 97

second edition of Colonel Meline's book had been issued, and the
English historian was called upon by critics on all sides to reply
to the very damaging accusations brought against him by the
author of Mary Queen of Scots, not only of " inaccuracy," but
of "bad faith in his treatment of historical documents," "inter-
polations," " suppressions of inconvenient facts," and other disin-
genuous artifices, and of " totally failing," as the London Saturday
Review remarked, " to grasp the meaning of inverted commas."

The press generally supported Colonel Meline in his charges
against Froude, and in addition a score of prominent writers,
private correspondents notably among them the historians Ho-
sack, Caird, M. Weissner, and Agnes Strickland, all ardent cham-
pions of poor Mary Stuart, and, although Protestants, uncompro-
mising in her defence against Mr. Froude wrote to Meline in
approbation. So universal a chorus of adverse criticism, and so
powerful a pressure brought to bear upon him, at length forced
Mr. Froude to break the silence which he seemed determined to
preserve. In his third lecture at Association Hall, Boston, No-
vember, 1872, after dwelling with much feeling upon "the dis-
credit thrown upon his statements by the American press, follow-
ing the lead of the Saturday Review" and the complaints made
of his abuse of authorities, he brought forward the following sin-
gular proposition :

" Let a board of examiners be appointed to take any one, two, three,
four hundred pages of his History, and verify his statements by the records
of the State Paper Office in London, the expenses to be defrayed by him
providing only that if he were entirely cleared from blame an apology
and retraction should be pledged by those who had made the charges."

Colonel Meline was called upon to take up the gauntlet thus
thrown down, and did so in the columns of the New York Tri-
bune, November 23, 1872, from which the following is an extract:

"Mr. Froude proposes that issues already made be set aside, and that
some one should take the trouble to frame new ones which shall be re-
stricted to a certain designated class of cases to be examined and decided
upon as Mr. Froude himself suggests. If Mr. Froude had been accused in
merely general and sweeping terms of bad faith in his treatment of histori-
cal documents, he might justly say that it is impossible for him to reply to
the vague and indefinite, and demand something specific.

" The charges made against him in Mary Queen of Scots are clear and ex-
plicit in every instance, citing volume, page, chapter, and verse. Wherever
the historian is charged with unauthorized assertion or suppression, with
interpolation, with adorning his own language with inverted commas, with
changing expressions which do not suit him for such as do every such
objectionable passage is designated by italics or otherwise, and, where he
VOL. XXXVI. 7

98 JAMES FLORANT MELINE, [Oct.,

claims quotation, confronted with the original in such a manner as to
leave no possible room for mistake. Now, these originals are not always
English State Papers. Many of them are published works ; some re-
late to French history, some to the Simancas papers. A very large
number of Mr. Froude's historical assertions are totally without sup-
port of reference, and what are charged as his gravest offences, his sug-
gestions, concealment, innuendo, attributing of motives, pictorial exag-
geration, and pretended psychological introspection, are all matters which
utterly elude any such test as he proposes. There are few indicted per-
sons who specially admire the indictment under which they stand charg-
ed. There are probably still fewer who would not prefer one drawn in
accordance with their wishes, and from which should first of all be ex-
cluded the larger part of the accusations made. Of the gravity of the
charges in the book in question I am perfectly well aware, and so state
(p. 9). I believe I have made them good. It is not a mere attempt to show
that certain passages as cited by the historian do not agree with the origi-
nals. It is an arraignment of his historical method, his treatment of au-
thorities, his want of fairness, his absence of the judicial sense, and what
I can only designate as his intrepidity of statement. These are not matters
to be measured by anything in the State Paper Office, and I confess my in-
ability to understand why it should be 'impossible to reply in detail,' etc."

Although very much debilitated from the disease which was
rapidly exhausting his strength, and well aware that it was in-
curable, Colonel Meline bravely continued each day to perform
some allotted task, and, at the urgent solicitation of the editors of
the New York Tribune, contributed still another able and conclu-
sive reply to Mr. Froude's Boston proposition.* It is a singular
fact that after the publication in the Tribune of this last reply
Mr. Froude made no further rejoinder, but shortly after can-
celled his engagements for lectures in the West and returned to
England.

Catholics, of course, were eager to applaud a champion of a
cause so dear to them, and felicitations and congratulations pour-
ed in upon him from bishops, priests, scholars, strangers as well
as personal friends. They brought the purest pleasure and so-
lace to his sensitive heart. But bright as was the promise of the
future, and manifold the opportunities suggested to him for agree-
able and remunerative occupation, he knew that his work on
earth was nearly over. Invited to lecture in New England and
strongly urged to review Mr. Froude's History of Ireland, "Next
year, perhaps," he said. Yet, though all effort was now become
a task, at the request of Bishop Corrigan he prepared and deliv-
ered a. course of lectures on pnglish literature at Seton Hall Col-
lege, also at the College of the Christian Brothers and at the Aca-

* Given in the appendix to the new edition of Mary Queen of Scots and her Latest Eng-
ish Historian.

i882.] JAMES FLORANT MELINE. 99

demy of the Sacred Heart, Manhattanville, in the winter of 1872-
73. These lectures have never been published. The following
summer Colonel Meline was induced, at the urgent solicitation of
his family, to try the virtue of Berkeley Springs, where he visited
his kind friend Mr. Strother (" Porte Crayon"), but with no bene-
fit. Saratoga was next tried, but with no better result. After a
short sojourn he returned to his beloved family to die, generous
and self-forgetful to the last, striving to conceal from anxious
eyes the pain he endured with so much Christian fortitude.
Calmly he received the announcement of his approaching end,
and by a superhuman effort compelled the forces of nature to
yield to the stronger dominion of the soul while with the
deepest humility and reverence he prepared to receive the Via-
ticum. " My Lord is too good to come to me ! " \vere his last
conscious words. Scarce had the Holy Unction been admin-
istered when his agony began, and continued throughout the
night, but ere the dawn of August 14, 1873, his eyes had closed
for ever on the scenes of earth. In a lovely secluded spot be-
neath the shade of forest-trees in St. Joseph's Cemetery, Cincin-
nati, the mortal part of the writer and soldier was laid to rest.

He was a man who loved his religion and his country, and
never, when occasion demanded, let an attack upon either go un-
punished ; whose pen was as true to its cause as his sword to the
country he loved and served even with his life. In person Colonel
Meline was rather below medium height, but he carried himself
with so much dignity, and with so erect and martial a mien, that
he seemed of greater stature. He had a noble head and refined,
classic features, inheriting from his Swedish ancestry a fair com-
plexion, blue eyes, and a profusion of sunny auburn hair.. There
was an air of breeding and refinement about him which dis-
tinguished him in every company. Reserved, grave, and taci-
turn in ordinary society and among strangers, proud to a fault
under unmerited reproach, with a high, lofty -spirit u that dis-
dained to justify himself when unjustly accused, and, like all
men of positive and earnest character, impatient of shams and
entirely indifferent to popular regard, and too quick, perhaps,
to take offence, he was not fully understood, except by his in-
timates. But in the home-circle and among his chosen friends
the grave and serious scholar became the genial host and de-
lightful cornpanion, whose varied talents as elocutionist, racon-
teur, and musician enlivened the hours with such a charm by
his inimitable wit, playful humor, and the music of his melodious
voice in song that they will never fade from the memory of those
who were admitted to his friendship and intimacy.

ioo MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. [Oct.,

MEiMORY AND ITS DISEASES.*

WHATEVER pertains to the wonderful faculty by which we
are enabled to live the past over again, to recall the pleasant
events of our early life and dress them in a garb of infinite at-
tractiveness, or to dwell with sweet melancholy on sorrows long
gone by, has always been a matter of the deepest interest to most
inquiring minds. Were not this marvellous gift the heritage of
every normally constituted mind it would appear to us as weird
and mysterious as that of foreknowledge. For is not the past as
really non-existent as the future ? Are not the events of yester-
day as much a nullity as those that are to transpire to-morrow ?
And yet whilst an impenetrable veil hides the latter from our
view, we can at pleasure enter the shadow-land of the past and
recall in detail and in vivid coloring scenes and incidents that
have ceased to exist for ever. Not without reason, then, has Kant
called memory the most wonderful of all the powers of the hu-
man mind. Psychology alone has hitherto failed to account for
this wonderful ability to reproduce the fleeting impressions of
each passing moment, and, though it may have determined some
of the laws that govern the exercise of memory, it has left us in
the dark as to the nature of the faculty itself. It was reserved
for modern physiology to shed a strong and steady light on this
obscure and difficult subject, and to supply us with a mass of
authentic information concerning the fundamental processes of
memory, which a one-sided system of psychology never could
have mastered. Yet while we thus freely accord to modern
physiology the merit of having opened up new lines of legitimate
inquiry in regard to psychical processes, and having brought to
light most interesting truths concerning them, we protest against
the materializing tendencies of certain modern physiological in-
quirers ; and we shall aim, in the course of this article, at discri-
minating between established facts and unsupported theory, and
at showing that, while such facts are in complete accord with
the orthodox notion of soul as a distinct entity from body, mere
theories have no necessary connection with the known data upon
which they pretend to be based. Nothing, indeed, has been more

* Diseases of Memory : An Essay in the Positive Psychology. By Th. Ribot, author of Here-
dity, etc. Translated from the French by William Huntingdon Smith. New York: D.Apple-
ton & Co. 1^82.

1 882.] MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. 101

unfortunate for the cause of sound science in our day than that
it has been identified in the popular mind with demoralizing
theories, and that scientific men have heedlessly accepted con-
clusions with which their discoveries have really nothing to do.
Thus Maudsley, Huxley, and Lewes, together with the author of
the interesting monograph whose title is given at the beginning
of this article, not satisfied with having conducted their inqui-
ries in a province of thought hitherto unexplored and having
discovered many fruitful facts, have endeavored to link the lat-
ter with a system of materialism which, if generally accepted,
would lead to consequences most disastrous to society. But the
cause of truth has nothing to fear, since it is readily demonstra-
ble that all the faefs of physiology are susceptible of an explana-
tion as fully in harmony with Catholic truth (indeed, more fully
so) as with the materialism to which they are popularly supposed
to have given birth.

Dealing now with M. Ribot's treatise on memory, we re-
mark that the title of the book is not in keeping with his treat-
ment of the subject ; for one-half the work is devoted to an
elaboration of his peculiar theory of memory, and the latter part
alone deals with its diseases as interpretable in the light of that
theory. For this reason we have suggested in our review of the
book the more appropriate title of " Memory and its Diseases."

In his conception of memory M. Ribot includes three ele-
ments viz., the conservation of certain conditions, their repro-
duction, and their localization in the past. The first two ele-
ments alone he deems to be indispensable, and the third he holds
to be variable and unstable, as helping to complete but not con-
stituting the act of memory. Given the two first, we have, ac-
cording to M. Ribot, memory in its essential features, without
which the third condition i.e., localization in the past would be
impossible. Now, conservation and reproduction are indepen-
dent of consciousness, which alone determines localization in the
past ; and yet these, in M. Ribot's opinion, constitute the essence
of all memory, and by themselves alone enter as the fundamen-
tal conditions of the great majority of our acts of memory. Me-
mory, therefore, according to our author, is most frequently co-
existent with unconsciousness, and this statement he attempts
to prove as follows : Conservation and reproduction are facts
of organized life like the other functions that take place in the
living body. The former is the result of an organic change
wrought in the registering ganglia of the brain by frequently-
repeated impressions. The cells of these ganglia are not like the

102 MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. [Oct.,

waters of the ocean, which may be traversed by innumerable
fleets and yet return to their former static condition. On the
contrary, these cells undergo an inward and organic change on
the occasion of each mental operation with which they are con-
nected, and the consequence of such a change is a predisposition
on their part to adapt themselves more and more readily to the
same operation in proportion to the number of repetitions and
on the application of the proper stimulus. Every impression,
therefore, made upon the mind leaves behind it, in the nerve-cell
which it had called into activity, a trace or, as physiologists
call it, a residuum which organically better fits it for adapting it-
self to the same impression another time. Such is the process of
conservation through the nervous system, set forth in terms
which, while virtually admitting the existence of the soul, yet pre-
sent themselves in a sense incompatible with it. As usually stated
by physiologists such as Maudsley and Ribot, the impressing force
is not exercised upon the mind but upon the nerve-cell, whereby
it becomes organically better fitted for the reception of each suc-
ceeding impression. Especially does Maudsley thus endeavor to
get rid of the notion of mind as aught else than a function of
what he calls mental organization z>., an actual exercise of nerve-
power. But we shall point out the fallacy of this attempt after
having said a few words touching the second condition of me-
mory, or reproduction.

An organic change first produced in a nerve-cell through
a display of mental energy is preceded by a discharge of nervous
power through which the change was accomplished. As the
cell in question possessed no previous adaptability to accompany
the mental manifestation, a greater effort of the will was neces-
sar}r, and the resulting action is likewise stamped with compara-
tive imperfection. Should now the mind repeat the operation,
the nerve-cell upon which it depends for its power of manifesta-
tion being better prepared for its work through a first conserva-
tion of fitness, less will-power is required and the resulting ac-
tion grows nearer to perfection in its form. When the mind re-
awakens the cell to fresh activity it perceives therein the con-
served traces of former energy, and in this consists reproduction.
We thus realize the terms of Locke's definition of memory as
the power which the mind has " to revive perceptions which it
once had, with this additional perception annexed to them, that
it has had them before." Rightly understood, conservation and
reproduction mean that the mind is dependent for its active
manifestations on the nervous system ; that the latter, indeed, is

1 882.] MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. 103

the medium through which spirit mysteriously works, and that
such working leaves an indelible trace upon the cells, by virtue
of which the)'- lend themselves more readily to the service of the
mind a fact of which the mind becoming- cognizant is remind-
ed that it had passed through a similar experience previously.
Applying these principles to a concrete case, let us see what takes
place in the acquisition of the knowledge of locomotion. The
first attempts are painful, clumsy, and laborious ; the movements
are badly co-ordinated and the tiny toddler often comes to grief.
During this time the child is painfully conscious of the efforts
he is making, till the repeated discharge of nervous power en-
genders in the nerve-cells concerned an organized aptitude for
the performance of the act and consciousness participates less
and less in the proceeding. At last a secondary automatic action
is established, and soon the child walks and runs without the
slightest advertence to his movements. According to Maudsley
and Ribot, the nerve-cells and filaments which preside over
locomotion become endowed with memory i.e., they conserve
traces engendered by organic changes, and these they reproduce
whenever the will commands the action.

An initial act of the will alone distinguishes such secondary
automatic actions as walking, fingering the keys of a piano or
the strings of a violin, etc., from the primary -automatic actions
of winking or raising the hand to avert a blow. When fully
established as automatic these actions have their root in an or-
ganized aptitude consisting of conservation and reproduction,
and are thus, according to the physiologists in question, the re-
sult of the essential conditions of memory. Consciousness, ac-
cordingly, is not essential to memory, and nerve-cells distributed
throughout the various ganglia of the body can with propriety
be said to remember. This is materialism pure and simple, since
it removes one of our most important intellectual functions from
the domain of the mind considered as a distinct entity from the
body. Now, while we admit all the facts which modern physio-
logy has brought to light, we contend that no such conclusion is
necessarily entailed. In the first place, the ordinary usage of
every language is violated ; for no matter how great an apti-
tude may be engendered in an organ through repeated action,
no one outside of Messrs. Maudsley and Ribot would attempt to
say that it -remembers. Indeed, the admission is attended with a
palpable absurdity into which M. Ribot is unwittingly betrayed,
but which Dr. Maudsley vainly attempts to evade. Ribot says :
" Our psychological (i.e., conscious) memory is ignorant of the

104 MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. [Oct.,

number of steps in a staircase we have been accustomed to
ascend and descend ; but the organic memory knnvs this, as well
as the number of flights, the arrangement of the landings, and
other details." Actual unconscious knowledge, then, is possible
i.e., the subject knowing may know without knowing that it
knows ! Maudsley says : " We need not brave the fire of psy-
chological scorn by calling this retention of impressions me-
mory, or care greatly what it is called, so long as due heed is
given to the fact." He evidently felt, when writing this passage,
that the admission of unconscious memory implied an absurdity
he would fain avoid ; but he must have forgotten what he had
written a few pages before. " Thus," he says, " it appears that
memory in this case becomes less conscious as it becomes more
complete, until, when it has reached its greatest perfection and is
performed (?) with the most facility, it is entirely unconscious "
(Maudsley, Physiology of Mind, p. 514). Here surely we have
the undoubted admission of unconscious memory, implying the
consequence just mentioned and wilfully violating the usages of
language. This is all the more unpardonable as an explanation
is at hand which will at once remove all nerve function from
identity with mental function, and account for the former con-
sistently with the admission of the latter. We will grant or-
ganic change, increased aptitude, and residual traces in nerve-
cells and their filaments whenever the act of memory is perform-
ed, but it by no means necessarily follows that the whole act
consists in such organized change. Let us consider the soul as
a substance capable of manifesting itself only through the me-
dium of nerve-tissue, and depending, consequently, for the perfec-
tion of such manifestation on its mastery over the organ it em-
ploys and on the greater or less fitness of that organ for its
normal functions, and we can theorize consistently with the
known facts of physiology even more satisfactorily than the
avowed materialist.

Repeated action through the medium of an organ ensures to
the agent a greater control thereof and a fuller knowledge of its
capacity and mode of action. If, as we all know, the hand ac-
customed to its work, and having acquired dexterity by usage,
can elicit entrancing notes from the violin, while the novice
gives forth the sound of jangled bells, notes out of tune and
harsh, why not concede the same power to the mind in respect
to the nerve-cells, and not view the latter as exclusively concerned
in the operations with which we find them connected ? As well
might we say that the violin which is skilfully played has acquired

1 882.] MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. 105

through repeated action a greater aptitude for reproducing sound,
an organized capacity, etc., all of which would leave the accom-
plished player out of sight and out of the question. This view is
not meant as opposing the notion of an inner change wrought in
a nerve-cell by repeated function, but as showing the absurdity
of endowing the cell with the sole and supreme control over the
mental acts with which it is connected just because of such a
change. The mind, in the case alleged, stands towards the nerve-
cells as the player towards the violin, with this difference : that
memory is a vital act and supposes a vital change in the nervous
system. But since all comparisons are lame, we neither can nor
do we intend to establish a complete similarity between the two
cases ; it is sufficient that the comparison hold good so far as it
is intended to apply.

So far we have considered the mind as an agent which ob-
tains more and more control over the organ it employs, and,
as a consequence, performs its functions with ever-increasing
facility, rapidity, and effectiveness. Let us now consider what
takes place in the nerve-cell as a consequence of such repeat-
ed action. Though the microscope has revealed no organic
change wrought through function, the facts of memory strong-
ly indicate it, and such change we call conservation and repro-
duction taken in connection with a mental act. M. Ribot ex-
cludes mental act because he finds the nerve-change sufficient to
account for all without invoking an additional agent. This is
a mere assumption, or rather partakes of the nature of a nega-
tive proof. His means of investigation reveal to him in the
memorative process nothing more than a series of nerve-changes,
and he infers that nothing more is present. Let us illustrate the
reasoning by a rude comparison. A piece of machinery, when
first set in operation, works imperfectly : journals become heated,
the piston-rod fits too tightly in the cylinder, etc. By degrees
adjustment of all the parts takes place and perfect smoothness of
movement ensues. Repetition of action is certainly the cause of
this desirable result, but nobody would call that repetition the
cause of the energy manifested by the machine". The machine
might well be considered as endowed with memory did the
steam (the motor power) possess intelligence whereby it might
know on the repetition of each movement that the parts con-
cerned therein had been called into operation previously. The
act of memory, then, as performed by the mind may be explained,
conformably with facts of physiology, in the following manner :
The will commands an action whereof the mind is at first pain-

io6 MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. [Oct.,

fully conscious because of its unfamiliarity with, and consequent
lack of mastery over, the nerve-cells controlling the muscular
tissues concerned in the action. The nerve-cells themselves,
being as yet unaccustomed to the performance of the work im-
posed upon them, increase the difficulty experienced by the
mind. Both, however, approach nearer to perfection as experi-
ence on the part of the mind and practice on the part of the cells
increase, till their task becomes comparatively easy, requiring
little or no effort on the part of either.

But, as has been remarked before, the act of memory is a
vital one and leaves traces, permanent and organic, in every
nerve-cell called into operation. Now, these changes, or residua,
are conservative in this sense : that at each repetition of a given
act the mind becomes aware of the changes a nerve-cell has un-
dergone in consequence of the performance of that same act pre-
viously, and in the light of such knowledge remembers the act in
question. We may here be asked how co-ordinated movements
come at last to be performed without the intervention of the
mind i.e., unconsciously. We reply that unconsciousness does
not imply non-intervention of the mind, else we must allow spon-
taneous activity to the nerve-cells, in consequence of which they
might begin to act at any moment by an impulse from within.
This might be the case, indeed, if we were all somnambulists or
pure automata. Consciousness teaches us that every action must
have an initial will-power to start it, and however much the
mind may cease to advert to the continuance of the act, the same
extra-nerve force that gave the first impulse must continue or the
action must cease. It is owing to the mastery the mind possesses
over certain cells, and the extreme fitness of these latter for their
work, that it performs its functions with so little outlay of energy
as not to be aware of its own activity.

The intelligent engine-driver must first know the various
complicated parts of the machine to be entrusted to his
charge. He must understand what tubes and apertures the
steam enters or leaves on the turning of this crank or that
lever, etc., and 'his mind at first may be likened to a panorama
of his engine. But this does not continue ; he forgets the inter-
nal arrangement and at last works mechanically. Yet he is the
same potent influence that directs every motion of the machin-
ery, and it is not necessary for any internal portion thereof to re-
member what to do because the principal agent has forgotten all
about it. When likewise the violinist begins to play he must
keep his eye fixed on every motion of each finger, etc., till he ac-

1 882.] MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. 107

quires the ease and dexterity that relieve the mind from such
painful supervision. Are we now compelled to say that the fin-
gers have acquired a memory of their own a memory acquired
from constant previous repetition, and in consequence of which
they can recall the necessary movements to be made ? As well
say that the inside works of a machine possess a memory of what
they are doing because the engineer has forgotten their ar-
rangement and disposition. Actual knowledge cannot be un-
conscious, mental action may ; and if materialistic physiologists
speak of unconscious cerebration and conscious cerebration, why
may not we speak of conscious and unconscious mental activ-
ity ? Unconscious cerebration is a term supposed to have been
happily chosen by those who sought an explanation of a pheno-
menon with which we are all familiar. It is this : a person en-
deavors to recall a name or date, but cannot do so ; the more,
indeed, he perseveres the more futile his endeavor, till he is
compelled to abandon the effort altogether. Should he now
turn his attention to something else and lose sight of his at-
tempted act of memory, suddenly, sooner or later, the much-
looked-for name or date will flash vividly before his mind, and
he comes into possession of it without the slightest exertion. As
a matter of experimental psychology one has but to make the
test at any moment in order to become convinced of its truth.
Some modern physiologists contend that during the interval
while the mind has been drawn away from the effort to recall a
forgotten word a gradual harmony is being established between
the nerve-cells, on the completion of which the act of memory is
accomplished. They refer the whole process to the nerves, and
claim that the mind, whose efforts indeed have ceased, can have
no part in the proceeding. There can be no question that some
rehabilitation of nervous conditions takes place in so-called cases
of unconscious cerebration, but it is plain that if it were to re-
main unconscious there never could be memory ; or, if we admit
unconscious memory, might we not as well have none at all,
since unconscious memory, so long as it remains unconscious,
could never give us a knowledge of the matter we have attempt-
ed to remember ? The word unconscious in connection with
cerebration is inaccurate and misleading : it is inaccurate since
the question of consciousness does not come up for consideration
in the matter, and it is misleading since it implies such a thing as
conscious cerebration. Indeed, we might as appropriately speak
of unconscious digestion or circulation as of unconscious cerebra-
tion, since consciousness has naught to do with either function.

io8 MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. [Oct.,

So far, it is evident, we have not called in question a single estab-
' lished fact of physiology, but have simply separated the golden
wheat of truth from the barren chaff of unsupported theory.
Thus we admit the fact of unconscious cerebration while reject-
ing the terms in which that fact is couched. What, then, is this
so-called unconscious cerebration which plays so prominent
a part in memory? Before answering the question we will show
the importance attached to it by M. Ribot as a factor in the acts
of memory.

"In summing up," he says, "we may picture the nervous system as
traversed by continuous discharges. Among these nervous actions some
respond to the endless rhythm of the vital functions ; others, fewer in num-
ber, to the succession of states of consciousness ; still others, by far the
most numerous, to unconscious cerebration. Six hundred millions (or
twelve hundred millions) of cells, and four or five thousands of millions of
fibres, even deducting those in repose or which remain inactive during a
lifetime, offer a sufficient contingent of active elements. The brain is like
an active laboratory full of movement, where thousands of occupations are
going at once. Unconscious cerebration, not being subject to restrictions
of time, operating, so to speak, only in space, may act in several directions
at the same time. Consciousness is the narrow gate through which a very
small part of this work is able to reach us."

Unconscious cerebration therefore lies at the basis of memory, ac-
cording to M. Ribot, and but a very small share of its work can
ever become known to us. This is-' very true when properly
understood. It means that the innumerable nerve-cells which
constitute the bulk of the nervous system are constantly in a
state of agitation ; they are in a state of molecular activity induc-
ed by vital force. When now the intellect, obeying the stimu-
lus of the will, performs an operation sui generis, it does so
through the medium of the nervous system, and it must take that
medium just as it may be affected at the moment by the molecu-
lar activity just mentioned. If the condition be favorable to the
production of the required act, undoubtedly unconscious cere-
bration is a condition favorable to the manifestation of a phase of
consciousness ; otherwise we find an opposite result. Let us ap-
ply this statement to memory. When the mind applies itself to
the recollection of a word, and does not succeed, it has seized a
moment when the conserving nerve-elements are not harmonious-
ly disposed to reproduction ; and since the mind cannot bring
about such harmony, such an operation pertaining properly to
nerve-force, it had better abandon the effort till the harmony has
been re-established. This re-establishment is felt by a sort of

1 882.] MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. 109

ccenesthesis.* The mind instinctively adverts to the re-established
harmony and finds the word or fact of which it was in quest. This
is a pure hypothesis, we grant, but it is an hypothesis as tenable
as any set forth by some recent physiologists, and fully as much
in harmony with the known facts. Indeed, a significant incident
taken from Carpenter's Mental Physiology seems to strengthen
the explanation just proposed. A mathematician had long and
fruitlessly sought for the solution of a geometrical problem. At
length, after years, the correct solution flashed upon his mind so
suddenly that " he trembled as if in the presence of another being
who had communicated the secret " (p. 536). In this case the
sudden adjustment of all the nerve-cells, which the mind had
vainly sought for outside of that condition, effected a ccenesthe-
sis so marked that the mind at once adverted to the harmonious
state of the nerve-cells and therein discovered the long-sought-
for solution. To sum up, then, our view with respect to so-call-
ed organic memory as distinct from conscious memory, or what
we would call memory proper : the former represents the ana-
tomical conditions under which memory can act, and the latter
is the remembrance of a past event as modified by the condition
of the nervous system at the time. In passing we may remark
that M. Ribot frankly and sensibly admits that he sees no way of
explaining the transition from unconsciousness to consciousness
an admission which in one sense necessarily invalidates the posi-
tion he implicitly assumes that there is such a transition. How
can there be a transition from a state which is not, or from a no-
state to a state ? The proper expression of the thought that M.
Ribot had in his mind would be that we don't know the genesis
of consciousness, which is perfectly true. But these gentlemen
make much ado about unconsciousness (which is nothing), that
they might give color to their theory of organic memory, or, as
they sometimes style it, unconscious memor}\

Thus, then, the mind is so closely dependent on the nervous
system that it cannot perform the slightest act without nerve in-
tervention ; and not only that, but the nerve-cell which has co-
operated with the mind in the production of a given act under-
goes a vital change which leaves an indelible impress behind.

Psychology, as a science, has not kept sufficiently abreast of
recent physiological researches, and, though it makes admissions

* Coenesthesis is the general feeling of well-being which results from a healthy condition of
all the organs of the body, which is, indeed, the expression of a favorably proceeding organic life,
and which is sometimes described as an emotion. But it is not truly an emotion ; it is the body's
sensation or feeling of its well-being, and marks a condition of things, therefore, in which ac-
tivity of any kind will be pleasurable. Maudsley.

i io MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. [Oct.,

broad enough to cover the whole ground of dispute, it has not
met the conclusions of modern materialists at each individual
step ; and yet this is what it must do in order that the specious
reasoning" of the latter may not work for evil.

Accepting now the strictures made upon M. Ribot's theory
of memory, and bearing in mind the suggested possible explana-
tion of all the facts of physiology brought forward by him in
support of his view, we feel ourselves at liberty to agree with
his ingenious explanations of many interesting facts which each
one's experience with the memorative process has made him ac-
quainted with. It is not uncommon for a person who strives to
remember a name to recall, however imperfectly, a letter or a
sound that occurs in it, which he at once makes the basis of his
endeavor He meets a friend in the street, whom he greets as

Mr. . He is at a loss, he hesitates ; he remembers that 00, or

u, or um is a component part of the name ; but at last he is com-
pelled to acknowledge his forgetfulness till informed that the
name is " Cummiskey." (The circumstance occurred in the
writer's experience.) The explanation of this phenomenon is
both interesting and ingenious. Nature is exceedingly economi-
cal in her higher functions, and if one factor can do a multiplicity
of acts she is not disposed to summon others for the purpose.
The conditions of memory suppose not only a modification of
nerve-elements, but a variety of relations on the part of the same
nerve-elements to an indefinite number of groups. Thus the
same element, when once impressed with the traces of a given
conservation, is awakened to activity not only when found amid
the same elements with which it received its first impressions,
but whenever it can do the same work in the company of other
elements and with a view to producing entirely different results.
The elements once impressed cannot take on other impressions,
but rather resembles the letter of the alphabet which, while re-
maining always the same, can enter into an indefinite number of
combinations with a result always the same on its own part, but
very different in the aggregate. Most apposite, then, is the re-
mark of G. H. Lewes in his Problems of Life and Mind : " Who does
not know," he observes, " how, in trying to recollect a name, we
are tormented with the sense of its beginning with a certain let-
ter, and how, by keeping this letter constantly before the mind,
at last the whole group emerges ? " The important feature, there-
fore, with regard to the basis of memory, is not only the modifi-
cation impressed upon each element, but the manner in which a
number of elements group themselves together and form a com-

1 882.] MEMORY AND ITS DISEASES. in

plexus. Again, Mr. Lewes, in the work just cited, adduces an in-
stance similar to the one quoted by the writer, and which gives
point to the last remark : " I was one day," he writes, " relat-
ing a visit to the Epileptic Hospital, and, intending to name the
friend Dr. Bastian who accompanied me, I said, ' Dr. Brinton ' ;
then immediately corrected this with ' Dr. Bridges ' ; this also
was rejected and Dr. Bastian was pronounced. I was under no
confusion whatever as to the persons, but, having imperfectly ad-
justed the group of muscles necessary for the articulation of the
one name, the one element which was common to that group and
to the others namely, B served to recall all three." This ar-
gues an association i.e., a specific connection established be-
tween a given number of elements .and constitutes the dynamic
foundation of memory. There is, therefore, not one memory
but many ; the conscious agent that remembers is one, but
memory differs according to the object remembered. There
may be but one rainbow in the sky, but it differs for every
beholder according to the diversity of stand-points. We cannot
dwell at greater length on the interesting treatise of M. Ribot.
It is an ample proof of the great progress that has been made in
physiological psychology, which it is to be hoped, however, will
no longer be made to subserve the purposes of a grovelling ma-
terialism.

112

THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

THE CRUSADES.*

THE work placed at the foot of this page is only a new edi-
tion of what is now almost a French classic, and it would there-
fore be a mere waste of time to dwell upon its well-known cha-
racteristics. But, highly as we appreciate the author's brilliant
story of those great, august, and sacred wars, we should fail in
our sense of duty did we not point out where he failed. Michaud
was a Catholic, but of the Gallican order, which was particu-
larly prevalent in France during his day ; and, in consequence
of this, we perceive throughout an altogether uncalled-for ten-
derness towards the Bourbon dynasty and towards imperialism
of all kinds, which effectually interfered with a just and philo-
sophical estimate of the many bearings of the Crusades, espe-
cially in relation to the popes. No doubt the undertaking was a
bold one, because the Crusades, having been breathed upon by
the mocking Voltaire in the previous century, were simply re-
garded by the world at large as blots upon history, and only
timidly defended by the successors of those old chivalrous Ca-
tholic knights whose lives and deaths so hardly purchased the
faith, the freedom, and the civilization of Europe. Michaud was.
one of the earliest writers to set himself to reverse the calumny
of the Encyclopedist.es ; but now the state of the question is far
beyond even him. The truth of history disinclined men to re-
ceive longer the mere sayings of a perverse school as final ver-
dicts, and the result of the inquiry has been such a reversal of
those verdicts that it would astonish Michaud himself, were he
alive to see it.

Scarcely had Europe emerged from the chaos occasioned by
the barbaric invasions of the North when a new danger menaced
her. In the period of three centuries the creed of Mahomet,
preached on the sword's edge by his hardy followers, extended
its sway over a large portion of the earth. From the Oxus to
the Atlantic Ocean, from the head-waters of the Nile to the
Hellespont, there was one consolidated Islamism, often warring
within itself, but victorious and aggressive as a whole. Spain
had been conquered, and the warlike hordes of the false prophet

* The History of the Crusades. By Joseph Frangois Michaud. Translated by W. Robson.
A new edition, with a preface and supplementary chapter by Hamilton W. Mabie. Three
volumes. New York : A. C. Armstrong; & Son. 1881.

i882.j THE CRUSADES. 113

had been successfully met by Charles Martel only after pene-
trating into the heart of France, For a time divisions among its
rulers sufficed to curb in the triumphant career of Mahomet-
anism. But with the coming of the Turks, who renewed the
vigorous despotism of the elder dispensation and supplied fresh
blood and warlike fervor to the degenerating empire of the
caliphs, a new impetus was given to their power. The most
calamitous divisions existed at the moment amongst the Chris-
tians of the East, and the thunder-cloud of Islam hung menacingly
on the borders of the Greek Empire, ready to burst at a touch.

These Turks came originally from Tartary, that great cen-
tral plain of Asia which has so often poured forth its swarms in
descents upon the South. From the same northern regions of
the earth many wild hosts had flowed down upon the civilized
belt of the temperate regions, but none such as they. Goths,
Vandals, Lombards, Franks, Anglo-Saxons, Germans, and Danes
had come successively like destructive deluges, but were suc-
cessively converted and civilized by the church.

" No race," says Cardinal Newman, " casts so broad and dark a
shadow on the page of ecclesiastical history, and leaves so painful
an impression on the mind of the reader, as the Turkish. . . .. The
Saracens even, who gave birth to an imposture, withered away at
the end of three or four hundred years, and had not the power;
though they had the will, to persevere in their enmity to the cross.
The Tartars had both the will and the power, but they were far off
from Christendom, or they came down in ephemeral outbreaks which
were rather those of freebooters than of persecutors, or they directed their
fury as often against the enemies of the church as against her children.
But the unhappy race of whom I am speaking, from the first moment they
appear in the history of Christendom, are its unmitigated, its obstinate, its
consistent foes. They are inexhaustible in numbers, pouring down upon
the South and West, and taking one and the same terrible mould of mis-,
belief as they successively descend. They have the populousness of the
North with the fire of the South ; the resources of Tartars with the fana-
ticism of Saracens. And when their strength declines and age steals upon
them there is no softening, no misgiving ; they die and make no sign. In
the words of the Wise Man, ' Being born, they forthwith ceased to be ; and
have been able to show no mark of virtue, but are consumed in wicked-
ness.' God's judgments, God's mercies, are inscrutable ; one nation is
taken, another is left. It is a mystery, but the fact stands since the year
1048 the Turks have been the great Antichrist among the races of men."*

The stream of this new Tartar race gradually trickled down
upon the Saracen dominions, generation after generation
strengthening their forces in the empire. The caliphs employed

* Historical Sketches, vol. i. pp. 104-5.
VOL. XXXVI. 8

ii4 THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

them as soldiers in place of the degenerate Arabs, and in the end
found this support to be their own destruction. At the time when
their independent kingdom extended no farther than the compa-
ratively obscure limits of Sogdiana the mixing of their increas-
ing numbers in the fabric of the caliphate was preparing it for
the final overthrow, when reinforcements could follow in the
path already made. And so in the course of history the Sara-
cens were crushed down by them, and they stood forth the one
redoubtable foe of Christendom. But in reality, even at the
opening of the first Crusade, the bulk and the most warlike part
of the Saracenic armies consisted of Turks. A Turk was the
cause of that Crusade. From an early period it had been a pious
custom in Europe to make pilgrimages to the Holy Land. If
we thrill with emotion while treading the plain of Marathon or
overlooking Salamis, how much more must the sight and touch
of the land where our Saviour walked, and which contains his
tomb, appeal to the imagination of the religious enthusiast !
Sometimes the pilgrim found shelter and protection at the end
of his long journey, sometimes persecution and wrong. The
rule of Islam varied between the most absolute toleration and
the most iniquitous oppression. During the former periods the
foundations of wealthy pilgrims were allowed to receive the
multitudes that flocked to the sacred city in order to kiss the
tomb of the Saviour and pray in the places where he had walk-
ed. During the latter periods, when the pilgrims arrived they
found their hospitals desolated and plundered, their sacred places
profaned, their religion insulted, and were only too happy to
escape outrage and death. As to the character of these pilgrims
a single extract shall suffice. Says Michaud : " History does not
record a single act of violence committed by one of the travellers
who absolutely covered the route to the East. A Mussulman
governor, who had seen a vast number of them pass to Emessa,
said : ' They have not left their homes with any bad design ; they
only seek to fulfil their law.' " * Exceptions there were, but
after the first burst of fanaticism the Saracens had settled down
to the indifference consequent on religious divisions in their
ranks ; and in those last days of their withering dynasty it was
either Turkish soldiers or roving hordes of Turcomans that op-
pressed and terrified the Christians.

A Turk was governor of Jerusalem when, towards the close
of the eleventh century, Peter the Hermit visited the sacred
city. There he saw such sights as filled him with horror and

* Vol. i. p. 24.

1 882.] THE CRUSADES. 115

sent him from end to end of Europe, pleading with rude but fiery
eloquence the cause of the oppressed Christians and of the august
tomb they flocked to adore. Peter the Hermit was the imme-
diate cause of the first Crusade ; in the long period of time over
which they extend many others might be named with him as
promoters of the holy wars. This order of men came in as ele-
ments of fiery zeal, kindling nations at moments, and when they
died their cause died with them. But there was one power that
from the first remained constant, vigilant, ever on the alert, and
sustained for seven or eight centuries the righteous warfare
against the sons of Belial. The Christians below might faint or
fail, or grow prosperous and content as they were, or engage
in deplorable divisions and strifes among themselves. But a
watchman sat upon the high tower a watchman ever renewed,
ever aware of the menacing danger, and ever sounding the alarm
on the eve of a barbarian inroad. Who else could this be but
the never-dying pope ? " Who is the pope ? " asked the Turks
of a Christian embassy. " Is he a man five hundred years old ? "

"The Holy See," says Cardinal Newman, "has the reputation, even
with men of the world, of seeing instinctively what is favorable, what is
unfavorable, to the interests of religion and of the Catholic faith. Its un-
dying opposition to the Turks is not the least striking instance of this
divinely imparted gift. From the very first it pointed at them as an object
of alarm for all Christendom, in a way in which it had marked out neither
Tartars nor Saracens. It exposed them to the reprobation of Europe, as
a people with whom, if charity differ from merciless ferocity, tenderness
from hardness of heart, depravity of appetite from virtue, and pride from
meekness and humility, the faithful never could have sympathy, never
alliance. It denounced not merely an odious outlying deformity, painful
to the moral sight and scent, but an energetic evil, an aggressive, ambi-
tious, ravenous foe, in whom foulness of life and cruelty of policy were
methodized by system, consecrated by religion, propagated by the sword.
I am not insensible, I wish to do justice, to the high qualities of the Turk-
ish race. I do not altogether deny to its national character the grandeur,
the force and originality, the valor, the truthfulness and sense of justice,
the sobriety and gentleness, which historians and travellers speak of ; but,
in spite of all that has been done for them by nature and the European
world, Tartar still is the staple of their composition, and their gifts and at-
tainments, whatever they may be, do but make them the more efficient foes
of faith and civilization."

The general incidents 'of the first Crusade are so well known
that there is no necessity for dwelling upon them ; besides
which, we desire here rather to draw the mere outlines and to
locate the contending powers of those great successive strug-

ii6 THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

gles between the East and the West, between Mahometanism
and Christianity, between resultant barbarism and resultant civil-
ization. Many deeds of cruelty and rapine marked with foul
blots the career of crusading hosts ; but, on the whole, no wars
since the beginning of time have exhibited such glorious valor,
self-sacrifice, devotion, manly bearing, Christian fortitude, and
deathless perseverance. Surely things are not to be measured
in this world by success only ; surely, if the Crusades accom-
plished but this : the arming and union of vast hosts of warlike
men, in an almost hopeless cause, at the call of faith, this is a
spectacle to men and angels, and an inspiring memory in the
annals of the world which the slumbering nobleness in all of us
will not willingly let die.

With incredible patience and unflagging ardor the crusading
army led by Godfrey penetrated to the sacred city. After es-
caping the treachery of the Greek emperor one hundred thou-
sand warriors, cased in complete armor, swept into Asia Minor.
The first foe their swords encountered was the just triumph-
ant and still flourishing power of the infant Turkish Empire.
Togrul Beg, Alp Arslan, and Malek Shah, three successive
leaders of them, each possessing the genius for military conquest
and for founding a mighty empire, had established their dynasty
in Persia on the ruins of their former masters, and extended
their sway over the fairest portions of classic Asia. The Greek,
Empire trembled before them ; from the borders of the Indus to
the Mediterranean their arms were undisputed ; and they held
Jerusalem in their grasp. Twenty years before Pope Gregory
had watched with anxious eyes the expanding career of this
fresh and vigorous race, and in vain endeavored to rouse Europe
to a sense of the impending danger. Now Urban accomplished,
by the assistance of Peter the Hermit, what Gregory had been
unsuccessful in ; and so this crusading host, having marched
forth with his blessing upon it, confronted and grappled with the
growing energies of a gigantic and monstrous brood.

What matchless chivalry, what heroic deeds, what Christian
valor marked the progress of that first great struggle cannot
here be fitly told. Into the deathless traditions of European
civilization, through legendary story, noble poetry, and historic
monuments, all these have passed and have become to us a
priceless possession.

The measure of their usefulness is found in the fact that they
broke and hurled back the Seljukian dynasty of the Turks. The
immediate line of Seljuk, driven into an obscure town of Roum

1 882.] THE CRUSADES. 117

(as the Turks called Asia Minor), continued to live, but dwindled
away to nothing ; while the divisions and contentions of the
other parts of the Turkish-Saracenic empire disabled them from
becoming- really formidable enemies of the Christians. For a
long while the Christians held Jerusalem without any extraordi-
nary exertion, the number of knights in the city on some occa-
sions sinking to incredibly small proportions. No crusade after
the first was entirely powerful in all points that is, united, well
appointed, large in numbers, headed by able leaders, and direct-
ed with irresistible force and single-minded purpose to one end.
The Syrian barons engaged themselves in petty warfare with the
surrounding Mahometan cities, and the fortunes of war varied
as a matter of course. Numbers of" cities fell into their hands,
were lost, and then gained once more, only to be finally lost
again Jerusalem itself experiencing this fate. Also, the Cru-
sades that were undertaken were no longer poured into the
same channel, but were shaped by circumstances, or the ambi-
tion of their leaders, or by the knowledge of the weak places of
the common enemy. Thus I should say that the Venetian Cru-
sade was one of ambition mainly, being perverted, in spite of
the warnings and denunciations of the pope, into the conquest of
the old and failing empire of the Greeks. On the other hand,
that of St. Louis was directed against Egypt, because that coun-
try had become the storehouse and granary of the Mahometan
world, and the Christian princes naturally thought that in strik-
ing here they would strike the heart of their great enemy. In
fact, the first Crusade had so broken the Moslem empire to
pieces that it now lay extended, a vague and impalpable mass,
still capable of strenuously defending itself, and uniting some-
times vast portions of it under some daring leader like Saladin,
but really unfitted for becoming evermore a strong, vigorous,
united power acting in the spirit of the whole and an instru-
ment of aggression. Accordingly, as there was no occasion for
union among Christians, so in fact there was none ; and thus the
Crusades assumed to a large extent the aspect of national enter-
prises enterprises not directed with large ends in view, but
merely warlike incursions into the paynim regions of the earth,
weakening the Moslem world in its details and harassing it to
death. Thus attacked from the West, and going down daily in
power, at length the Turkish dynasties encountered from the
East the weight of an enormous shock that instantaneously
ground them to pieces and swept them off the earth.

The account of the rise and progress of the Mogul empire

ii8 THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

reads like some story of the Arabian Nights magnified tenfold.
From those same plains of Central Asia which had given birth
to such monstrous races of men, the Turks themselves remotely,
suddenly rushed a whirlwind of devouring wrath upon the
South. Never before or. since, except once, can such diabolical
and awful atrocities be found in the course of history. For
many years this mysterious power had been nursing itself in
Tartary, gradually growing and increasing in diverse parts and
warp, and causing men's eyes to be directed thither in uneasy
expectancy as on the eve of some impending calamity. At
length a ruler of satanic genius and cruelty sprang up, united or
crushed all factions, and welded into one living mass the count-
less hordes of Asia's interior plains, which he directed upon the
countries below. China, Hindostan, Persia, Cashmere, and Asia
Minor on the south ; Muscovy, Hungary, Germany on the west,
all of which were countries and empires, each in itself of enor-
mous extent and population these were the fruits of his con-
quest, if the desolation of abomination that he left on his victo-
rious track may be so called. Zingis' usual plan, when he took a
peaceful city which offered him no resistance, was to order out
the whole population on some adjoining plain and to sack the
place high and low. Then he divided the host into three parts.
First were the strong or those capable of bearing arms ; these he
either enlisted in his army or slaughtered, as the whim seized
him. The second part consisted of the rich, the women, and the
artisans; these he portioned among his followers. The third
class consisted of the old, the sick, and the poor, and these he
permitted to go back and inhabit their rifled city. On the con-
trary, if he experienced the slightest resistance his fury knew no
bounds and his former barbarity became mercy in comparison.
He destroyed the three great capitals of Khorasan, and the
reckoning of the slain is as follows: at Maru, 1,300,000; at
Herat, 1,600,000; at Nishapoor, 1,747,000 total, 4,647,000 human
beings immolated on these spots. He proposed, not in heat, but
in deliberate council, to exterminate the Chinese, root and branch,
and turn their empire into a cattle-walk. Seven hundred thou-
sand men marched under his banners ; and he was as irresistible
in might and as high in military genius as he was cruel and bar-
barous in applying them. Such were the kinsmen of the Turks,
who now came upon them as foes and completed the work of
the Crusades by finally grinding them to dust.

But the empire of Zingis was not made to stand ; it accom-
plished the work it was sent to do, and then suddenly ceased to

1 882.] THE CRUSADES. 119

live. The desolation of four years continues yet after six cen-
turies, marking- almost imperishably the enormous ruin of his
footsteps long after he and his perished. Such is the nature of
sudden empires that are sheerly barbarous and military ; they
rise, flourish, and die in terrific throes and short periods of time.
But Zingis did his work, swept the field clean of Turkish dynas-
ties, and made Europe safe for three centuries.

From the thirteenth to the sixteenth century Europe seemed
sunk in apathy. No sooner had the Seljukian dynasty gone
down than another portentous dynasty arose, increasing, like the
first, gradually and slowly, and founding a power which endures
to this day.

" There is a certain remarkable parallel and contrast," says Cardinal
Newman, " between the fortunes of these two races, the Seljukian and the
Ottoman. In the beginning of the twelfth century the race of Seljuk all
but took Constantinople, and overran the West, and did not ; in the begin-
ning of the fifteenth the Ottoman Turks were all but taking the same
city, and then were withheld from taking it, and at length did take it and
have it still. In each case a foe came upon them from the North, still more
fierce and vigorous than they, and humbled them to the dust. These two
foes which came upon the Seljukian Turks and the Ottoman Turks respec-
tively are names by this time familiar to us : they are Zingis and Timour.
Zingis came down upon the Seljukians, and Timour came down upon the
Ottomans. Timour pressed the Ottomans even more severely than Zingis
pressed the Seljukians; yet the Seljukians did not recover the blow of Zin-
gis, but the Ottomans survived the blow of Timour, and rose more formi-
dable after it, and have long outlived the power that inflicted it.

" Zingis and Timour were the blind instruments of divine vengeance.
They knew not what they did. The inward impulse of gigantic energy and
brutal cupidity urged them forward ; ambition, love of destruction, sensual
appetite frenzied them and made them both more and less than men.
They pushed eastward, westward, southward ; they confronted promptly
and joyfully every peril, every obstacle that lay in their course. They
smote down all rival pride and greatness of man ; and therefore, by the law
(as I may call it) of their nature and destiny, not on politic reason or far-
reaching plan, but because they came across him, they smote the Turk.
These, then, were one class of his opponents ; but there was another adver-
sary stationed against him, of a different order one whose power was not
material, but mental and spiritual ; one whose enmity was not random, or
casual, or temporary, but went on steadily from age to age, and lasts down
to this day, except so far as the Turk's decrepitude has at length disarmed
anxiety and opposition. I have spoken of him already ; of course I mean
the vicar of Christ. I mean the zealous, the religious enmity to every anti-
Christian power of him who has outlasted Zingis and Timour, who has out-
lasted Seljuk, who is now outlasting Ottoman. He incited Christendom
against the Seljukians, and the Seljukians, assailed also by Zingis, sunk be-
neath the double blow. He tried to rouse Christendom against the Otto-

120 THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

mans also, but in vain; and therefore in vain did Timour discharge his
overwhelming, crushing force against them. Overwhelmed and crushed
they were, but they revived. The Seljukians fell in consequence of the
united zeal of the great Christian commonwealth moving in panoply
against them ; the Ottomans succeeded by reason of its deplorable divi-
sions and its decay of faith and heroism."*

The Mogul conqueror returned to Samarcand in triumph
after his exploits against the Ottomans, dragging the Sultan
Bajazet in his train and meditating by turns the conquest of Af-
rica, the invasion of the West, and a war against China. Pros-
tration and civil strife among the Turks followed this disaster
and elevated the hopes of the Greeks and Latins alike, but they
took no advantage of the situation.

" Twenty years after the battle of Ancyra the Ottomans had retaken all
their provinces ; their armies again environed Constantinople, and it is at
this point we may apply to the power of the Turks the Oriental compari-
son of that serpent of the desert which an elephant had crushed in its pas-
sage, which joins its dispersed rings together again and raises its head by
degrees, reseizes the prey it had abandoned, and clasps it within its mon-
strous folds." t

In spite of the heroic resistance of Constantine, the last monarch
of the long line of Greek emperors, Byzantium fell before Ma-
homet II., who had succeeded Bajazet as the sultan of the Turks,
and the unhappy city experienced all the horrors which that
brutal conqueror knew only too well how to inflict. Strange
spectacle, yet one often seen. In the very moment of its ruin the
Eastern Empire had the bravest, wisest, and most virtuous sove-
reign of any after Constantine I., perhaps ; in her expiring throes,
and amid the disgraceful and cowardly scenes that marked its
fall, exhibiting in the forefront of battle a man that deserved the
dazzling glory of a hero in its highest sense !

The fall of the Greek Empire spread consternation through-
out Europe and made the Christian powers seriously contem-
plate for a moment the cessation of their internecine wars for the
purpose of uniting in the common defence. Bishop Sylvius took
the principal part in trying to rouse a vigorous crusade, and de-
voted his whole life to this object. This learned and eloquent
prelate, destined afterwards to ascend the papal chair, addressed
.himself first of all to the Holy See. The pope Calixtus III.
-ever zealous in watching over the safety of Christendom, ardently
seconded and confirmed his efforts, and joined his authority to
the voice of Bishop Sylvius in order to awaken the rulers of

* Historical Sketches, vol. i. pp, 107-8. f Vol. iii. pp. 133-4.

1 882.] THE CRUSADES. 121

Europe to a due sense of the impending danger. Frederick III.
promised to take the cross ; but his promise, as usual, came to
nothing, for the indolent emperor never raised an arm. Hun-
yadi of Hungary was left alone to bear the brunt of the conflict,
for Mahomet II. immediately poured his armies upon that devot-
ed country. Assisted by the prayers and exhortations of John
Capistran, a humble monk, afterwards canonized, and depending
on the skill of himself and the valor of his followers, the great
Magyar captain overthrew the Turkish hordes before the walls
of Belgrade, inflicting upon the invaders a terrible slaughter.
The news of this victory spread joy throughout Europe ; but
Sylvius, who soon after ascended the pontifical throne, could
not bring the Christian powers to" unite, so that all the advan-
tages which might have been reaped from the defeat of the Mus-
sulmans were lost by short-sighted policy. Mahomet, notwith-
standing his defeat, continued to extend his power, and soon, as
he unfurled his banners on the shores of vanquished Greece,
stretched his gaze towards Italy and contemplated invading Ger-
many. Scanderbeg, the heroic king of the brave Albanians, was
the last remaining bulwark of Italy. Unaided he inflicted de-
feat upon the Mussulmans ; but their multitudes would have at
once overwhelmed him had it not been for an unexpected diver-
sion. The sultan of Persia had led his army into Asia Minor,
and Mahomet was obliged to hasten there to meet him. But
after driving back the Persians, Mahomet returned to the West,
breathing destruction to the Christians. Place after place fell
into his hands, the possessions of Venice and Genoa, and the isl-
and of Cyprus. At last only Rhodes, defended by the noble
Knights of St. John and the Hospitalers, remained to oppose
the victorious career of the Turkish sultan. Every day Chris-
tendom was falling into greater disorder, and men's minds, occu-
pied by distractions at their doors, viewed with increasing indif-
ference the wars against the Turks on the borders of Hungary
and in the tideless sea. It is not my purpose to indicate even in
outline the political revolutions of Europe. Suffice it to say that
in this period, instead of the old spirit of enthusiasm which had
hitherto led the warriors of Europe to meet and break the pow-
er of the Moslems on the plains of Asia, there was now small
interest taken in the abortive or sporadic Crusades, except at the
points attacked. Three glorious deviations from this rule can
only be mentioned here : the defence of the island of Rhodes by
the Knights of St. John ; the exploit of John Sobieski, the Polish
king, before the walls of Vienna ; and the naval battle of Lepan-

122 THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

to, in which the Mussulman power on the sea was broken for
ever. But all of these are probably the best-known events of the
latter Crusades.

Two causes of this indifference must here be hinted at the
so-called Reformation, which divided Christendom, and the dis-
covery of America. Luther and his brother preachers did not
hesitate to say that war against the Turks was wicked, and one
of them went so far as to declare that Protestants should unite
with the Turks in their war on the papacy.* The discovery of
America opened up a new field for enterprise, and all those who
had been attracted to the Crusades by the hope of adventure or
profit had here a wider field for both. Long since it had been
found out that there was more peril than spoil in Asia, and so
adventurers could not be induced to go there.

Fortunately, or rather providentially, for Christianity and civ-
ilization, the Ottoman empire contained within itself the seeds of a
speedy decline. The warlike fervor of the Turks soon exhaust-
ed itself ; they never were the match of any undegenerate Chris-
tian nation ; they could only successfully contend with barbarous
nations like themselves or with the corrupt and fallen Greeks.
Their invasion of a province was the signal for a social and re-
ligious as well as a political revolution ; accordingly the one way
they had of holding their conquests was by peopling them, and
their people gave out with the Greek Empire. Even there they
have constantly declined. The desolate fields and the ruined
cities of their empire too plainly reveal the weak iniquity of their
rule. All that immense tract of country ruled over by them,
now the abode of hunger and rags, was once the seat of great,
prosperous, and flourishing states. Syria at the time of the Cru-
sades was blossoming like a rose ; now it is a desert. These re-
flections would lead one to deplore the ill success of the Cru-
saders. Instead of contemplating an obsolete despotism sitting
like an incubus upon its shuddering slaves, we might see now
in that East so haunted by classic and religious memories and
traditions as many rich and happy states as there were in anti-
quity. But the policy of most European cabinets has been to
maintain the Ottoman power, and the " unspeakable Turk " sits
undisturbed on his polluted and detestable throne, smoking his
pipe in stolid patience and waiting like a brute the inexorable
stroke of fate.

At this point of his history Michaud closes, and in a curious
chapter of one hundred pages discusses the results of the Cru-

* Vol. iii. book xvii.

1 882.] THE CRUSADES. 123

sades. It is well known that there prevails the greatest differ-
ence of opinion upon these results, the extremes on the one hand
seeing in the holy wars nothing but an unmitigated curse, while
on the other they can be brought to recognize no evil conse-
quences whatsoever. In favor of the first there is no doubt that
modern feeling against war simply as war, and the destructive-
ness of the Crusades in regard both to life and to wealth, must
be fully admitted. Michaud sets down a balance to these.
Without at all entering into a minute list of material benefits
conferred by the Crusades, and for which readers can consult
the eloquent historian, some of them shall be glanced at. Rapid-
ly viewed, they comprise the many new arts, manufactures, and
plants introduced at different periods by returning Crusaders :
the enlargement of the bounds of commerce because of the great
intercommunication necessitated by the transportation of large
bodies of troops and supplies ; and Michaud does not hesitate
to affirm that the commercial enterprises thus fostered hastened
the discovery of America. These benefits may be held to bal-
ance the losses occasioned by the holy wars. But were there no
benefits greater and larger than these, and whose magnitude
sinks all others as well as losses into insignificance ?

"Let us now," cries Michaud, after pointing out the preceding facts,
"attempt another hypothesis, and let our minds dwell for a moment upon
the state in which Europe would have been without the expeditions which
the West so many times repeated against the nations of Asia and Africa.
In the eleventh century several European countries were invaded and
others threatened by the Saracens. What means of defence had the
Christian republic then, when most of the states were given up to license,
troubled by discords, and plunged in barbarism ? If Christendom, as M.
de Bonald remarks, had not gone out by all its gates, and at repeated times,
to attack a formidable enemy, have we not a right to believe that this ene-
my would have profited by the inaction of the Christian nations, and that
he would have surprised them amidst their divisions and subdued them one
after another? Which of us does not tremble with horror at thinking that
France, Germany, England, and Italy might have experienced the fate of
Greece and Palestine ? " *

But incontestable as this stand is, the Crusades produced an-
other result which Michaud, the devoted partisan of the Bourbon
dynasty, could bring himself only partially to admit. I can fol-
low him as he traces the decline of feudalism, which at the open-
ing of the Crusades enveloped Europe in its iron network. The
power of the barons passed into the hands of the kings, to be
held by them for a while ; this was beneficial to the development

* Vol. iii. p. 345.

124 THE CRUSADES. [Oct.,

of the social man, in so far as it united great tracts of country
under one rule and gave them some semblance of law and jus-
tice. But the movement then begun has had much more far-
reaching consequences, and the world has not yet seen the end.
I shall for this purpose consult the supplementary chapter of
Mr. Mabie, which, with the exception of a single sentence, is at
once luminous and just:

" The Crusades," he says, " sprang out of a feeling which was as strong
in the heart of the peasant as in that of the noble. A great cause and a
universal sentiment gave the church the opportunity for which it sought.
A solemn council made the preaching of Peter the Hermit the voice of the
church herself. Feudal distinctions were forgotten in the enthusiasm of
a service which transcended in its sanctions and its aims all earthly duties,
and in which earthly differences were for the moment laid aside. The pow-
er of the feudal nobility, hitherto the dominant authority in Western Eu-
rope, became, for the time being, secondary to that of the church. Men
were summoned no longer to the service of their lords, but to the service of
their church. The change was radical. It was the introduction of a princi-
ple which is still struggling to assert itself in practical legislation and poli-
tical action. Its development has been slow, but it has revolutionized so-
ciety, and what its ultimate outcome is to.be no man can predict. King,
baron, burgher, and peasant found themselves side by side in the same
cause, one class serving another, not by virtue of a feudal but of a spiritual
authority comrades in arms in an enterprise which addressed what was
common and eternal in them all rather than what was distinctive and con-
ventional. Not suddenly, but by the slow processes of growth which be-
long to great moral changes, men forgot their abasement and slavery
under feudalism in the dawning light of a liberty conferred by a superior
and a spiritual power. A conception of a higher power than that lodged in
the hands of the feudal lord took root in the mind of Europe and became
fruitful of vast change. In Syria the leaders of the Crusaders were not
able to keep their followers in subjection when they attempted to follow
their personal ambitions. The commanding purpose which drew them
thither overmastered all private designs and made insubordination a vir-
tue. An influence more powerful than feudalism entered into European
life with the Crusades, and was perhaps the most far-reaching and poten-
tial effect which they produced upon the world."*

There can be no doubt that Mr. Mabie is right in assigning
the cause of the movement towards liberty to the Crusades,
giving as they did to the church that commanding power which
she lacked before, and which enabled her to enforce the practi-
cal doctrine of equality in relation to justice, necessarily one of
the central ideas of Christianity. Nothing is more repugnant to
the teaching of the Saviour than the oppression of the poor and

*Vol. iii. pp. 554-5.

1 882.] THE CRUSADES. 125

humble ; and feudalism, an organization resting on serfhood, in-
stinctively recognized the foe with which it had to deal. Prac-
tical Christianity would have been smothered by the tyranny
and anarchy of the barons had it not been for the glorious
triumph of the popes. What enabled them to triumph was the
spirit of the Crusades, which placed baron and peasant at once
at their feet, when they did not hesitate to strike the shackles off
the slaves. Presently the monarchs. growing more powerful by
the ruin and limitations of the barons, began to seize the reins
of all authority. Then was presented the strange spectacle of a
war between kings on one side and popes and peoples on the
other. From no other stand-point can we view with justice this
apparently unequal strife between a poor old man in the Vatican
and the greatest and most magnificent rulers. Armed with the
thunders of heaven and a patience and wisdom not of earth, the
man of the Vatican often came off victorious. The end is not
yet. The madness of men may seek to divorce democracy from
Catholic Christianity, but true democracy ever finds its firmest
friend and ablest advocate in " the faith that maketh souls ac-
ceptable to God." * United once again, as they should never
have been divided, pope and people may prove triumphant in
the end, but it would be hazardous to predict what is going to
occur. One thing is certain : the present attitude of the Euro-
pean powers cannot be maintained. Their jealous isolation ren-
ders necessary the great standing armies they employ ; and these
in turn form not only an obstacle to the advance of humanity,
but also a perpetual menace to the public peace. Outraging
right and freedom, as most of them are doing, the low growls of
conspiracy cannot be hushed by the mailed hand being laid on
the mouth of demos. Flaming signs announce a new epoch of
terrific revolutions. The rulers of the earth had better listen to
the voice of reason and religion, and not wait to receive their
lesson in fire and blood, crying vainly then, " Too late, too late ! '"

* Dante.

126 A BALLAD OF THINGS BEAUTIFUL. [Oct.

A BALLAD OF THINGS BEAUTIFUL.

WHAT the spell in the rimpled rill is
Who can tell ? or the charm of roses ?

What the secret hidden in lilies
Or in the song the nightingale knows is?
What power holds us when evening closes

The eyes of the day, and veils his face,
And lays on his heart two sunset roses ?

The beauty thereof, the unspeakable grace.

He that made marble all but speaking
Bartered all that ruder men treasure

To win for himself this pearl of his seeking,
To crown Art queen of his heart's high pleasure.
What drew him and draws us in our measure

To bow to the might of a perfect face,
And make of its memory a life-time's treasure ?

The beauty thereof, the unspeakable grace.

He that in silver-cliffed Colonus
Sang, and his holier head who chanted

The songs that the world's fair morn have shown us,
And he to whom myriad souls were granted,
And he of Florence who trod undaunted

The halls of Dis and the terrible place
What is the charm in the songs they chanted ?

The beauty thereof, the unspeakable grace.

But fairer far than lovely faces,
With bonds that are stronger to bind than the golden

Bonds that are woven of all the graces
Of Art and Song, are the pure hearts moulden
Like to that Heart wherein is holden

The whole wide world, in a sacred place ;
And they hold us, too, by the same chain golden

The beauty thereof, the unspeakable grace.

1 882.] THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. 127

ENVOY.

Now, the beauty of these and their grace have birth
In the splendor that beams from God's high place,

And falls on the thousand things of earth
The poem, the flower, the heart, the face

Endowering them with this sum of their worth :
The beauty thereof, the unspeakable grace.

THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS.

"AN honest, humorous sense of ridicule," says Father Faber,
" is a great help to holiness." And, by way of rendering this
statement still more emphatic, he adds : " Perhaps nature does
not contribute a greater help to grace than this." Here, then,
is a deliberate opinion which, however startling to some of our
preconceived notions, carries with it a double weight in view of
the writer's great sanctity and undoubted sense of humor. In
him, as in Cardinal Newman, a keen satiric power blends ever
with a spirit of simple piety, and the two work together as har-
moniously as in some of the early Fathers of the church. All the
little foibles of human nature lie bare before him, and he touches
them with a caustic grace, severe yet not unpitying.

But nowadays we have come, strangely enough, to regard
humor as a natural foe to religion, for no particular reason ex-
cept that so many modern humorists appear to be irreligious ;
in the same way that some of us imagine scientific study to be a
dangerous ground, simply because a handful of modern scien-
tists have apparently forgotten their God. We have a shadowy
idea that humor is given to poking fun at holy things relics,
miracles, and such and that it is best in our spiritual life to
lay it entirely aside and keep ourselves within the safe limit of
dulness, reserving our brighter parts for worldly matters alone.
Yet because men of the Mark Twain type have a jeer ever ready
for things they fail to understand, we need not suppose that
there is no proper field for that sense of fun which was mani-
festly given us for some good purpose. Humor is born partly
of keen perceptive powers, partly of natural lightness of heart ;
and thus the holy men who have adorned the history of the
church, having been wont to study human nature freely and

THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. [Oct.,

having the happiness of living in the friendship of God, were
often blessed with a sense of humor pure and delicious.

What else, indeed, but a sense of humor could have enabled
Father Faber to strip from the shoulders of his penitents the
comforting mantle of self-deception in which they had shroud-
ed their more petted faults ? With what half-veiled amusement
he contemplates the fashionably devout ladies who crowd the
church of the Oratory ! With what keen satire he lays bare the
mingled piety and worldliness that fill the feminine soul!

"Their voluntary social arrangements," he says in his Spiritital Con-
ferences, "are the tyranny of indispensable circumstances claiming our ten-
derest pity, and to be managed like the work of a Xavier or a Vincent of
Paul, which hardly left those saints time to pray. Their sheer worldliness
is to be regarded as an interior trial, with all manner of cloudy grand
things to be said about it. They must avoid all uneasiness, for such great
graces as theirs can only grow in calmness and tranquillity."

And again when he ventures to make what he acknowledges to
be an unpopular complaint, and to deride that spirit of liberal-
ism which we have trained ourselves to accept as the essential
virtue of an advanced civilization:

" The old-fashioned hatred of heresy is becoming scarce. It is assumed
that God must do nothing painful and his dominion must not allow itself
to take the shape of an inconvenience or a trammel to the liberty of his
creatures. If the world has outgrown the idea of exclusiveness, God must
follow in our lead and lay it aside as a principle in his dealings with us."

Father Faber can also be epigrammatic when he is so inclined,
and the terseness and vigor with which he expresses a happy
thought, makes it live for ever as a warning to our souls :

"A moderation," he carefully explains, "which consists in taking im-
moderate liberties with God is hardly what the Fathers of the Desert
meant when they preached their crusade in favor of discretion."

And in sheer despair over the perverse contrariety of human
nature he cries out with whimsical dismay :

" Self-deceit seems actually to thrive on prayer and to grow fat on con-
templation."

But we must not dwell too long on one example of the power
of humor when there are so many claiming our attention. Let
us take that spiritual writer who of all others is most read, not
only by Catholics and their enthusiastic imitators in the Angli-
can denomination, but by many thoughtful men and women of
various creeds or of no creed at all. We mean Thomas a

1 882.] THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. 129

Kempis, whose Imitation of Christ is, after the Bible, perhaps the
best known of all spiritual books, and of whose " holy simpli-
city " we hear such a vast amount of praise. Simplicity ! Yes,
the old monk is simple enough, with the quiet straightforward-
ness of one who lives always in the sight of God ; but the good
people who read the Imitation, with a comfortable feeling that
the writer is not going to be satirically severe on their shortcom-
ings, must not trust too much to this much-admired simplicity.
Surely there is a half-cynical wisdom in the advice, very gently
and quietly given, not to seek too much intercourse with those
whom we desire to please :

" It happeneth sometimes that a person while unknown shineth highly
in good report, but whose presence offendeth the eyes of them that see
him.

" Sometimes we think to please others with our company, and we begin
rather to be displeasing to them from the bad qualities they discover in us."

And there is another warning given by A Kempis, who pre-
sents it with a delicate satire that is truly inimitable :

" In judging others a man toileth in vain ; for the most part he is mis-
taken and he easily sinneth ; but in judging and scrutinizing himself he
always laboreth with profit."

Could sarcasm be more pointed and subtle than in this sugges-
tion ? We give ourselves no end of trouble in satisfactorily
settling our neighbor's conscience, and have only committed a
sin for our pains.

If from the writings of holy men we turn to their lives we
are often surprised by the curious gayety with which they bear
burdens that to our unsaintly eyes appear absolutely crushing.
It is not only patience and resignation ; it is a downright cheer-
fulness, sometimes a positive sense of amusement in their own
trials. The knowledge that they are enduring these hardships
for Christ's sake seems to make them not only bearable, which
we can understand, but absolutely entertaining, which is beyond
our comprehension. There is, perhaps, nothing less conducive to
good spirits than the history of the Catholic Church in China.
A few pages of Marshall's Christian Missions are sufficient to
sicken us with the recital of man's barbarity to man, and we
close the book unwilling even to read of further atrocities. But
the missionaries themselves, those heroic men who lived in the
midst of these terrible persecutions, ever ready to suffer and die
when their turns came, were not only courageous but perfectly
serene and cheerful. Even at its best their life was one of
VOL. xxxvi. 9

130 THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. [Oct.,

poverty, toil, privations of many kinds, and ceaseless danger ; yet
these things, objectionable as they seem to us, appear to strike
them as rather humorous than otherwise. Bishop Tabert, one
of the vicars-apostolic in Cochin China, writes to France with
an evident amusement in his own utter destitution that is more
touching than the most sorrowful complaints. He has just suf-
fered the loss of his ecclesiastical vestments, presented to his pre-
decessor by Louis XVI.

"They were old and worn out," he says, " but they were the best I had,
and I kept them for the greatest solemnities. Now I have lost everything.
I have only two poor chasubles, of which one is in strips and the other
patched with linen." And he adds, with a comical despair at the situation :
" What a bishop ! "

Father Gleyo, after eight years of close imprisonment, starts
forth bravely to evangelize a new part of the country, without a
farthing, his entire worldly wealth consisting of " a single shirt,
a pair of drawers, and a pair of stockings " no great fortune
surely for a stranger in a foreign land. Whichever way we
turn we hear the same story. The Abbe" Retord receives a let-
ter from one of his colleagues, then hiding from the authorities,
which pleasantly describes the delights of his situation :

" I am concealed," he says, " in a hole four feet and a half in width and
nine in length, inaccessible to any ray of light. The silence is broken
only by the hum of mosquitoes and the gambols of rats, who show no
respect for my presence. For thirty-four hours my retreat was surrounded
by seventy soldiers, and for eighteen I remained without motion. I con-
fess that at the beginning such a life appeared to me tedious."

But perhaps the most delightful of all is the letter written by
Father F6ron to his mother and sisters at a time when the
Christians were in daily and hourly peril, and which has also
been preserved for us by Dr. Marshall. In it we find to perfec-
tion that spirit of cheerfulness which distinguishes the true ser-
vant of God :

" I live," he writes, "in one of the finest houses of the village that of
the catechist, an opulent man ; it is considered to be worth a pound ster-
ling. Do not laugh ; there are some of the value of eightpence. My room
has a sheet of paper for a door ; . . . the rain falls through my roof as fast as
it falls outside, and two large kettles barely suffice to receive the water that
filters through the grass-covered roof of my presbytery. . . . The prophet
Elisha, at the house of the Shunamite, had for furniture a bed, a table, a
chair, and a candlestick in all four articles. There was no superfluity here.
For my part, if I were to search well I could also find four pieces of furni-
ture. Let us see : first, a wooden candlestick ; second, a trunk ; third, a

1 882.] THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. 131

pipe ; fourth, a pair of shoes ; total, four. Bed, none ; chairs, none ; table,
none. Such being my furniture, am I richer or poorer than the prophet ?
This is a problem which is perhaps not easy to solve ; for, admitting that
his room was more comfortable than mine, we must also consider that
none of the furniture belonged to him ; whilst in my case, granting that
the candlestick belongs to the chapel and that the trunk was lent to me
by Mgr. Berneux, it cannot be denied that at least the pipe and shoes are
mine. The latter I only put on to say Mass in. As to the pipe, it serves
to keep one in countenance when travelling in a country where every one
smokes, though I have not succeeded in discovering any charm in it, and
have even been intoxicated by it after two experiments, which has quite
taken away from me the desire of making a third."

Here indeed is " holy simplicity," mixed with a keen and what
Father Faber would call an " honest*" sense of humor which no
doubt helped its owner to endure the many hardships of his lot.
He makes no mournful parade of his tribulations, but tells them
with amusing frankness and with a real appreciation of the
comic side of poverty. Now to see the comedy in such situa-
tions when we read of them is possible to us all ; but to see it in
relation to our own trials requires more sanctity and a gayer heart
than most of us can lay claim to. It is no wonder that Bishop
Berneux, whose palace was " a room three yards long and t\vo
wide," should quote Father Feron with evident delight in one
of his own letters to France. He had sent the holy and witty
priest to a post where " he had a better chance of finding pro-
visions than elsewhere," in consideration of his being a new-
comer. But Father F6ron is plainly anything but struck with
the sense of plenty, and writes to the bishop that, " compared
with Corean missioners, the Trappists are complete Sybarites";
adding, however, that he willingly accepts this " ultra-Trappist
regimen " and expects to become quite habituated to it before
long. And, indeed, those priests who were brave enough to se-
lect China for their field of action had ample opportunities to
grow " habituated " to every description of hardship, beginning
with exile and ending often with imprisonment, protracted suf-
ferings, and death.

Whenever we see the lives of holy men written with that
accuracy of detail which is only possible when they have been
really known and loved by their biographers, we are apt to find
little traits of humor lurking in their every-day actions and
in their ordinary conversations. In such histories we are not
merely treated to a synopsis of the saint's or hero's many virtues,
recorded with a systematic precision that dulls the mind and dis-
courages the soul, but we are permitted to enter into his life and

132 THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. [Oct.,

see for ourselves how natural instincts blend with supernatural
grace.

In his sketch of the holy " Cure* d'Ars," M. Vianney, the
Abbe Monnin has given to the world a book which, without any
great literary pretensions, fulfils to the letter the first grand re-
quisite of a biography. In it we gain, not a bald statement of
abstract perfections, but a real knowledge of the man who was
one of the most striking examples of the divine charm of saint-
liness. M. Vianney was not only admired and revered by his
flock, but he was the object of their passionate and exacting
devotion. His whole life is full of pregnant lessons. Not high-
ly educated, tormented alike by bodily infirmities and spiritual
temptations, overworked beyond the utmost limit of his strength,
sighing always for the solitude and repose he never gained, how
could such a man exert a supreme influence over the minds of
all who met him, how retain that delicate sense of humor, that
charming lightness of heart ?

" Father," said a religious to him once, " people believe generally that
you are very ignorant."

"They are quite right, my child," was the naive reply. " But it matters
not. I can teach you more than you will practise."

If there is one thing that can be trusted to dull all humorous
propensities in the ordinary soul, it is the monotonous burden of
an overtasked life. Great sufferers have been known (though
rarely) to retain keenness of intellect and a ready wit, although
the latter is apt to be sharpened by pain into a two-edged sword
of acrimony. But the wearisome strain of an ever-repeated la-
bor deadens the mind, sucks all joy out of life, and reduces us
to a state of stupid lassitude or dull indifference. If, then, a man
weak and sickly, suffering day and night, and withal so cruelly
overworked by his own never-resting zeal, could still remain
alive to a spirit of humor, surely that same "sense of ridicule "
must have been, as Father Faber asserts, a great help to holiness.
Or may we not take it even as one of the proofs of sanctity ?

" Madam," said Johnson indignantly to the unfortunate old
lady who ventured to declare her own happiness " Madam,
you are old, you are ugly, you are sickly and poor. How, then,
can you be happy ? " And, humanly speaking, we are also tempt-
ed to cry : " How could a man be happy when week after week
he spent sixteen hours out of twenty-four in the confessional ?
How could he possibly have any vivacity left in his over-wearied
mind ? " And the answer the answer can be found in M. Vian-

1 882.] THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. 133

ney's life, in his wonderful gayety, in his ready repartees, in the
charming vein of humor which runs through the many anec-
dotes related of him.

" M. le Cure," said a lady of rank in the condescending tone of one who
confers a privilege, " I am come to make my confession to you."

" It is well, madame," was the reply ; and then, with perhaps the faintest
tinge of malice, " We have heard confessions before."

Even with his works of charity there is mingled a certain boyish
spirit of fun. Soeur Lacon, having made a most beautiful pie
with which to tempt him from his rigid austerity, hid it care-
fully away in an old cupboard in his kitchen. When evening
came she ventured to say insinuatingly : " M. le Cure, will you
have a little piece of pie?" " Certainly," was the unexpected
answer; "I should like it very much." Astonished and delight-
ed, the good woman flew to her hiding-place. Alas ! the pie had
vanished. M. Vianney had discovered its retreat, and it had
gone the way of all his other delicacies into the basket of a
beggar.

Humble and readily abashed, the praises and gratitude lav-
ished on him by those whom his prayers had cured were his
particular dread. Upon one occasion a woman whose crippled
child had been restored to health at Ars begged permission to
see him. Nothing, however, could persuade M. Vianney to
grant the interview. He was safe inside of the sacristy and
would only come out to say the Mass. After the service another
attempt was made. The poor woman, he was told, entreated
that he would help her to thank St. Philomena, through whose
patronage the cur6 obtained his wonderful graces. To this ap-
peal no refusal was possible. He returned to the church, silently
blessed both mother and child, and, when the ordeal was over,
said in a tone of deepest annoyance and mortification, as one who
felt himself ill-treated in the matter : " St. Philomena really
ought to have cured the little thing at home."

But if we owe a debt of gratitude to the Abbe Monnin for
the knowledge he affords us of one holy soul, what is the ex-
tent of our obligation to Cardinal Newman, who, laboring " con
amore," has given us a wonderful insight into the lives of those
giants of an infant creed, the early Fathers of the church ? He
has striven to select and arrange such portions of their numerous
letters and exhortations as will serve best to show us what man-
ner of men these were, and he has added short sketches of their
lives and labors, written in a style which has now no equal for

134 THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. [Oct.,

clearness and simplicity. He does not desire to tell the history
of a saint, but rather to let the saint tell his own, confident that
in this way only shall we glean some true knowledge of the hid-
den depths of character which not even a man's actions can
always reveal. With his accustomed keenness he fully under-
stands and appreciates the greater opportunities we enjoy of
studying the Dearly Fathers through their copious epistles, while
of so many of the modern saints we know little, save what their
biographers have told us. He acknowledges that he " exults in
the folios of the Fathers," and he is fain to confess that through
them he gains an insight into their writers' hearts which no
amount of histories could ever give him.

" What I want to trace and study," he says earnestly in his introductory
to " St. Chrysostom," "is the real, hidden, but human life, or the interior, as
it is called, of such glorious creations of God ; and this I gain with difficulty
from mere biographies. Those biographies are most valuable, both as be-
ing true and as being edifying. They are true to the letter as far as they
record facts and acts ; I know it. But actions are not enough for sanctity
we must have saintly motives ; and as to these motives, the actions them-
selves seldom carry the motives along with them. In consequence they are
often supplied simply by the biographer out of his own head ; and with
good reason supplied, from the certainty which he feels that, since it is the
act of a saint which he is describing, therefore it must be a saintly act.
Properly and naturally supplied, I grant ; but I can do that as well as he,
and ought to do it for myself, and shall be sure to do it if I make the saint
my meditation. The biographer in that case is no longer a mere witness
and reporter; he has become a commentator. He gives me no insight into
the saint's interior ; he does but tell me to infer that the saint acted in
some transcendent way from the reason of the case, or to hold it on faith
because he has been canonized. For instance, when I read in such a life,
'The saint, when asked a question, was silent from humility,' or 'from
compassion for the ignorance of the speaker,' or ' in order to give him
a gentle rebuke,' I find a motive assigned, whichever of the three is select-
ed, which is the biographer's own, and perhaps has two chances to one
against its being the right one. We read of an occasion on which St. Atha-
nasius said nothing but smiled when a question was put to him ; it was
another saint who asked the question and who has recorded the smile, but
he does not more than doubtfully explain it. Many a biographer would,
simply out of piety, have pronounced the reason of that smile. I should
not blame him for doing so, but it was more than he could do as a biogra-
pher ; if he did it he would do it, not as an historian, but as a spiritual writer."

Neither does Cardinal Newman take much interest in books
" which chop up a saint into chapters of faith, hope, charity, and
the cardinal virtues." He does not wish this " glorious creation
of God " to be " minced up into spiritual lessons," but rather to see

1 882.] THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. 135

him as he stood, a living whole, his weaker human nature balancing
in the scale with holy aspirations and the power of divine grace.
This is the view he has endeavored in all sincerity to lay before
his readers, and with what result ? In the first place, we are
astonished by the singular sensation of coming so near to these
servants of God, and of finding them men just like all other men,
only stronger, holier, and purer than their unsaintly brothers.
At the same time they are essentially men, and not mere syno-
nyms for strength, holiness, and purity, which is the light in
which we have hitherto been often too apt to regard them. In
the second place, we find them vastly more entertaining, from
a purely secular view, than we had ever been led to suppose.
They are wonderfully light-hearted, Jthese Fathers of the church,
and have a strong tendency to be amusing in their long friend-
ly letters, which is the more surprising when we consider the
troubles among which they lived and that persecution and exile
were common to all.

Let us take St. Chrysostom, the man whom Newman calls " a
bright, cheerful, gentle soul," and who possessed " a sunniness
of mind all his own." An ordinary biographer would of course
tell us that this great saint retired to the mountains when only
twenty-one, and that he lived there with the monks for six years.
A few might even go a step further and say that he chose this
penitential life in order to overcome by strict fasting his natural
daintiness of appetite. But Newman takes us nearer still and
shows us the real anxiety with which the saint regarded the
hardships he was about to embrace. In a letter written at that
time to a friend, he confesses that he has been much concerned
as to

" Whether it would be possible to procure fresh bread for my eating ;
whether I should be ordered to use the same oil for my lamp and for my
food, to undergo the hardship of severe toil, such as digging, carrying of
wood and water, and the like. In a word, I made much account of bodily
comfort."

Surely this is very much the way we would ourselves feel in
the matter, and we begin for the first time to realize that it was
as hard for the saints to deny themselves the pleasures of life as
it seems to be for us. Yet six years of such rough discipline
effected its object, and the dreaded austerities became in time a
light and easy yoke.

Towards the end of St. Chrysostom's life his " sunniness of
mind " stood him in good stead ; for his exile was but a prolonged

136 TH GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. [Oct.,

martyrdom, which he endured with a mingled resignation and
hopefulness pathetic to behold. Driven from his see through
the hostility of an empress, and sent in his old age into a bleak
and desolate country ; subject to the harsh treatment of brutal
guards, and suffering miserably from the inclement weather ;
forced ever further and further from his home and friends by the
unrelenting hatred of his enemies, and finally, when exhausted
nature could bear no more, yielding up his life near the inhospi-
table shores of the "strange and mysterious" Euxine such
were the last years of this feeble old man, whose letters breathe
not only a spirit of patience but of cheerful hope for himself
and kindly thoughts for others.

Writing from Caesarea to Theodora, he is forced to confess
that he is utterly spent and wretched, that he has " died a thou-
sand deaths " in his miserable journey, and that he has been
prostrated by continual fever. Yet, ever inclined to make the
best of things, he is able to take a half-humorous comfort in the
thought that now, at least, he has clean water to drink and bread
that can be chewed. " Moreover," he adds triumphantly, " I no
longer wash myself in broken crockery, but have contrived some
sort of bath ; also I have got a bed to which I can confine myself."
A bath and a bed ! Behold the crowning luxuries of an exiled
Christian bishop, who considers himself fortunate that even
these comforts should be allowed him by his enemies.

But the saint who of all others best illustrates the truth
of Father Faber's assertion, he who unites great gentleness of
heart with a delightful spirit of raillery, is Gregory of Nazianzus,
the friend and fellow-laborer of St. Basil. St. Gregory was in-
deed a man of letters and a poet, grave enough when the occa-
sion demanded gravity, a defender of the true faith amid the
rage and hatred of an heretical city, an eloquent preacher at all
times, yet nevertheless a humorist, from the shafts of whose
witty satire not even the grave and austere St. Bazil escaped un-
wounded. There are two letters written by him after his visit
to Basil's solitude at Pontus, both of which are quoted by New-
man, and which illustrate the graver and the lighter side of
Gregory's character. In one he expresses the real sentiments of
his heart, the joy he felt at sharing this holy retreat with his
dearest friend ; but the other well, the other is plainly written
with the laudable intention of teasing Basil to the utmost by
ridiculing the many discomforts which attended their hermit
life.

" I have remembrance," he writes, " of the bread and of the broth so

1 882.] THE GOOD HUMOR OF THE SAINTS. 137

they were named and shall remember them ; how my teeth got~stuck in
your hunches, and next lifted and heaved themselves as out of paste. You
indeed will set it out in tragic style yourself, taking a sublime tone from
your own sufferings. But for me, unless that true Lady Bountiful, your
mother, had rescued me quickly, showing herself in need like a haven to
the tempest-tossed, I had been dead long ago, getting myself little honor
though much pity from Pontic hospitality." And after more of the same
style he adds in plaintive self-defence : " If you are not annoyed at this de-
scription, nor am I ; but if you are, much more I at the reality."

Surely such a letter written by one saint to another, and on such
a subject, must have at least the claim of utter novelty in our
eyes ; yet the facts of the case are that Gregory far more even
than Basil was devoted to a life of solitude. In his eyes silence
and reflection, time to write and time to pray untroubled by the
cares of office, was an ideal existence not too often realized. He
loved St. Basil and reverenced him beyond measure, yet never-
theless seems to have taken particular pleasure in railing- at him
whenever an occasion offered. Does Basil complain, not un-
naturally, that Tiberina is cold, damp, and muddy, Gregory de-
scends upon him in another letter, charging him with being a
" clean-footed, tip-toeing, capering man," which last two epi-
thets Basil of a surety never deserved. Even the rigid austeri-
ties practised by his friend are a butt for his humor ; for when
expecting a visit from him Gregory writes to Amphilochus to
send him " some fine pot-herbs, if he did not wish to find Ba-
sil hungry and cross " a remark which we forbear to take too
literally.

And Basil himself he who at first sight appears one of the
gravest figures in the early church ; Basil, stern, reserved, a
prey to acute bodily infirmities, and a mark for the violence of
his enemies? He too, Newman asserts, possessed a "pensive
playfulness," even while "from the multitude of his trials he
might be called the Jeremias or Job of the fourth century."
And, indeed, there is a lurking spirit of humor in Basil which few
biographers have taken the trouble to bring to light. His noble
reply to Modestus is familiar to many, but who ever hears of
his answer to the vicar of Pontus? In the first instance he was
dragged before an Arian prefect, who threatened him harshly
with confiscation, exile, tortures, and death.

" Think of some other threat," said Basil quietly. " These have no influ-
ence upon me. He runs no risk of confiscation who has nothing to lose
except these mean garments and a few books. Nor does he care for exile
who is not circumscribed by place, who does not make a home of the spot

138 A RAILWAY ACCIDENT. [Oct.,

he dwells in, but everywhere a home whithersoever he be cast or rather
everywhere God's home, whose pilgrim he is and wanderer. Nor can tor-
tures harm a frame so frail as to break under the first blow. You could but
strike once, and death would be gain. It would but send me sooner to Him
for whom I live and labor, for whom I am dead rather than alive, to whom
1 have long been journeying."

This is indeed worthy of a page in the church's history, and the
whole account of Basil's interview with Modestus has been care-
fully preserved for us by St. Gregory. But if we turn now to
another scene we will have an illustration of the lighter side of
Basil's character. He was at all times a miserable invalid, whose
sufferings ended only with his death. Having upon one occasion
given his protection to a widow of rank who sought refuge at
the altar from the importunities of a powerful suitor, he was sum-
moned before the angry magistrate, who brutally threatened to
tear out his liver. " Thanks for your intention," said Bazil, with
suave politeness. " Where it is at present it has been no slight
annoyance."

Enough has been said to show that a keen sense of humor
may keep pace with our spiritual advancement, each helping on
the other.

A RAILWAY ACCIDENT.

DEAD he is dead ! " A mistake on the line,"

Somebody said. My God ! is it true ?
Am I waking or sleeping? Give me some sign.

Yesterday morning we parted ; he drew
Out his route for me ; I laughed at leave-taking
I laughed, my dear Lord, and my heart now is breaking.

Breaking ? Oh ! no ; there is nothing to break.

My eyes are dim and my spirit is sore
I am used to that and my temples ache,

And I feel very lonely nothing more.
Nothing more ; but the sunshine has faded away,
And the shadows have suddenly lengthened to-day.

Breaking ! Yes, surely my life seemed to break.

Where is my will ? I am not quite sure.
Am I not dreaming, though ? Father, I make

My act of abandonment always. Secure

1 88 2.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 139

Me just now. I stand on the brink of some dark,
Deep abyss. Thine omnipotent love is my ark.

I remember it now : he died to-day,

My only friend I loved as my soul
More than my soul. One can love in that way

Once and no more ; for I gave him my whole
Little child's heart, nothing knowing of life,
With its depths, and its shoals, and its strange hidden strife.

Dead ! Oh ! the clouds have closed in on my sky.

Lonely I used to be ; what am I now?
I ask him not back again cowardly cry !

Earth was no Paradise for us, I trow.

He has passed through the long waste and mounted the peak,
But the journey's before me, alone and so weak !

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

A HISTORY OF ENGLAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. By William
Edward Hartpole Lecky. Volume III. New York : D. Appleton & Co.
1882.

An unwonted interest is being taken in us of late by the people of Eng-
land. Mr. Freeman, for instance, who a few years ago published a History
of Republics from the Ach<zan League to the Dissolution of the American Union,
finds us to be more English than the English themselves, or at any rate
than the Scotch, which is saying a good deal. But then the Scotch ought
by this time to be prepared for hard knocks from English writers. And Mr.
Gladstone, too, who once seemed more than pleased at what he supposed to
be the nearing end of the Union, has kindly spoken of us as " kin beyond
sea." Of course it is amusing to observe this change of view as an accom-
paniment to the wonderful growth of our republic since the civil war, and
it is all the more amusing that if we are " kin " to the English we are also,
though in a greater degree, kin to the Irish and to the Germans, without
counting how much of Dutch, and French, and other bloods run through
the veins of Americans. But the ready commercial instinct of the great
empire has never failed to show in English literature. If we lacked any
other evidence of our success we have a right to be convinced by this haste
of English writers to claim us as their own. It ought, therefore, to be a mat-
ter of great pride for us that, whatever may be our origin, Dutch, or Irish,
or German, or Swedish, or French, or, to speak more accurately, a mixture
of all these and more, we yet have attained to such a height in English eyes
that no pains are spared to prove to us that after all we are but an excel-

140 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Oct.,

lent type of Englishmen. Yet, of course, such an assumption rests on a wil-
ful violation of the truth. An American, whatever his ancestry, is an Ame-
rican, and nothing else. If the fifty millions who constitute our people to-
day were to range themselves in classes according to their birth or origin,
we should have no Americans, while the English element would be scarce-
ly more than visible.

Still, though we are not English, the record of the struggle which the
thirteen poor little colonies of the Atlantic seaboard successfully carried
on for their independence of England must always be of the greatest im-
portance to us. It is a record which has been written repeatedly from
both sides. Now we have an Irishman's account of it, and an account
which, though brief, will repay attentive reading. The third volume of Mr.
Lecky's important History begins with an analysis of the royal prerogative as
held by George III. for some time after his accession to the throne. But to
the American reader generally chapter xii. will most strongly appeal, for
it gives within its two hundred pages one of the best narratives of the be-
ginning of the Revolution that have yet been written. Mr. Lecky does not
think that the colonies were justified in rebelling against the taxes levied
on them for imperial purposes. He thinks (p. 384) that England was

" Quite right in her contention that it was the duty of the colonies to contribute something to the
support of the army which defended the unity of the empire. She was quite right in her belief
that in some of the colonial constitutions the executive was far too feeble, that the line which
divides liberty from anarchy was often passed, and that the result was profoundly and permanent-
ly injurious to the American character. She was also, I think, quite right in ascribing a great
part of the resistance of America to the disposition, so common and so natural in dependencies,
to shrink as much as possible from any expense that could possibly be thrown on the mother-
country, and in forming a very low estimate of the character and motives of a large proportion of
those ambitious lawyers, newspaper writers, preachers, and pamphleteers who, in New England
at least, were laboring with untiring assiduity to win popular applause by sowing dissension
between England and her colonies."

: ~~" tBut perhaps Mr. Lecky lays too much stress on what to him seems the
flimsiness of the pretexts used to justify separation from England. He
does not appear to appreciate the sentiment that impelled the colonies on
their course. Sentiment, indeed, which plays so great a part the great
part, in fact in all popular or national movements, is nearly always rather
superciliously ignored, or at best but half contemptuously alluded to, by
philosophic historians trying to keep within the lines of the supposed prin-
ciples of political economy. Yet no people ever successfully overthrew an
oppressive rule merely for the sake of dollars and cents. No matter how
avaricious a people may be individually, they act in the aggregate for a
sentiment only, as real statesmen and wise politicians have always recogniz-
ed. Yet here and there amid his discussions of the good or evil effects of
certain policies of finance a glimpse is had of the sort of ideas that were
working in the minds of the great body of the American people, who could
have had but a vague understanding of policies of finance. " The trea-
tise," says Mr. Lecky, " which, half a century earlier, Molyneux had written
on the rights of the Irish Parliament now became a text-book in the colo-
nies." And the degraded condition to which that parliament had been re-
duced since Molyneux's time was thoroughly known to the intelligent
portion of the colonists, but especially to the Irish immigrants and their
children. At the opening of the Revolution the two great sources of hos-

1 8 8 2 .] NE w PUB LIC A TIONS. 1 4 1

tility to English rule were the Puritanism of New England and the presence
everywhere of a numerous Irish element. Except among the Irish there
were few Catholics in the colonies outside of Maryland. It has been the
fashion to forget how large a share the Irish element had in determining
the colonies to break with England. Mr. Lecky says (p. 479) : " The greatest
danger to the colonial cause was the half-heartedness of its supporters. . . .
Two-thirds of the property of New York was supposed to belong to Tories,
and, except in the city, there appears to have been no serious disaffection."
And again (p. 481) : "Among the poor, vagrant, adventurous immigrants
who had lately poured in by thousands from Ireland and Scotland there
was indeed a keen military spirit, and it was these men who ultimately
bore the chief part in the war of independence." In support of this he
quotes, in a note, the testimony which the loyalist Galloway, who had been
Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly, gave before a committee of the
House of Commons in 1779, that the rebel army consisted of " one-fourth
natives of America, about one-half Irish; the other fourth were English
and Scotch." As confirmatory of this it is well to refer to a recent book,
The American Irish, by Mr. Bagenal. Mr. Bagenal quotes from the re-
port of the same committee of the House of Commons the testimony of
Major-General Robertson, an English officer who had served twenty-four
years in America: "'How,' asked Burke, 'are the Provincial (American)
corps composed are they mostly Americans, or emigrants from various
nations of Europe ? ' The answer was : ' Some corps mostly natives ; the
greatest number such as can be got. . . . General Lee informed me that
half the rebel Continental army were from Ireland.' " Facts in our history
like these are naturally more apt to attract the attention of foreigners than
Americans.

Mr. Lecky has usually been happy in his portraits, and he is almost up
to his best in this volume. Of Burke he says : " No other politician or
writer has thrown the light of so penetrating a genius on the nature and
working of the British Constitution, has impressed his principles so deeply
on both of the great parties in the state, and has left behind him a richer
treasure of political wisdom applicable to all countries and to all times."
Benjamin Franklin, too, is pleasantly sketched. The estimate of Wash-
ington seems in the main fair. He says of him : " He was in the highest
sense of the words a gentleman and a man of honor, and he carried into
public life the severest standard of private morals. . . . Men of this moral
type are happily not rare, and we have all met them in our experience ;
but there is scarcely another instance in history of such a man having
reached and maintained the highest position in the convulsions of civil
war and of a great popular agitation."

In chapter xiii. Mr. Lecky treats of the disabilities and persecutions
to which Catholics were subjected in England in the last century. He
gives a vivid description of the awful " No-Popery" riots of 1780.

ELIANE. By Mme. Augustus Craven, author of A Sister s Story. From the
French by Lady Georgiana Fullerton. New York : William S. Gotts-
berger. 1882.

It is only at long intervals that the Catholic reviewer comes across a
novel in English that he can so freely, unreservedly commend as Eliane.

142 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Oct.,

It is a love-story full of the real " sweetness and light " that accom-
pany, without any affectation or any straining after effects, a life of sound
Catholic piety when adorned by cultivated manners. The heroine is in a
certain sense an old acquaintance with novel-readers. She is a poor rela-
tive whose heart is made to suffer in order that the matrimonial interests
of her more fortunate relatives may not be damaged, and especially that the
strong and rather tyrannical will of the otherwise kind old lady who is her
guardian may not be thwarted. Though there is not much of what is called
plot, the story runs on in a very lifelike way, and, fortunately for the read-
er as well as the heroine, turns out as it should, in every one being made
happy without any resort to theatrical expedients. It is easy, though, for
the reader to see how it might quite naturally have turned out otherwise.
Indeed one of the author's motives obviously was to point to the dangers
that lie in the French fashion by which parents arbitrarily make matches
for their children without regard to their personal choice or feelings.

Having said so much for this beautiful story, it must in fairness be add-
ed that the translation is not always idiomatic, and that sometimes it is
singularly unhappy. For instance, a " pretty French romance" is spoken
of, when it is no doubt that a pretty French ballad is meant. Again (p. 15) :
" ' Yes, indeed,' Blanche answered ; and throwing her hat on the canopy,"
etc. a strange place to throw a hat. The sofa was meant (in French
}, no doubt.

OSWIN THE SAXON ; OR, BAPTIZED BY ST. AUGUSTINE. London : D.
Stewart, 49 Essex Street, Strand. 1882.

In the introduction we read that "this little work was designed by the
late Miss Elizabeth Stewart, authoress of several mediaeval works, and its
two opening chapters were written a few days before her almost sudden
death." The book, it appears, was developed from the MS. notes left by Miss
Stewart. The intention of the romance for it is an historical romance
is to show how Christianity tamed and civilized the Anglo-Saxons : how
from ferocious, almost savage, barbarians it made them mild-mannered,
charitable-minded men and women. Historical fiction which professes to
be fiction, as Oswin the Saxon does, is in a sense above criticism from the
historical point of view ; otherwise an objection might be made to the
manifest unfairness in which the famous Conference or Council of Whitby
is described. Miss Stewart, or her editor, had apparently no fondness for
the missionaries who had worked their way down through Saxon England
from Lindisfarne in the north and from Bangor Beann-chor, *>., blessed
choir, for Celtic religious life without music was something unheard of in
the west. The book shows, however, that its author, or editor, had made
considerable research among the authorities on the history of the Anglo-
Saxon Church.

UNCLE PAT'S CABIN ; OR, LIFE AMONG THE AGRICULTURAL LABORERS OF
IRELAND. By W. C. Upton. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1882.

Many years ago, when her romance of life " among the lowly " slaves in
the So,uth had made her name famous and she was setting out on a jour-
ney to Europe, it was said that Mrs. Stowe was going to visit Ireland with
the intention of writing up " Uncle Pat." But Mrs. Stowe's supposed in-

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 143

tention only made her reception in England all the more enthusiastic, by
those especially whose landed interests would have been damaged by the
publication of such a book ; and, perhaps in gratitude to the cordiality of
her guests, she did not write it.

The Uncle Pat's Cabin that has been written is dedicated by its author
to Mr. Davitt. It is intended to be a realistic picture of life among the
poor laborers and the poorest of the farmers of Ireland. It is not a plea-
sant subject, even for those whose duty forces their attention to it, but
when cast into the form of a novel it is simply repulsive. It is depressing
from beginning to end. No wit, no humor, none of the old-time Irish play-
ful fancy nothing but sadness and distorted political economy.

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE MOST REV. JOHN MACHALE, ARCHBISHOP OF
TUAM AND METROPOLITAN. By the Rev. Ulick John Canon Bourke,
P.P., M.R.I.A. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1882.

This memoir of the illustrious and spirited old prelate whom O'Connell,
with his soft, round rhetoric, used to love t refer to as " the Lion of the
Fold of Juda," has been written by Canon Bourke in obedience to the
desire of a number of the clergy and literary men of Ireland. In sketches
such as this of men who have for many years been living in the bright
glare of public life, it is easy to guess beforehand what important features
of the subject's life will be brought out, and how. But if the maker of the
sketch or memoir is himself a man of decided characteristics it is well to
look out for occasional touches which display the peculiar bent of the au-
thor's mind as well as what particularly belonged to the subject. A poli-
tician writing a life of Archbishop MacHale would be naturally drawn to
the part the archbishop played for many years in the struggle for repeal,
against the Ecclesiastical Titles Bill, and, still later, for the freedom of the
higher Catholic education. But Canon Bourke is more of a scholar than a
politician, with a strong bias for Gaelic studies he having, in fact, written a
ponderous but unpractical grammar of the Irish language. It is doubtful,
indeed, if any Celt in Ireland has done as much towards the attempted re-
vival of the language as Canon Bourke, to whom, if it came by inheritance,
it came as a foreign tongue. So that if the modern man in search of infor-
mation on " repeal " or "Young Ireland " opens this book he need not be
astonished at such headings to some of the pages as " Footprints of the
Past," " Who was Fiachra? " "The Danann Kelts," "Welshmen of Tiraw-
ley," " Fionn and Goll," etc., or at the frequency of notes throwing light on
the career of Gaelic worthies who flourished fourteen hundred years ago
and more. But, aside from the canon's hobby, this beginning of a series of
shilling volumes, contemplated by the publishers, will be welcomed by all
who have known and loved the life of good old John of Tuam.

THE LIFE OF MARY WARD (1585-1645). By Mary Catharine Elizabeth
Chambers, of the Institute of the Blessed Virgin. Edited by Henry
James Coleridge, of the Society of Jesus. Volume the First. London :
Burns & Gates. 1882.

The finely-engraved portrait of Mary Ward which makes the frontis-
piece to this volume, and is taken " from the original oil-painting (circa
1620) in the possession of the nuns of the English Institute of the Blessed
Virgin Mary, Augsburg, Bavaria," shows a noble face, very refined in its ex-

144 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Oct., 1882.

pression, yet undoubtedly possessed of a strong will, though tempered by
the discipline of a religious life.

It is only of very late years that the English-spe'aking world is begin-
ning to know something of the lives of those devoted men and women who
were driven out of England during the sixteenth arid _seventeenth centuries
by the laws against Catholic worship, and especially 'against the ecclesias-
tical and religious states of the Catholic Church.

This book merits an extended notice.

HALF-HOURS WITH THE SAINTS AND SERVANTS OF GOD. Including bio-
graphical notes and many translations. By Charles Kenny. With a
preface by the Very Rev. W. T. Gordon, Provost of the London Ora-
tory. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

While the importance of spiritual reading as an aid to progress in the
Christian life is unquestioned, it must be confessed that the works in
our language suitable for such a purpose are so few that any addition
to them is most welcome. This book, containing, in short sections, ex-
tracts from the writings of trft great saints and servants of God, is pecu-
liarly adapted to meet the wants of a large class of our Catholic laity
whose daily cares do not admit of any long time for spiritual reading,
and to such we earnestly commend it.

NAMES THAT LIVE IN CATHOLIC HEARTS : Memoirs of Ximenes, etc.
By Anna T. Sadlier. New York : Benzigers. 1882.

Miss Sadlier's subjects are well chosen. They are Ximenes, Michael
Angelo, Champlain, Archbishop Plunket, Carroll, Henri de Laroche-
jacquelein, Simon de Montfort. The sketches are written in a sprightly and
ornate style, and gracefully introduced to the public by a preface from the
pen of Mrs. Mary A. Sadlier, the mother of Miss Sadlier, a lady of well-
known fame as a writer. We trust that Miss Sadlier will continue her in-
structive and attractive biographies.

THE SACRED HEART OF JESUS. Boston : Thomas B. Noonan & Co. 1882.

This picture is remarkable for beauty of expression and finish of exe-
cution.

SECRET SOCIETIES: A QUIET TALK ABOUT THEM. By W. H. Anderdon,
S.J. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

A little pamphlet published in England to dissuade Irishmen there from
joining anti-English secret societies.

POEMS. By B. I. Durward. Vol. i. Milwaukee, Wis. 1882.

A MASS IN THE MOUNTAINS, AND POEMS. B. S. M. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son. 1882.

STUDIES IN SCIENCE AND RELIGION. By G. Frederick Wright, author of the Logic of Christian
Evidences. Andover : Warren F. Draper. 1882.

HISTORY OF THE FORMATION OF THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
By George Bancroft. In two volumes. Vol i. Second edition. New York : D. Appleton
& Co. 1882.

SAFEGUARDS OF DIVINE FAITH IN THE PRESENCE OF SCEPTICS, FREETHINKERS, AND ATHE-
ISTS. A series of eight essays, chiefly addressed to men of the world engaged in their various
professional and social avocations. By the Rev. H. Formby. London : Burns & Oates.
1882. [For sale by the Catholic Publication Society Co.]

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXVI. NOVEMBER, 1882. No. 212.

GOD OR NOTHING!*

A DISPASSIONATE VIEW OF THE STRUGGLE IN BELGIUM.

THERE was once a man who had heard of Niagara Falls. He
had been told also that all visitors to America deemed it the cor-
rect thing to see them. Accordingly he went. When his vehi-
cle drew up before that most stupendous sight he quietly ob-
served to the driver : " So this is Niagara Fall ; you're perfectly
sure it is the right one there's no other of the same name, eh ? "
Receiving an assurance to the contrary, he ordered the coach to
be turned round, quite satisfied that he knew all about it. How
many persons who write books of travel imitate him ! If they
are going to the Continent of Europe they grind up Murray and
Baedeker in the space of a journey between London and Dover.
They have all the points of interest mapped out in their minds
churches, ruins, pictures, priests, beggars, theatres, shops.
They rush frantically from one point to another, merely verify-
ing the descriptions of their guide-book. In ten days they are
of opinion that they know all about it, and exhibit to the initi-
ated their lamentable ignorance in some sketches of travel with
an airy title. Now, the testimony of any person who pronoun-
ces judgment upon a subject with which he is imperfectly ac-
quainted is, at the outset, worthless. He may, however, so
present a garbled version of facts, narrated with such a disin-

* The Educational Question in Belgium. By the Rev. Henry Leach. Macmillan for Au-
gust, 1882.

146 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

genuous air, that his statements may command for a while the
belief, and even reverence, of persons as ignorant as himself. We
can find some excuse for the young- man who perpetrates a silly
book full of the idea that "a book's a book though there's no-
thing in it." Generally such books by their very absurdity are
harmless. But it is very different when a grave person sets
himself to air the little knowledge which is a dangerous thing,
merely to support a conclusion arrived at inconsiderately and
often recklessly.

With every disposition to deserve the title we have placed
at the head of this paper " dispassionate " we are compelled to
put a recent writer in Macmillaris Magazine in this class. This
reverend gentleman is doubtless one of those of whom resi-
dents in Brussels and Antwerp see a good deal. In the early
spring they begin to show up at the Bellevue and the Bois de
la Cambre. By June they are more numerous, and on to Au-
gust " the cry is, Still they come." Who does not know the
slim man in the " M.B." vest, with usually a fat wife in an outre
costume, who, under the impression that she speaks French,
asserts an authority over him to which he restively submits ?
Sometimes he has all his family. A certain hotel register in
Italy once bore the announcement that the " Vescovo di Kil-
more, la Vescova," and five " vescovini " were domiciled there.
But this is exceptional. One thing you may be sure he will do.
He hires a carriage the morning after his arrival and goes to the
cathedral. He whines pathetically over popery and bad pic-
tures. He goes to a restaurant and tries the temper of the
waiter by his absurd orders, and, in his suspicion of Continental
cookery, dines badly and pays twice as much as he ought to.
I knew a clergyman who dined eighteen consecutive days on
" rosbif " a slice of reddish-blue flesh floating in a pool of luke-
warm gravy simply because he could not order anything else
and felt it unsafe to risk eating an unknown dish. He is sure, too,
to go into churches with his Murray in time of divine service,
and push his way rudely through the kneeling worshippers, and
criticise the paintings and architecture in loud and contemp-
tuous tones. At the end of three days he votes 'it slow work,
and he pays his bill and departs. You may be sure that his dis-
position to grumble (which Carlyle thought innate in an Eng-
lishman) is intensified fivefold. He is disposed to find fault with
everybody and everything. He attributes all the good he sees
in Catholic countries to superstition, and all the evil too. His
leading sentiment is, " Thank God I'm a Briton " and not a priest-

1 882.] GOD OR NOTHING! 147

ridden Continental. The amount of knowledge derived from
travel is infinitesimal, while bigotry and narrow-mindedness are
greatly enlarged. Such an one lately said to the writer : " I never
go to Catholic churches on Sunday, because I hold that it is sin-
ful to frequent places of amusement on that day."

Now, between the lines of Mr. Leach's paper we read all this.
He resembles the man who went to London to spend a week
and master the British Constitution. He professes to know all
about a mighty problem which has exercised the most philo-
sophic minds for years a problem still unsolved, and seeming to
gather around it fresh phases of difficulty as time advances all
within the compass of a magazine article. We have studied the
question for nearly two years ; we have conversed upon it with
church dignitaries of the highest rank, parochial clergy, monks,
college professors, editors of influential papers, liberal and cleri-
cal ; we have heard the opinions of Ultramontane, Republican,
Royalist, Jews, Flemings, French, Germans, Walloons, English,
and yet we are far from arriving at any adequate solution of
the question. Then it may be said : " Why do you write about
it ? " Because, although the matter is highly complex and diffi-
cult, there are special aspects which may be mastered. And in
replying to the strictures of Mr. Leach we shall almost exclu-
sively adduce the opinions of natives, personages who are in
the front rank of the combatants, who have a large stake at issue,
both in church and state, and are daily applying themselves
heart and soul to the solution of the difficulty. One of these,
whose opinions we shall largely quote, recently said to the wri-
ter : " I have studied this question for twenty years, and now, as
I stand on the confines of the other world, I have asked myself,
Ought I to alter anything of what I have said or done ? and I can
only answer that if I had to begin again I should follow the
same course."

It is not surprising that Mr. Leach's article has been largely
quoted in the journals of this country. The question is of world-
wide interest. It assumes different aspects in different countries ;
but, after all, it is a factor in the life of nations quite independent
of politics and parties, and resolves itself into the query, God or
nothing? This is an old battle under a new banner. It was
fought in Greece, when the recusant minority was Socrates and
his disciples. It has been fought in every nation wherein mere
animalism and materialism have conflicted with intellectualism.
Mr. Leach is right, then, in saying that the question is too impor-
tant to be ignored. He might as well try to ignore the extor-

148 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

tionate charges of the hotel-keepers, at whom, if he had not been
a cleric, he would probably have sworn. But

" Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas."

This is his explanation of what has " divided into two hostile
camps the whole country, urban and rural " :

"A few words may serve to explain how the conflict has arisen. By
the Belgian constitution primary schools, unsectarian in character and
free to all who could not afford to pay for instruction, were to be establish-
ed in every commune. The law was, however, regarded as merely permis-
sive, and to avoid expense schools under the control of religious orders
were in many districts adopted by the commune and partly supported by
local taxation. In 1842 political exigencies made clerical support indispen-
sable to the party in power. The demands of the Roman Church in the
matter of education are sufficiently ample and they were practically all con-
ceded. ... In 1879 it was determined to revert to the constitutional basis
of education. Absolute liberty of conscience was enacted, the authority
of the state in official schools reasserted. . . . No sooner was the design
of the government known than it elicited the most determined opposition
from the Catholic party."

If Mr. Leach had been retained by M. Bara to state his case
doucement to the British public he could not have done it bet-
ter. At first sight the righteous Briton says : " What do those
papists want ? I never heard of such inconsistency ; it ought to
be put down, sir." Yet it is scarcely fair to quote the testimony
of an avowed enemy, as if it was incontrovertibly true. What Mr.
Leach says has been alleged over and over again by the anti-
clerical journals, and answered in Parliament, the pulpit, and the
press. We shall, however, restate it briefly, nothing extenuat-
ing or setting down aught in malice.

In the first place, what is meant by liberalism in Belgium ? It
is an old name with a new signification. Generally we asso-
ciate it with a man who, while respecting ancient institutions,
does not believe them incapable of improvement, and estimates
their value as they are calculated to co-operate in the advance-
ment of nations toward the highest ideal of civilization. In this
sense the Catholic Church is eminently liberal. Aiming at the
very highest development of the human race, she has directly
or indirectly fostered all that assists it. We emphasize the phrase
highest development of the human race, because we insist that the
dogmas of so-called liberalism are no more calculated to ensure
this than the draught of Circe was to restore true manliness.
We shall prove this further on by contrasting the visible results
of the two systems. Your Belgian liberal starts with this

1 882.] GOD OR NOTHING! 149

thesis : Catholicism is and has always been on the side of des-
potism. Despotism is either political, religious, or social ; all
three are opposed to the spirit of the age.

" Tis life of which our nerves are scant,
More life and fuller that we want."

Catholicism maintains its despotism by the school, the confes-
sional, and the pulpit. Hence to wage war successfully against
these forms of tyranny Catholicism must be opposed both in the
abstract and in detail. The consistent liberal, therefore, throws
up everything belonging to religion except the name of Catholic.
He emancipates his mind from all respect for revelation and the
priesthood. He frees himself from all restraint in language
and speaks blasphemous levities with an evident gusto. The
next step is that he discards all moral restraints, too, and his
liberalism becomes libertinism and lawlessness.

This is no imaginary picture ; we could give names to bear
it out young fellows of noble promise, fired by a grand ambi-
tion to do something, to escape from the baneful selfishness which
is eating like a canker into society. Their intentions were of the
noblest ; they would have been horrified if they could have fore-
seen the lengths to which they have gone. They have discarded
the Scriptures and A Kempis for Emile Zola and Alfred de Mus-
set. They plume themselves on their contempt for time-honored
observances and all that they denominate " les sottises sacres."
Mr. Leach is in error in saying that the clericals have invented
the soubriquet Gueux. It was the liberals themselves. They
rejoice in it, and we recently heard the present burgomaster of
Antwerp, M. Leopold de Wael, say : " I am a Gueux, and so are
you, and I wish we were only like those who anciently bore the name"
What these iconoclastic fanatics were may be seen in the pages
of Prescott ; and their modern emulators glory in the very
things that most excite our indignation. Even liberals them-
selves deplore the departure of such old-fashioned things as
parental obedience, truthfulness, commercial honor, and the
spread of flippant blasphemy, dissolute morals, and thorough-
going selfishness.

But it may be asked, Do you charge this to liberalism ? To
the liberalism of Belgium, certainly. Ask the men who fought in
1830, ask those who have seen every phase of the movement,
and they will tell you the same.

This ought to be well understood at the outset. For, accord-
ing to Mr. Leach, the liberal is an ill-used patriot, a striver after

150 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

moral and social progress against a grasping, ignorant, and un-
scrupulous clergy. According to his quoted statement it would
seem that the opposition of the Catholic Church was next to
causeless ; that the state adjustment of the educational difficulty
was equitable and impartial, and only incurred the animosity of
the clergy when it sought to curtail their influence.

The initiated know that it was only after every effort had
failed on her part that the church was forced into her present
attitude. She had ever been on the side of the people. The
movement of 1830 was indirectly produced by the patriotic
preachments of her clergy. The heroes who lie buried in the
Place des Martyrs at Brussels were educated in her schools and
worshipped at her altars. But never for one single moment had
'she forgotten that "righteousness" alone " exalteth a nation."
She had striven to break the fetters of the slave, but in order to
give him the liberty of the sons of God, not to load him with the
heavier fetters of moral and intellectual slavery. She had seen
by a divine prescience that a highly educated individual with-
out religion that is, without morals is more dangerous than the
wildest barbarian. And what is true of individuals is true of
nations. Never would she dare to aid by a jot a nation to attain
to even passing pre-eminence by other means than religion. She
adheres to the belief that IT alone is the foundation of social and
political life the only rock that can resist the storms of ages,
the only guarantee of the stability of a nation's life. Others be-
lieve the contrary. They may be consistent in trying to uproot
what they deem inimical to progress, but let them at least con-
cede that the Catholic Church is consistent and unswerving in
her aim and endeavor. But Mr. Leach is quite in error in sup-
posing that the Loi Scolaire originated in any patriotic design.
" Trifles light as air " as, for instance, the quacking of a goose
have ere this led to important results. The present condition of
Belgium arose in the advent to office of an ambitious demagogue
who was quite as much surprised to find himself a minister as
everybody else was disgusted. Unlike the man he servilely wor-
ships, Paul Bert, the Minister of Public Instruction has no origi-
nal genius. The ape who had just seen his master shave, and
thought himself clever enough to do the same, found that it was
not so easy as it seemed and cut himself badly with the razor.
So what M. Paul Bert may have audacity and talent to accom-
plish will very likely fail in the hands of M. Bara. But his
party determined to use him to secure their ends. It was also
represented to him that popularity might be secured if he would

1 882.] GOD OR NOTHING! 151

only copy the author of the Morale desjtsuites. This is the key to
his career. The liberals found that the only chance of retaining
office in the Frere-Orban Ministry was by something startling.
The socialists and internationals, with the wildest republicans of
Germany and France who reside in the country, had influenced
the public vote and gave them a majority. Every member re-
turned was pledged to oppose the church. No matter what
were the merits of the question, the church was to be opposed
AS THE CHURCH, as the foe of progress, the bar to national ad-
vancement and prosperity. She had watched from afar the com-
ing war and unswervingly adhered to her Master's precept:
" Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness." What-
ever the issue, she would stand like the martyr of old amid the
flames and cry to the end, " Christ alone ! " The conflict thus origi-
nating in party politics has grown into a struggle between reli-
gion and atheism ; it is no longer a question of codes and regula-
tions, but GOD or No GOD.

Fortunately for Belgium, the right man was in the right
place. The primate was a man of the people. He had moved
among them as a Redemptorist and was fully versed in all the
ways of Fleming and Walloon. From the time when his burn-
ing eloquence stirred the hearts of listening thousands till he
had made " by force his merits known " and was considered the
proper man to guide his countrymen in troublous times, Victor
Dechamps, Cardinal Archbishop of Malines, has won the admira-
tion and respect of his foes and the affectionate love and venera-
tion of his friends. We assert that he tried every possible
method of bringing the state to a better perception of its duty.
And it was not until informed that no concession would be made
and that still further aggressions were contemplated that he ob-
tained the following decision of the Holy Office :

"The official schools cannot be frequented with a safe conscience.
" So great a danger should be avoided at any risk of worldly interests,
or even of life itself."

Surely there must have been grave reasons for the deliberate
and tardy officials of Rome to pronounce such a judgment.
There were. The Belgians are notorious copyists of the French.
But it is the worst features of the Parisians that they imitate. If
there is a vile book published in Paris it finds an immediate sale
in Brussels. Things too audacious even for the French com-
mand an audience there as witness the production of the blas-
phemous opera " Herodiade." And as the minister was a spe-

152 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

cial imitator of Paul Bert, it was but reasonable to expect that
what Paul Bert had accomplished already in Paris would be
attempted at Brussels. At Paris " the Christ "had been taken
down from the school-rooms ; the manual of Paul Bert was com-
pulsory. And what is this manual ? A book in which gross ma-
terialism is taught and the very name of God and Christ ignor-
ed a book which an atheist may use with pleasure as denying
human responsibility and an hereafter, but one to be avoided by
every Christian parent.

One of the fears of the Catholics, as stated by Mr. Leach, was
that

" Immoral books not yet introduced into the schools were ready pack-
ed and would be foisted in at a convenient opportunity. If any morality
survived it would be tainted by the indescribable and indefinable poison of
Freemasonry."

Alas! this is more than realized. The act passed in 1879, and
within three years such an influx of immoral literature has taken
place as could not have been anticipated. One frightful book
against which we have heard Protestants loudly protest, Le
Bible pour Rire, filled with unutterable and foulest profanity, has
gone through numerous editions ; while another, Sottises Sacrts,
even a shade viler, is more popular still. 1'he shop-windows
abound with the most indecent literature, and few works have a
chance of being sold unless of this sort.

Mr. Leach supposes that the only difference between the
schools before 1879 an d afterwards was that formerly religious
instruction was optional, and not obligatory. That is, under the
old regime the manuals in use were approved by the church
and incidentally recognized her dogmas, while at stated times
the parish priest gave special instruction in the catechism.
Afterwards the books were changed and a time fixed upon for
religious instruction, at which any pupil might stay who chose.
But mark the chicanery of this proceeding. The hour selected
was after all the school classes were over, and it .is not surprising
that boys and girls who never evince any particular ardor for in-
struction should, after the drudgery of the day, decline another
voluntary hour of study. The clergy clearly foresaw that it
was not in human nature to expect they would stay behind for
catechism when play in the sunny fields was far more agree-
able.

The position of the clergy, slowly forced upon them by the
obstinacy of the state, may be thus summarized : The church

1 882.] GOD OR NOTHING! 153

denies that a man can do well even as regards this world with-
out religion. Morals are the necessary basis of society, and
morals are inseparable from religion. The system of education
now in use, in divorcing instruction from religion, is dangerous
to morals and therefore dangerous to society. Thus the duty
of the clergy, as those that watch for souls, is to guard the peo-
ple against godless, and by consequence immoral, schools.

Will it be maintained that this is not a logical position ? It
has certainly taken a deep hold upon the Catholics of Belgium.
Nowhere have larger efforts been made to erect and maintain
suitable schools. Even Mr. Leach says :

" All the offerings of the faithful are devoted to the maintenance of
their schools ; and no one can deny that the parti pretre has made large
sacrifices to carry out their principles."

It is no rare thing for Catholic gentlemen like M. Moretus de
Theux and the learned and devout Mgr. Van den Berghe to
devote whole fortunes to this end. It cannot be that such self-
sacrifice is for the aim this writer supposes :

" All this violence has been exercised to crush an educational system
which until 1879 commanded the loud approbation of the priesthood, and
which since that date remains unchanged teachers, books, instruction, all
remaining as before."

It is charitable to suppose that a clergyman and a gentleman
would not wilfully misrepresent so grave a subject. Yet no-
thing can be further from the truth than this assertion. The sys-
tem of 1879, on his own showing at the outset of his article, was
made to oppose the clergy.

" The church had obtained a complete monopoly of education
throughout Belgium. This condition of things was not likely to be tole-
rated by the-liberals."

The Lot Scolaire upset the known doctrines of the church on
this subject. They were: that the church alone has the right
to teach religion ; she has the right to control all branches of
instruction which are combined with religion ; any govern-
ment concerning itself with education is bound to recognize
these rights of the church ; in regard to education, religious or
scientific, all Catholics are subject to the church and bound to
accept its decisions.

This is sufficiently explicit, and, because the school law in use
from 1842 had fully recognized it, it received the hearty support
of the clergy. But the law of 1879 declared the state to be a

154 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

competent and sufficient authority on matters of education, and
that the interference of the church therein was only to be " tole-
rated conditionally." We ask, How can any one declare that such
a system " commanded the loud approbation of the priesthood "?
It was condemned in the pastorals of every Belgian bishop, all
of which were approved at Rome. We say unhesitatingly that
" teachers, books, instruction " are all changed.

Undoubtedly the bitterest acrimony has resulted from the
strong demarcation lines which have divided almost every par-
ish into two hostile camps not stronger than once existed in
England against papists, or between Free-trader and Protection-
ist, Whig and Tory, and in this country between defenders of the
Union and Secessionists. Mr. Leach tries to make his article sea-
sonable and pungent by " piling up the horror." In this age of
sensational novels even a quiet, jog-trot English monthly must
have an occasional fillip, a moral electric shock, or the English
reader might arrive at the dreadful condition foretold by the
late Dr. Gumming, " when Protestant England shall deem that
popery is harmless and even beneficial."

The document Mr. Leach cites as his authority is little known
to his readers. He ushers it in with a flourish that is calculated
to make one suppose that the Enquete Scolaire is as respectable
as a royal commission of the British Parliament, and its deci-
sions entitled to as much respect. Unhappily " it denotes a fore-
gone conclusion," and the people of Belgium are aware that it is
only intended to furnish excuse for the iniquitous bill for the
suppression of the Jesuits and the general spoliation of the reli-
gious orders. Perhaps Mr. Leach may remember^ that when
Henry VIII. had a similar design in view he ordered an inquiry
into the state of monasteries. But it is requisite that the per-
sons composing this inquisition should be unbiassed and worthy
of credit. Will Mr. Leach assert this of any one member of the
committee composing the Enquete Scolaire ? If charity did not
restrain our pen we might startle and probably shock Mr.
Leach by a plain narration of facts well known to the Belgian
public respecting them. But of course " they are all honorable
men." We are unpleasantly reminded of Jack Cade's court which
Shakspere has told us of. A most learned priest invited us to
accompany him to one of these sessions. Be it borne in mind
that these worthies come into a parish to listen to all the slan-
ders, on-dits, malicious rumors, and imaginations of all the ene~
mies of the parish priest. He is to be put on his trial. Unhap-
pily this particular priest had in a recent book so convicted M.

1 882.] GOD OR NOTHING/ 155

Bara of malevolent falsehood that he had no mercy to expect.
We found the commission enthroned in the mayor's parlor,
guarded by a large number of police and military. We observ-
ed that the parishioners, who usually showed their appreciation
of their pastor's holy and beneficent life by saluting him, did so
on this occasion as though afraid to be caught in the act, fur-
tively and on the sly. We entered and bowed to the court,
which was too rude to return our civility. The usher conferred
with one magnate, probably as to where we were to be placed,
whereupon a slight discussion arose, which ended in a policeman
conducting us to a couple of chairs on the floor of the court.
Presently the commission was declared open and the room be-
gan to fill. There was the drunken' shoemaker who maltreated
his wife, and hated M. le Cure because he protected her from
his violence. There was the village scold, " no better than she
should be " rather a shade worse ; the systematic gossip ; the
haunter of the estaminet and political oracle of the place ; the
blatant republican, so enamored of the red that he had steeped
his nose in it ; the sneaking police spy ; the dishonest trades-
man, frequently reproved for false weights ; the debauchee.
All the canaille of the parish assembled, well knowing that any-
thing they might say against their pastor would be religiously
believed and printed. Voluminous reports lay before the trio
of commissioners, which reminded us of Burns' remark :

" Some books are lies from end to end."

The president (an excellent judge of Bordeaux) seemed a lit-
tie ashamed of being in such company ; but he nerved himself to
his work by fiercely taking a pinch of snuff and blowing his nose
in a defiant manner. " M. le Curt ! " and our learned friend came
forward. He was addressed in a tone so flippant and sneered at
so irrelevantly that he at last lost patience and quitted the room.
He had played into the hands of the enemy, who were embar-
rassed by his presence, which they rightly thought might exer-
cise a wholesome restraint even on the wretches assembled to
denounce him. I felt curious to know what passed and remain-
ed in my place. Some of the "flagrant " charges against the
clergy were investigated, the design being to prove that they
persecuted those who sent their children to the public school.
In every case the evidence was partly suggested by the adroit
questions of the lawyer, and the animus of the witnesses was
obvious. Not one that had been censured for grave sins and

156 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

open scandals but attributed it to his refusal to send his chil-
dren to the Catholic schools. Ah ! says our author

" It should be added that all the witnesses have been examined on oath,
and have admitted the accuracy of the firtcis verbal drawn up by the secre-
taries to the commission."

Quite true. Good, simple man ! He deserves to live a few years
in Belgium for his sins. How soon he would find out that for
cool, unblushing lying a Fleming stands alone ! Their habitual
invocation of the most solemn names and things serves only to
aggravate their deception.

xOn this occasion the circumstance quoted by Mr. Leach was
investigated :

" In one case the bon Dieu was left upon the table of the sick-chamber,
the poor moribund all the while torn by uncertainty and the fear of dying
before the bishop's answer could be obtained."

Now, this statement resolves itself into this : A man who had
led a notoriously evil life, and been the cause of much evil in
others, on the point of death sent for the cur6. The good man
had tried to gain admittance already, but the miserable man's
friends had barricaded the door. However, the priest went.
Every one knows that the Catholic Church refuses her absolu-
tion to a sinner who refuses to make reparation for his sin to the
utmost of his power. In this case the sin was so flagrant that a
manifest wrong and scandal would have been inflicted, even if
the priest had dared to forego the church's demand. The peni-
tent (?) refused, and so anxious was the cur6 to get the advice of
his ordinary, that if possible he might do anything for his par-
ishioner, that late at night he walked six miles to the nearest sta-
tion and took train to Gand, returning only next day. Now see
out of what slender material a slanderous charge can be made.
This clergyman had a small silver pyx in which the Blessed Sac-
rament was carried to the sick. He had also a silver snuff-box
which very nearly resembled it, except in the chasing. The lat-
ter was his solace in very perplexing moments, and as he listen-
ed to that unhappy man's confession he laid the snuff-box on the
table. Priests who may read this will at once recognize the ac-
tion. In his excitement he left it behind him, much to his re-
gret, for the people were too honest to restore it. Moreover, it
was duly polished up and made to figure in the story our author
cites. He might have discovered that such an act of neglect as
he charges, if true, would in all probability have involved suspen-
sion at the hands of a bishop so rigid in everything respecting

1 882.] GOD OR NOTHING! 157

the Eucharist as the Bishop of Ghent. Much stress is laid in the
Enqutte Scolaire upon the refusal of absolution. A priest cannot
absolve a man who refuses to give up his sin. All those per-
sons treat the priest with the grossest neglect, and even rude-
ness, while in health ; but no sooner are they ill than they send
for him at any hour to absolve them, thinking they are doing him
a compliment.

Mr. Leach gives us another astonishing piece of information :

" To avert such evils a new petition was added to the Litany : ' From
schools without God and teachers without faith good Lord deliver us ' '

We should have cried "Amen " heartily to this, but it is wholly
mythical. The form "good Lord deliver us " is evidently Angli-
can, the Roman being " libera nos, Domine." This points, too,
to the Litany of the Saints or the Litany of the Holy Name of
Jesus, in which alone this petition occurs. But these prayers
cannot be interpolated after this fashion. If so, how convenient
and appropriate would have been the Scotch minister's advice
in this crisis : " Noo, brethren, let us pray for the puir deil, for
he needs it much." " Comparisons," says Mrs. Malaprop, " are
odorous."

Let it be honestly admitted that the rural clergy in Flanders,
being after all only human, have not always tempered zeal with
discretion. It requires great grace to keep one's temper always
under such peculiarly trying circumstances. A man who has in
some cases labored thirty years in the same parish suddenly sees
all his patient labor of love thwarted by a handful of firebrands
without God and without conscience. He has to fight over
again the old battle of early times when the distinction between
Christian and infidel was so sharply drawn. But the case is
worse. He has to do with practical apostasy to see the
children of those who died with his blessing, whom he baptized
and prepared for First Communion, growing up atheists and
renegades to the church. He loses his temper sometimes, and
you say it's very wrong. We say it is very natural. And yet our
author gives us a choice selection of Billingsgate which is all
clerical, of course, the other side being proverbial for the urban-
ity of their language and the scrupulous politeness of their man-
ners. Yet he is obliged to admit that bishops and priests are
insulted at the altar and in the pulpit, and we can assert that a
villanous sheet called La Bombe is full of the basest scurrilities
and the most atrocious fabrications. For all this we do not
claim that the clergy are faultless. Considering the extreme

158 GOD OR NOTHING! [Nov.,

delicacy and difficulty of their position, too much caution cannot
be used. But really we doubt if an angel, under the circum-
stances, would escape censure.

The reader who is unacquainted with this subject, and takes
Mr. Leach's statements for granted, would conclude that the
results of the two systems of education now on trial in Belgium
are wholly in favor of the secularists. Let us jot down a few
facts.

The Catholic schools are not all that could be desired. We
admit the charge, " Some of their schools are insufficient in
structure and teaching power " chiefly because they lack mon-
ey. The state offers thousands of francs for teachers where
they can only offer hundreds. But this does not apply to such
establishments as the College de Notre Dame at Antwerp or
the College Saint- Michel at Brussels. The instruction in the
former is quite on a par with that of the Ath6n6e Royal or the
Universit6 Libre of Brussels. The discipline is decidedly bet-
ter. In fact, our experience proves that it is quite impossible
to restrain the tendency which youths have to corrupt one an-
other, or to promote habits of truthfulness, personal chastity, and
obedience, without the aid of the confessional. The results are
visible everywhere in Belgium. The boy who is unrestrained
by this check is early addicted to bad language, secret vices,
gaming, and other dissipations. He evinces a contempt for
authority, despises his parents, and frequently disgraces his
family. Heads of houses, while they affect to despise the clerical
system of teaching, frankly admit that its moral effect is admi-
rable.

1 882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 159

OUR LADY OF THE LILACS.*

ONE afternoon in May, 1869, I was sauntering with a friend
in the Boulevard de la Madeleine. It was a perfect spring day.
The budding foliage had not acquired the dusty aspect of every-
thing which in Paris attempts to remind one of the fields, and
glittered like emeralds against the tender blue of the sky or the
cream-colored glare of the sunlit house-fronts. Henri de Pont-
molain and I chatted lightly of anything which happened to enter
our heads or pass before our eyes, skimming the surface of each
subject as it came, and going no further doubtless for fear
we might call up some shadow into the brightness of the glad
May sun.

Suddenly a little way from us, at the corner of the Rue
Duphot, we heard a piercing cry and saw the passers-by run
together in a group which grew larger every moment, for all the
world is curious and agape for exciting incidents. "An acci-
dent," said Henri. "You think so?" "Let us see." We
reached the little crowd, and found that a workman had just
picked up and seated on the edge of the side pavement a poor
old woman pale as a shroud. "Why, what ails you, mother,"
he said good-naturedly, "to fall all your length in the street
like that ? That's not good for your constitution. Are you
ill?" "Yes," she replied in a faltering voice "yes, I am."
" May be you are in want of something?" The old woman hid
her face in her thin hands and did not answer. " Poor soul ! she
is hungry, you see, and shy to own it. Come, ladies and gentle-
men, a sou will not ruin you. I begin ; who will give something
for la pauvresse? " And the honest workman, taking off his cap,
threw into it ten centimes and held it out to the people pressing
around.

O shame ! The crowd immediately grew smaller, and all the
charity of a hundred gapers amounted to an alms of six sous !
A young man's purse is never over-well stocked, as possibly you
who are reading these lines may be aware ; but God makes it his
business to reward a kind action. Pontmolain and I did our
best to make up for the miserable indifference of the crowd.

* The writer begs to offer her acknowledgments to M. Oscar de Poll, the author of Histoires
du Bon Vieux Temps, etc., for the narrative of which the following is a more or less close
reproduction.

160 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

The workman thanked us warmly and slipped into the poor
woman's trembling hands the produce of his qufoe, saying as he
helped her to stand up : " There, mother, now you need want
for nothing for a week to come ! Where do you live? " " Mon
Dieu ! " she answered tearfully, " I have nowhere to live. I have
no home." "You have no friends or relatives?" "Neither
friends nor relatives." " Well, well ! At any rate, go and get
something to eat somewhere." " I cannot walk." " Will you
ride?" " I will pay the driver," said Henri.

During this debate a handsome carriage drew up close to the
group, and a lady of about fifty years of age, still handsome and
dressed with a certain severe elegance, descended from it and
heard the last words of the colloquy. " You have no home, my
poor woman ? " she said kindly. " Alas ! madame, no." " And
you are not strong enough to walk ? " " No, madame." " Come
with me. Some one will help you as far as the carriage, and
then we can find out together what had best be done."

" A brave heart that ! " murmured one of the workmen, look-
ing at the great lady with admiration and respect. He and his
comrade helped the poor old woman into the carriage. As the
lady mounted she said to the footman : " Home." The man
closed the carriage-door. The armorial bearings upon it were
those of a marquis.

The crowd which could not raise six sous to hinder a woman
from dying of hunger was now eager to applaud. A second col-
lection would doubtless have produced a good sum. Such is the
privilege of charity to multiply itself by its very presence and
by the contagion of example. The carriage drove away.

" Well," I said to my companion, " for a noble lady and a
Parisienne thus to trample on the code of laws imperative in her
circle and station, she must be an angel." " That is exactly what
she is." " Do you know her, then ?" " Certainly I do. She is,
as you say, the good angel of the poor. She was once poor her-
self so poor that this old woman she is succoring need not have
envied her." " Can it be possible? Tell me her history."

We walked on towards the Champs Elyse"es, and from the
account then given me by my friend, and completed from addi-
tional sources, I learnt the details of the following narrative.

If you have lived in Paris you may, at least once in your life,
have chanced to pass along the Rue Fontaine-Moliere, formerly
called the Traversiere-Saint-Honore, and which, before you read
these lines which I am writing, may have changed its name, like

1 882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 161

so many of its neighbors, once, if not twice, again in honor of the
democratic instabilities of the most unstable of governments and
the most mutilative of municipalities. The street is dark and
narrow. You would scarcely notice, probably, at the corner of
the Clos Georgeau, the habitation of M. de Voltaire, and still
less an antique tenement, high and narrow, standing opposite,
with nothing remarkable about its dilapidated exterior except
its windows of two centuries old and the quantity of rusty iron
which apparently serves to hold it together. This latter was
formerly the abode of Maitre Germain Domarus, the royal notary
in the latter half of the last century. But the gilded panels, em-
blazoned with the arms of France, have long disappeared, to-
gether with the files of gilded coaches and velvet-lined sedan-
chairs, from which alighted many a noble lady of the court to
enter these once busy precincts, from which all sign of life has
long departed. We must go back sixteen years from the inci-
dent which formed the opening of my story namely, to 1853,
when this antiquated building belonged to the Abbe Bernard
Domarus, a venerable priest, son of the worthy notary of the
Rue Traversiere-Saint-Honore'.

The Domarus family came from Pontivy, in Brittany ; they
were foremost among the upper bourgeoisie, and enjoyed the
double consideration paid to personal worth and the represen-
tatives of an honorable race. Bernard, notwithstanding his fa-
ther's resistance from motives of worldly ambition, and in spite
of the mutterings of the coming storm of revolution, had perse-
vered in following his vocation and entering the priesthood.
Genevieve, his faithful nurse, kept house for him as long as she
lived, and when she died her daughter Yvonne took her place.
But it seemed as if complete loneliness were to be his earthly
portion. Yvonne followed her mother, and the Abbe" Domarus
looked sorrowfully around him, not knowing how to replace
the services of these two devoted hearts by those of a stran-
ger.

How many losses are irreparable ! and few more so than of
those whose humble, intelligent, and watchful ministrations, as
unobtrusive as they are constant, are ever about us like the air
we breathe, and only realized when over and past recall.

Resigned, but sad at heart, the abbe prayed and waited. He
had not waited a week when one morning he heard a timid
knock. Quitting his easy-chair of faded crimson damask, he
went downstairs and opened the door. A woman, poorly clad,
wearing a veil which concealed her features, said in a voice
VOL. xxxvi. ii

1 62 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

trembling with emotion : " I believe the Abbe Domarus lives
here ? " " Madame, I am the Abbe Domarus." " I wished to be
allowed to speak to you perhaps I am presuming but I thought
I hoped And she could say no more. " Come in, madame,
come in," said the abbe kindly ; for he knew the timidity of trou-
ble, and his ready sympathy at once divined the sensitive pov-
erty of one who had seen better days. " I will show you the
way ; follow me." And he slowly mounted the dark staircase,
.and, entering his little salon, asked his visitor to be seated.
s " No, no, M. 1'Abbe," she said, with a strange animation ; " I
must only speak to you standing." " Madame, I beg you to sit
down," said the abbe, struck by the contrast between the ex-
treme poverty of this person's garb and her distinguished bear-
ing, between the humble attitude she chose to take and the re-
finement of her voice and speech. " No, M. TAbbe"," she re-
peated with respectful firmness, " thank you ; I would rather
not."

" Well, then," he rejoined good-naturedly, " we shall both
stand."

This was effectual. She at once sat down. " M. TAbbe*,"
she began, " I am alone in the world." " Alas ! madame,
and so am I." " I hear that you have lost the good Yvonne,
and I am come to ask " She hesitated. " Speak, madame,"
said the abbe in a tone of paternal encouragement. " If I can
do you any service " " I come to ask if I may take her place."
" You, madame ? " " Yes."

There was a tone of gentle decision in these words, a certain
cheerful resignation, which greatly struck the old priest. He
lelt that a kind Providence might have sent this good woman to
his door, and after a momentary prayer he said : " I do not
know your name, madame, nor anything respecting you ; but
something tells me that you are worthy of the highest regard,
and, although the position you ask for is evidently inferior in
every respect to your education and merit, I am prepared to ac-
cept your offer should you be able to satisfy a few inquiries I am
bound to make."

After a conversation of some length the abbe* gave the de-
sired answer. It was received with the warmest expressions of
gratitude. " And I, doubtless," he said, " shall have cause to thank
God for your coming. You will be my friend." " I shall be
your servant, monsieur." " My friend" repeated the old man.
" I feel that you have suffered much. I will pray for you, and
you will, I doubt not, be a comfort to me."

i882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 163

The stranger then raised her veil. " Marie ! " exclaimed the
priest, rising in astonishment. " T cannot be mistaken ? It is
twenty years since I saw you, but surely I know the face too
well. My poor child, what can have happened that Marie le
Tellenec de Rozancourt should ask to take the place of the
peasant girl Yvonne ? "

Leaving Marie to tell her own story to her aged friend, who
questioned her as to every detail, we will give it in a form more
consecutive as well as concise.

In the first place, we ought to mention that the family of Le
Tellenec, like that of Domarus, had lived near Pontivy. They
were formerly Comtes de la Tour-Quelven and of Guern, Bar-
ons of Malguenac and of Stival, lords of Fonfroid, Kergrist,
Coetlez, Locquyon, " et autres lieux" These last words are
regularly added in the deeds when there is nothing more to add,
as a precautionary measure.

During the Terror the Abbe Domarus and Marie's mother,
the Comtesse de Rozancourt, were arrested at Pontivy, dragged
to Vannes, thrown into a pestilent dungeon, and, lastly, tied to-
gether and given up tcrthe satellites of the atrocious Carrier, the
man of the noyades. It was what these monsters called " a repub-
lican wedding." In the night, at a given signal, the fatal trap was
opened and hundreds of victims thus at once precipitated into
the sea. Fortunately, the man who had been charged to bind
together the countess and the abbe was the son of a farmer who
had received great kindness from the Comtes de Rozancourt.
This man had a heart, and proved it by showing himself grate-
ful. He tied the ropes but slightly round the two and furtively
slipped a knife into the hand of the young priest. The Abbe
Domarus, on the first cracking of the boat's timbers, cut the
bonds encircling himself and his companion. The latter could
not swim, but he managed to keep her head above water and
made superhuman efforts to get her, in the darkness, safely to
land.

Every night when these horrible massacres were taking
place Breton fishermen plied about, under cover of the obscu-
rity, to pick up any chance victims they could snatch from
death. The Abbe Domarus and his nearly exhausted charge
were saved by one of these brave men and contrived to cross
to England. There the comtesse was soon after joined by her
husband, who had also effected his escape, and there they re-
mained until 1815. On returning to France the Comte de Ro-

164 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

zancourt was named prefect by Louis XVIII., and later on re-
ceived a share of the indemnity of the JmigrJs. His fortune,
though by no means on its former footing, was still considerable.
In 1825 he married his daughter to the Marquis de Kerlautrec,
a young officer of great promise, but having no fortune except
his heart and his sword.

The Abb6 Domarus kept up an occasional correspondence
with the two families, and in 1829 spent two months at the Cha-
teau de Malguenac, an old domain of the family, which the
Comte de Rozancourt had recovered.

Then burst forth the revolution of 1830, from which period
the misfortunes of Marie dated. Her husband broke his sword
rather than serve under the new king. Her father gave up his
political career and retired to Malguenac. Being of an active
disposition, he embarked largely in certain industrial enterprises
the success of which appeared assured. It was about this time
that the Abb6 Domarus came to live at Paris in the house he in-
herited from his father; his relations with the De Rozancourt
family became less frequent, and it was by chance that he learnt
some time afterwards that they were ruined, had sold Malgue-
nac and all they possessed in Brittany, and had disappeared. He
made repeated endeavors to learn what had become of them, but
in vain. It was not until this unlooked-for arrival of Marie that
he recovered the thread of her family history and founcl that
the Comte de Rozancourt had died of grief, his wife shortly
afterwards following him to the grave. The Marquis de Ker-
lautrec had been killed in a political duel, and his widow found
herself alone in the world, without support, without fortune, and
suffering all the more from her poverty on account of her name
doubly noble by birth and by alliance.

But the Marquise de Kerlautrec was a courageous as well as
a religious woman. She laid aside her title, went only by the
name of Widow Marie le Tellenec, and lived by her beautiful
needlework and embroidery, receiving for it miserably inade-
quate payment. Still, for fifteen years she patiently worked on
in her little garret-chamber in the Rue d'Argenteuil, earning at
the best of times sixty francs a month. An existence more pure
and resigned than hers, more laborious and pious, could not be.
In this crowded quarter the natural distinction of the pale and
stately but gentle ouvrtire had not failed to be remarked. She
was known to the poor among whom she lived by the name of
" La Madone"

Suddenly, at the age of forty-two, she was attacked by oph-

1 882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 165

thalmia, and- for more than two months was unable to work.
All her little savings disappeared, and Marie, too proud to ask
for help of man, suffered hunger in silence, and, instead of repin-
ing against the providence of God, went to lay her cares before
him in his sanctuary.

One morning a funeral Mass was going on in the Church
of St. Roch. " Happy is the good Christian who lies dead,"
thought Marie, scarcely able to kneel from exhaustion. A priest
passed by her with tears in his eyes. He was a fine old man,
somewhat bent with age, and his hair white as snow. Marie was
attracted by his face, which seemed familiar to her. A moment's
reflection told her it was the Abbe Domarus, who had saved her
mother's life. " And why," she thought, " should he not save
mine also ? " Doubtless it was God's doing that he should cross
her path in this sore time of need. She rose to follow him to
the sacristy, but her strength failed her and she fell unconscious
on the stone pavement of the church.

On reviving she found herself on her own poor couch in her
little attic, and the kindly neighbor who had had her carried
thither watching by her side. From this neighbor she learnt
that the funeral at St. Roch was that of Yvonne, the house-
keeper of the Abb6 Domarus, who lived facing the Clos Geor-
geau, not far from the Rue d'Argenteuil. From that moment
Marie had fixed her plans. Three days afterwards, when, thanks
to the care of her good neighbor, she had recovered a little
strength, she went to knock #t the door of the abb6. We have
seen how she was received.

The abbe's favorite sitting-room, which went by the name of
the chambre-salon, was almost the only part of the house which
still retained its eighteenth-century aspect, and it was to this
particularity, doubtless, that his preference was due. Here every
object was a memory speaking of the past ; the furniture, the
curtains, the almost colorless carpet except where its large
crimson pattern showed out in the shady corners into which the
sunshine never peered the pictures, the faded bouquets of arti-
ficial flowers, the stiff festoons, tied with meandering ribbons,
carved in the panels over the doors and chimney-piece, all be-
longed to another century. Of how many houses in Paris can
the same be said ? " It seems as if we were not satisfied with hav-
ing morally broken with our past, but we must also tear down
the ancient stones, the very sight of which would fill us with
remorse. Family life is passing away because there is no longer

1 66 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

the family home. We no more dwell, we encamp ; and the piety
of family tradition evaporates because memory has no longer
anything on which to fasten, anything in which to rest." *

There were four paintings in the abb6's salon : the portrait
of Master Germain Domarus in the costume of notary royal ;
that of his wife, Madeleine le Gaillard, of Pontivy ; a bunch of
wild flowers ; and, lastly, a Madonna, and it is of this only that I
am going to speak.

The figure of the Blessed Virgin was half the size of life.
Her robe was blue; her hair fell in waves of gold-gleaming brown
over her shoulders so lightly that it seemed as if a breath of
air would lift them ; the delicacy of color and expression in the
heavenly countenance, as well as the general grace of form, pos-
sessed a beauty and at the same time a majesty and serenity inde-
scribable. The hands held a cluster of fresh lilacs wonderful for
the magic of their tints. A soft ray of light fell on the counte-
nance, as if further to idealize its human beauty. Into this pic-
ture the artist had evidently thrown all his soul, all his faith, all
his genius. It went by the name of " La Vierge aux Lilas," but
by whom it was painted or whence it came no one knew. The
abbe had inherited it with the house, and prized it, firstly, be-
cause it represented the holy Mother of God, and, secondly, be-
cause it was a possession of his family. On its merit as a work
of art he bestowed no thought ; few people came to visit the old
priest, and among them no connoisseurs. The few who noticed
it at all usually awarded it the cold .and guarded tribute of half-
admiration which is thrown to art without a signature ; for it is a
golden rule with many to look at the ticket before they can
admire. " It is of the Florentine school," said one. " Rather
of that of Bologna," said another; a third inclined to Venice, a
fourth to Milan ; but no one could name with any approach to
certainty the artist or his school.

Marie le Tellenec, then, was installed under the roof of the
abbe. As may easily be supposed, she did much more than
merely replace the worthy Yvonne. To a willing heart and
skilful hands she added the delicate intuitions of a refined and
cultivated mind, and her gratitude lavished upon the aged
priest every thoughtful attention. He himself smilingly owned
that he had never been so well cared for in his life, or at least
-never since the death of his mother. Marie was like a daughter to
him, and he loved her as such, daily thanking Heaven for so great
a consolation in the last remaining years of his long career.

* M. Oscar de Poli, Hisfoires du Bon Vieux Temps.

1 882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 167

One day it was about three years after her arrival the
abbe sat thinking, as it was his habit, opposite the " Vierge aux
Lilas," and presently said to Marie : " My child, I am eighty-eight
years old to-day. It cannot be long before God will be pleased,
I trust, to call me to himself. You are still comparatively
young, and have, I hope, a long future of usefulness and happi-
ness before you. If, as you say, I first saved your mother's life
and then yours, I also may say that your pious mother saved
mine it was only for her sake that the knife which cut our
bonds was given me and you, her daughter, have saved, or at
least prolonged, it in my old age. I am not rich, but all I have
will be yours, and still I shall be your debtor." " Father," said
Marie, " do not talk of dying yet ! You have grown five years
younger since the day I first saw you at St. Roch. Besides, you
still have relatives," she added ; for her generous and delicate na-
ture shrank from accepting the heritage of the good priest as if
it were a mercenary recompense for a good action. " Rela-
tives ? " he answered. " May be ; but so distant that I have
never seen them." " No matter ; I should not wish to deprive
them of their lawful inheritance, if I have the misfortune to lose
you." " You would deprive nobody, my child ; my property
belongs to me, and this very day I am going to " " No, no,"
she said; "not to-day. Wait till to-morrow or some other
day."

And he would yield to her persistency for the moment, and
after a time renew the attack, with, however, the same result
the postponement of his visit to the notary. Daily the old man
and Marie knelt for their morning and evening prayers before
the picture of Our Blessed Lady.

" Marie," he said one day, as they rose from their knees,
" you have the name of the sweet Mother of our Lord. When
I am here no more to pray with you .do not part with this pic-
ture of the ' Vierge aux Lilas.' Do not give it up to any one ;
promise me you will not. Something tells me it will bring you
happiness." Marie gladly promised.

One afternoon not long afterwards the old man was plunged
in his easy- chair, as usual, facing the picture, and Marie sewing
by him. Suddenly he turned pale as marble, stretched out his
arms towards Our Lady ; then they fell helpless by his side, his
venerable head bowed on his chest the Abbe" Domarus was
dead.

Marie, scarcely knowing what she did, flew for the nearest
doctor. He came, but could only affirm that the abbe" was out

1 68 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

of reach of succor. The poor woman felt as if stunned and be-
wildered by the suddenness f the blow. Again she was alone
in the world alone and without resources.

Distant relatives, at least in France, form a category apart a
sort of caste by no means always exhibiting pleasing character-
istics in cases of succession. And there is no inheritance with-
out its claimants. Those of the Abbe Domarus were seven in
number: four second cousins once removed and three third
cousins namely, MM. Justin Lecamus, proprietor; Nicolas Ta-
mon, who called himself negotiant en bonneterie (otherwise " mus-
lin-cap merchant"); Antoine Picard, solicitor; and Alfred Lefur,
a notary at Versailles. It is plain that Marie had a strong party
to deal with.

The women were more eager than the men after the game.
Ill-natured people pretend that this is the rule, but then the
ill-natured people who say so are the men. The female trio,
who bore no resemblance to the Three Graces, were the Widow
Dubuisson, ne'e Lecamus ; the Widow Soufflot, ne'e Lefur ; and
Melanie Tamon, a grasping and niggardly spinster.

All these people one fine day suddenly invaded the house
in the Rue de la Fontaine-Moliere, the shrill voices of the females
screaming, laughing, and criticising, and all seven busily rum-
maging the cupboards and drawers. Marie, who had received
them with tranquil politeness, felt amazed and wounded at their
remarks and heartless jesting. " Who is this woman ? " asked
Widow Dubuisson. " The famous housekeeper, no doubt," an-
swered Mile. Melanie, shrugging her scraggy shoulders. " His
housekeeper?" "That is what cures call their bonnes, you
know ; she was in fact his servant." " And what is she doing
here now?" " Keeping the house; that is her trade, don't you
see?" "But, now I think of it, she has been alone here six
days ! " " Eight, if you please ! " " Suppose she has carried off
anything?" "You make me tremble !" " We must see to the
silver! "

If only the two hags would have lowered, their voices ! But
they shrieked by nature ; besides, what did they care ? Marie
de Rozancourt, Marquise de Kerlautrec, did not lose a word of
their colloquy, but her grief was too great to leave room for in-
dignation. She stood, pale and calm, by the chimney-piece,
drinking in silence this cup of humiliation.

" He was old, le bonhomme ! " observed the muslin-cap mer-
chant in his turn. " Nearly ninety ma foi ! " " But he was

1 882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 169

younger than his furniture : this easy-chair must have belonged
to his great-grandfather." " Yes ; it's a lossiifaitttutf" " Don't
laugh ! It's no laughing matter to come in for worm-eaten,
moth-eaten bric-a-brac." "And family portraits." "Oh! I am
willing to put on mourning for them." " As far as I am concern-
ed they may follow their master underground. A notary of old
times ; but that will do for you, Alfred." " And the old lady ah !
the notaress ; that for my wife." " And a Virgin see, Tamon, it's
not bad." " Pooh ! only fit for a cure." "But what is it worth?
What might it fetch, think you ? " " Well, I saw one sold at Ver-
sailles for ten francs which was worth a dozen of this tarne thing.
The colors were twice as bright just laid on." " Decidedly, the
house has nothing in it ! " " Well, a house is always a house."
" And is it certain that the old man left no will ? " " As certain
as that we seven are his sole heirs." " But what did he do about
this woman here ? " " Nothing." " Strange ! " " Bah ! These
old folks go on living till they think there is never to be an end
of them." " But what are we to do with her ? " " What ! the
servant ? Give her her eight days and let her go where she
will."

Marie felt the color rush to her cheeks. " I could have in-
herited this house," she said with dignity, "and all it contains.
M. 1'Abbe Domarus wished it, and I refused." " Easy to say
this now," sneered old M61anie, " but it is only to get something
out of us." " Let us see, now," said the cap-merchant. " What
is it you want?" "I only ask one thing, messieurs." "Ah!
ah ! I knew there was something. Well ? " " That I may have
a souvenir of the venerable priest who was my friend." " She is
going to ask for the silver; see if she doesn't !" muttered Me-
lanie. " I ask for one of these pictures." Marie was trembling
with anxiety. " Come, come, she is not so clever as I fancied,"
whispered the spinster, much relieved. " Take the four, as far
as I care," said the man of muslin. " I only desire this portrait
of the Blessed Virgin." " Oh ! well, I care for that the least of
all take it and welcome." " But not the others," croaked Me-
lanie ; " the notary and his wife will do very well in my salon."
" By all means," said the chorus.

Meanwhile Marie took down her beloved Madonna from the
wall, made a bundle of her clothes before the eyes of the three
females, threw a shawl over her shoulders, thanked the seven
heirs for their generosity, and left the house of the Abbe Doma-
rus, carrying with her the " Vierge aux Lilas." Her tears fell fast
as she walked along the street, but they relieved her heavy heart.

170 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

The sacred burden she carried in her arms gave her a feeling of
companionship ; the sweet, grave face seemed to look at her with
maternal love -and sympathy, and a feeling of hope, undefined
but real, arose within her. " Yes," she said to herself, " I pro-
mised the good abb6, and I will keep my promise all my life.
Dear, holy Virgin, I will never part with you ! "

One of the noblest mansions in the Rue Lafitte belongs to M.
Gerard du Prat de Marquemont, Marquis de la Rochegery. At
the age of twenty he had entered the body-guard of Charles X. in
the company of Gramont. He had but a moderate fortune at that
time, but his uncle, Lieutenant- General Comte de Chasteniers,
died of grief two months after the revolution of 1830, and the
Marquis de la Rochegery, being his sole legatee, inherited at the
age of thirty a fortune equal to fifty thousand francs a year. The
royal body-guard had ceased to exist. The new government
had none of the sympathy of the marquis, who kept aloof alike
from diplomacy or the administration. Chivalrous and refined,
however, he occupied his time in intellectual pursuits and in the
indulgence of a devoted love of art. Painting had for him an
especial attraction, and his princely galleries were enriched with
the finest works he could obtain, both of ancient and modern
masters. He lived almost the life of a hermit among his pictures
and books, sometimes at the Chateau de Chasteniers, sometimes
in his h6tel of the Rue Lafitte, and was known as the best ama-
teur in Paris. More than this, his delicate benevolence took de-
light in seeking out and succoring needy artists. Poverty and
merit were certain to meet with his sympathy and assistance ;
nor, indeed, was merit an indispensable quality where he saw
a struggle with real adversity. Many an inferior picture but
never of an unworthy subject was bought for four times its
value and stowed away in some attic, out of sight of anything but
the spiders who might kindly spin their webs over faulty outline,
inharmonious coloring, and all the sins that ignorance is heir to.

In the gallery of the marquis every great southern master
was represented except one, and for this one he had a particular
admiration ; it was Correggio. He knew by heart every record-
ed incident in the life of this great but unfortunate genius, and
could have written his biography from memory. He could tell
you all the works he had painted, the prices paid for them, who
were their possessors, or where they were to be seen ; in fact, he
had a sort of cultus for Correggio a cultus which, being to the
comparative detriment of artists equally great, might possibly be

i882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 171

explained by the value we are apt to set on the unattainable.
" Nous desirons toujours ce que nous n'avons pas." In spite of
persistent researches and splendid offers he had been unable to
acquire a single little painting by his favorite master, and was in
perpetual mourning for hopes destroyed as soon as they were
born. He diligently studied an obscure little book called Storia
del Pittori di Parma e di Modena, con quella delle loro Opere, by one
Gregorio Berucci. Here he found in detail the history of every
painting by Correggio, and traced each to its present home,
whether Dresden, Paris, London, Parma, Florence, Naples,
Rome, Madrid all except one, of which Gregorio said : " It is
generally supposed that this was destroyed at Parma in 1645
when the convent of Santa Maria was burnt." " But," thought
the marquis, " suppose that it was not destroyed? "

Like all people who change a desire into a fixed idea, the
noble amateur ended by the conviction that the lost picture
named by Berucci still existed and that it was possible to re-
cover it. " What a triumph it will be," he often said to himself,
" when I have found my Correggio ! " And so firm was his con-
viction that he should find it that in his gallery an empty space
was left, over which one might read the words, " Antonio Alle-
gri, called Correggio." This space had waited empty for
twenty years.

One morning M. de la Rochegery came out of his house in
the Rue Lafitte, gained the boulevard, and was walking up the

Rue Richelieu towards the house of the late Comte de P ,

whose heirs were disposing of his gallery. When he had passed
the Fontaine-Moliere he observed about fifty paces before him a
woman, humbly dressed, carrying a painting. A painting ! The
marquis, at once attracted as the needle to the magnet, quicken-
ed his steps to see what might be the subject it represented.
The poor woman was walking slowly, carrying the heavy picture
in such a manner that it could easily be studied by any one walk-
ing behind her. The marquis was following her closely. Sud-
denly his eyes opened to double their usual width. In feverish
haste he snatched a well-worn little book from his pocket, read
and re-read it, gazing in turn at the picture and the page, as if
corroborating some description. " The same the very same !
I have found it ! Found it ! " he shouted in the excess of his
joy. " Stop ! madame, stop ! For pity's sake stop ! "

Marie le Tellenec looked round. He did not see her pale
and tearful face ; he saw nothing but the " Vierge aux Lilas." In

172 OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. [Nov.,

his ecstasy he was ready to kneel before her in the street.
" Madame, to whom does this picture this marvel, this treasure
belong ? " he asked. " To me, monsieur." " To you to you
alone?" "Tome alone, monsieur." "Tell me, I entreat you,
from whom you had it." " From my friend the Abbe Doma-
rus." " And he he had it from ?" "His father." "Let us
go and see them. Come, kindly take me to them." " Monsieur,
the Abb6 Domarus, who was nearly ninety, was buried a week
ago." " Well, then, madame, come with me to my house, I sup-
plicate you. I am the Marquis de la Rochegery. Only come
and I shall be grateful to you for the rest of my life."

Marie comprehended nothing of what appeared to her a state
of delirium; but there was something in the countenance of the
marquis that inspired her with confidence, and she assented
without hesitation. " Give it into my hands, madame ; let me
have the honor of carrying it ! " And he took it reverently. It
was a curious spectacle for the passers-by to see this elderly
nobleman carrying the painting with outstretched arms before
him, smiling at it and otherwise expressing his joy in involun-
tary exclamations. Happiness gave him strength ; he felt no
fatigue as he hurried on, while Marie accompanied him in silence
until they reached his house in the Rue Lafitte.

" Be so kind, madame, as to come in ; I wish to speak to you
to propose come in!" He took her at once to his gallery,
hastened to the empty space we know of, hung up in it the
" Vierge aux Lilas," and withdrew a few steps to admire it more
at his ease. Then, taking up the little work of Gregorio Berucci,
he read aloud :

" One of the finest chefs-d'ceuvre of Antonio Allegri, surnamed the Cor-
reggio from his birthplace, was undeniably the Madonna he painted at
Parma in 1530 for the convent of Santa Maria. The Virgin was half the
size of life, with long brown hair whose golden gleaming seemed to play in
the breath of zephyrs. No painter had ever succeeded in giving to the
countenance of the Mother of Christ a so sweet and benignant expression.
Allegri had thrown on the canvas one of those wonderful effects of light
of which he possessed the secret. The form of Our Blessed Lady belonged
to all that is loveliest in terrestrial beauty, but the head belonged visibly
to heaven. It was neither a memory nor a copy, unless the painter had in
his dreams been transported into celestial spheres, and had there contem-
plated Mary in all her purity and glory. By a graceful arrangement which
brought out the ideal delicacy of the visage Allegri had placed in the Vir-
gin's hands a bunch of lilacs of charming brilliancy. Unfortunately this
work of the great painter has disappeared. It is believed that it was burnt
when in 1643 the convent of Santa Maria at Parma was on fire. The pic-
ture was called ' Our Lady of the Lilacs.' "

1 882.] OUR LADY OF THE LILACS. 173

" La Vierge aux Lilas ! " exclaimed Marie le Tellenec.
" This, too, was what my dear Abb6 Domarus always called it.
What ! M. le Marquis, is it, then, the work of Correggio ? "
" Most assuredly, madame ! You see it for yourself. O hap-
py day, long looked for, come at last!" After a pause he
added : " Madame, you must let me have this chef-d'ceuvre"
" Never, M. le Marquis. I made a solemn promise to the dead
that I would never part with it as long as I live." " You do not
seem to be very opulent, dear madame," he said kindly. " I
have been rich, monsieur ; I am so no longer, but I make more
account of a promise than of a fortune." " But who are you,
then, madame, if I may ask ? " said M. de la Rochegery, struck
by his visitor's dignity. " I was housekeeper to the Abb6 Do-
marus. My name is Marie le Tellenec. I am at this time
homeless, but for no amount of money would I give up this pic-
ture." "Not fora hundred thousand francs?" "No; I have
said my last word." " A hundred thousand crowns ? " " After
what I have had the honor to say to you, M. le Marquis, it is
useless for you to insist." " Well, then," said the marquis, ob-
stinately clinging to the conquest he thought he had made, but
found he had not, " be it so. Do not give it but lend it me.
Make this house your home ; live here always ; have all you can
wish for, only do not tear this treasure from the place which has
been waiting for it these twenty years. You accept, do you
not?"

" You are noble, M. le Marquis, and you are rich. Who has
told you that Marie le Tellenec is not the mask of a name as
noble as your own ? Who has told you that your last offer is
not the most wounding offer that could be made to me ? I am
inured to labor, but I could not eat bread that was given." " I
implore your pardon, madame ; but, once more, may I not know
to whom I have the honor of speaking ? " " Marie le Tellenec
de Rozancourt, Marquise de Kerlautrec." " Madame ! The
widow of Christian de Kerlautrec, my companion-in-arms in
1829?" "Yes." "If I might I would beg you to tell me by
what series of misfortunes a daughter of your noble house has
come to to " " To poverty, M. le Marquis. Poverty like
mine may be painful, but it is no dishonor, no reproach. Will-
ingly I will tell you all that you desire to know."

The marquis was deeply and doubly interested. His kind
heart was already busy with a double hope. The conversation
lasted long. Fresh mutual interests arose as they talked ; each
felt for the other a genuine sympathy and admiration. At last

174 THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. [Nov.

Marie rose to go, uncertain whither. " Madame la Marquise,"
said M. de la Rochegery, " I have been asking you many ques-
tions, none of them without importance to me ; I am going to
ask you now the most important question of all. I ask you
for " " Not for the picture ? " " For a still greater treasure
for yourself. Will you be my wife?"

" Well, then, my friend," said Henri de Pontmolain, " Marie
de Rozancourt de Kerlautrec, the needlewoman, housekeeper,
owner of the Virgin of Correggio, and Marquise de la Roche-
gery, is none other than this noble lady whom we have just seen
pick up the poor old beggar-woman in her carriage."

Yes ; the Abbe Domarus prophesied truly : " Our Lady of
the Lilacs " did indeed " bring happiness " to her who was the
stay of his last years.

THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN.

DURING the past few years a body of religious enthusiasts has
sprung into existence in Great Britain which, while it presents
many remarkable features, has attracted much attention and has
met with undoubted success. The community which we are
about to discuss rejoices in the appellation of the " Salvation
Army," and has regular barracks and stations throughout the
country. It edits a weekly paper, entitled the War-Cry, which
has a large circulation and appears to be very extensively read
by the lower, middle, and artisan classes. It numbers among its
ranks members of all classes of society, from the highest to the
lowest, including both sexes, and has been patronized by minis-
ters of the Established Church in England, as well as by the cler-
gy of various dissenting sects. The plan of operation appears to
be marching in formal procession through the streets of towns
and villages on days when large crowds are expected to be pre-
sent, and by means of singing hymns whilst on the march to at-
tract individuals to headquarters, in order to induce them to at-
tend the somewhat sensational services that are daily held. Off-
shoots of the Army have been sent as far as France, and it is
somewhat amusing, in such a city of worldliness and dissipation
as Paris, to read the following account from an enthusiastic sup-
porter of the cause :

i882.] THE " SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. 175

" I have," says the writer, " had the pleasure to visit with my mother
the Salvation Army in Paris, Rue d'Angouleme. We attended a meeting
which did us much good. What courage! What faith ! What ardor! We
had never heard the Gospel announced in a manner so simple, so touching,
with so much warmth and so much joy, with a something difficult to ex-
press. Yes, in spite of all that people have said and will say, the Salva-
tion Army will do good. This is incontestable, and that it will do a great
deal we have satisfied ourselves. It is impossible for me to express to
you all that I experienced in that meeting. Ah ! what is needed is for all
Christians to have this self-abnegation and to be animated by as ardent
a desire to save souls. I am convinced that if all the French Protestants
were as much alive [as this Army] in five years France would be believ-
ing-"

Ireland, as might be expected, is- not so successful a recruit-
ing-ground as Scotland or England. The North was alone feasi-
ble, but even there the attempt to establish branches resulted in
rioting and disorder. The town of Enniskillen, celebrated in
bygone days for its strongly Protestant and Orange spirit, has
been the scene of many extraordinary attacks on those who have
publicly patronized and aided the efforts of the Salvation Army.
Belfast may be considered the principal stronghold, but Lurgan,
Derry, and Antrim have all strong contingents.

Scotland, the birthplace of countless sects, naturally embraces
adherents of the Salvation Army. Captain Clark writes from
Glasgow that the " holiness " meetings are well attended, and
graphically describes the opening attack of the Army in one of
the poorer districts of the town, where "the enemy i.e., the un-
converted returned the fire with stones, potatoes, and other
missiles." The police had to be called in there, as in other
places ; and if the Army is to continue to make progress it is
probable the work of the police throughout the whole country
will be considerably increased, for its advent in many districts is
the immediate signal for disturbance. The following items are
taken from the War- Cry and show the peculiar phraseology and
tactics of these peculiar people :

"Aberdeen (Captain Wilson). The past week has been a blessed time.
On Wednesday night three big men made an attack on our colors, but un-
successfully. Inside one man came out for salvation. After he got off his
knees he said : ' I want to invite you all to Jesus, but I must take off my
coat.' And he pleaded with the people in his shirt-sleeves. While thus
exhorting the audience eleven came forward to the penitent form.

" Govan (Captain Emmerson). We are still toiling on and gaining vic-
tories over sin and Satan. Big sinners are being brought low at the feet
of Jesus, and others, deeply convicted, are standing silently looking on, as if
meditating a plunge into the crimson tide. On New Year's eve we expect

176 THE " SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. [Nov.,

some extraordinary doings. On that night we are to be presented with
our colors, a report of which shall be sent on.

" Kilsyth (Captain Birkenshaw). We had a grand open-air on Thurs-
day ; thirty in the ranks. On Saturday we had a crowning time. In the
market-place we had a glorious 'go '; fifty on the march. We met Cap-
tain Birkenshaw and Lieutenant Wallace at the train and gave them
one of our ' Blood and Fire ' salutes. Splendid meeting in our barracks.
More grand news to follow.

" Partick (Captain G. Deakin). Since this station has been opened up-
wards of five hundred have professed salvation. Very few nights have
passed over but what some have come out to the penitent form. Partick is
noted for being a rough shop, and so we have found. But God has been
with us all along, and we are still rolling the old chariot along."

The following extraordinary paragraph we take from the
same paper :

" Penzance. Fifteen pounds, nearly fifty souls. On Sunday the unction
of the Holy One fell on us all day, and many daggers of conviction went
home from every meeting. Joseph Henry Foster was laid on the altar in the
afternoon amid tears and prayers. The influence will never be forgotten
by many of the people present. Mr. Foster gave one pound as a thank-
offering, and we all prayed. . . . We had a melting meeting in the afternoon
shrieks for mercy, shouts of praise, and lots of people in the fountain. A
similar meeting at night which nobody could describe husbands and wives,
parents and children, hugging each other and rejoicing in full salvation.
Well done, Penzance ! Tell it in Cornwall, tell it in every station, tell it to-
every reader, tell it in England, Wales, and Scotland, tell it across the seas.
'The liberal soul shall be made fat ; and he that watereth shall be watered
also himself ' " (Proverbs xi. 25).

The ceremony of laying a full-grown man upon an altar is
certainly sufficiently novel to attract a large congregation,
though it is just possible the language used is simply figurative
and means nothing ; for we were always of opinion that one of
the few things upon which all Protestants were agreed was that
there was no altar and no sacrifice under the Christian dispensa-
tion. Presuming, however, that the adherents of the Salvation
Army are possessed of altars and make use of them for such
peculiar purposes, we are still at a loss to see what lesson is to
be derived from a ceremony which might have been supposed
to be handed down from paganism.

Nor do we understand the following :

" The Altar Scene. A poor man in the centre of the chapel was up
almost at once ; then another and another, till scores, if not hundreds,
were on their feet. There could be no doubt about the depth of feeling
expressed in their singing, and when the meeting was closed we felt a great
deal had been done."

1 882.] THE " SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. 177

Why such a scene, which is of ordinary occurrence in many
revival places of worship, should be designated as an altar scene
we are at a loss to conceive, unless, unlike the evangelical sec-
tion of the Anglican Church, an altar is a recognized piece of
ecclesiastical furniture in the conventicles of the Salvation Army,
and unless there are some notions of a sacrifice and of a priest-
hood extant amongst them.

Disturbances of a somewhat serious character are of frequent
occurrence, and Sheffield was not long ago the scene of a dis-
graceful riot. The authorities had decided on holding a grand
special council in the Albert Hall, Sheffield. For this pur-
pose they selected a Sunday, and appointed General .Booth
(the commander of the Salvationists) and his wife to address
the audience. The result was most disastrous and proves the
danger of allowing excitable religious enthusiasts to propagate
their tenets among unsympathetic mobs in the public streets.
The procession through the town, which was composed of three
carriages containing the officers of the Army, was headed by
a brass band. In the procession was Lieutenant Emerson Davi-
son, a converted Northumbrian wrestler, who had carried the
principal banner at the Stephenson centenary at Newcastle. On
that occasion he was presented with a scarlet uniform, in which
he now attired himself. He was mounted on a gray horse and
rode just before the general's carriage. Stones and mud were
freely thrown at the officials of the Army, both female and male,
and the local papers say they had a fearful time of it. The
crowd around them numbered some four thousand, who amus-
ed themselves by howling, jeering, and spitting on them an
amusement which they occasionally varied by pelting them with
stones and mud. The standard-bearers were attacked by the
mob and dragged about by the hair of their heads, and their ban-
ners were taken from them. The converted wrestler was vio-
lently struck on the back of the head by a stick, which caused
concussion of the brain, and many persons were seriously wound-
ed. The pluck and determination of the members of this sect is
very remarkable, for we find that, in spite of all these manifesta-
tions of a hostile spirit, they would not succumb, but finished their
march through the town and held their council, which was also
supplemented by a meeting in. the evening that was pronounced
by the papers a great success. Most of the leading journals
had articles on the episode, and expressed themselves to the ef-
fect that, no matter what might be thought of the Salvation
Army and their proceedings, nothing could excuse the gross
VOL. xxxvi. 12

178 THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. [Nov.,

outrages to which they were subjected. At the same time that
one and all denounced their literature as detestable and their
public displays as ridiculous and objectionable in the highest de-
gree, they held it intolerable that any one should be exposed to
attacks by mobs of street-ruffians.

The feeling against the Salvation Army appears to be strong-
er amongst Anglican churchmen than among dissenters. We
may account for this by the fact that the majority of Anglicans
are more or less tinged with Puseyism ; but it is curious to ob-
serve the conduct of the Wesleyans, who might almost be con-
sidered to be the prototype of the Salvation Army, and who yet
hold aloof. It is, indeed, possible that England may be about to
witness a repetition of the scenes of last century when John Wes-
ley and Whitefield traversed the country, preaching and teach-
ing the masses at meetings held in the open air. Then, as now,
the majority of Anglican dignitaries held aloof, and Wesley, as is
well known, was inhibited by the bishops of that day and prac-
tically driven into schism. The similarity between the early ca-
reer of the followers of John Wesley and those of General Booth
is somewhat remarkable. Then, as now, the Anglican Church as
a whole looked coldly on, shutting its pulpit doors and sneering
at the people it was pleased to call Methodists, Monasticists,
Men of the Rule, etc., who stood up in its midst in such wild
raptures proclaiming their fellowship with God. Then, as now,
hundreds of the laboring classes were addressed from the streets
and alleys of large cities and from fields and hedgerows in country
districts. Then, as now, the bishops were not inclined to favor
men who were ready at a moment's notice to convert them or
deal faithfully with their souls. Preaching in the open air has
been but little practised since the Catholic times of old when
barefooted friars traversed the country, and when Wesley first
started it it was considered a great and objectionable novelty.
-Decorum forbade any service outside the walls of a consecrated
building. After the death of Wesley the custom again died
out until revived formally by the Salvation Army.

The description given by Wesley of one of his open-air ser-
vices is interesting :

"The trees and hedges were full," he says; "all was hushed when I be-
gan. Sometimes as many as twenty thousand collected around the little
hill ; at times a thrill of emotion ran through the crowd. They wept aloud
together over their sins ; they sang together with that wonderful voice of
a multitude which has something in it more impressive than any music.
The sun fell aslant over the sea of heads ; the solemnity of approaching
^evening stole over the strange scene."

1 882.] THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. 179

We find in histories of that time that then, as now, as soon
as Wesley began to preach a great outbreak of the strange phe-
nomena which generally attend the beginning of every great
religious movement took place. People were seized upon, whilst
listening to his preaching, by paroxysms of nervous emotion
often reaching the length of positive convulsion fits. They cried
out and shouted as if in the agonies of death. They fell on their
faces on the ground ; they poured forth sometimes wild blas-
phemies, sometimes wild confessions of sin. They roared for the
very disquietness of their heart ; and Mrs. Oliphant, in her life
of Wesley, states that with the wonder, half-consternation and
half-belief, of youth she witnesesd a band of devout Methodists
kneeling round a groaning, prostrate figure, adjuring God, by
every kind of wild argument, to save the sinner now. " Now,
Lord ! " shouted these grandchildren of the disciples of Wesley,
with an excitement of eagerness which no doubt was chiefly tra-
ditionary an inheritance from the period when Wesley and his
brethren threw themselves on their knees around the convulsion-
ist just struck down among them and ceased not calling upon
God till he raised him up full of peace and joy in the Holy
Ghost.

Exactly the same things happen now. The preachings of
the leaders of the Salvation Army, like those of the early follow-
ers of John Wesley, are made the occasion of wild and wonderful
scenes, exhibitions of the most strange and indecorous emotion.
A great contrast between the movements may, however, be found
in their constitution. The strong personal influence of Wesley,
so marked in the movement of the last century, appears wanting
in this ; for General Booth is no autocrat, whilst we read of
Wesley that his rule was more absolute than that of any pope.
Protestant critics express the utmost astonishment that Wesley,
himself a man not endowed with that overflowing human sym-
pathy which attaches all who come within its sphere a man, on
the contrary, not over-warm in his affections, but imperious
in character and full of natural arrogance and severity should
have placed himself at the head of so extraordinary a hierarchy
as that established by him, and declare that had such a rule of
Methodism been enforced by any government, lay or eccle-
siastical, it would have roused the whole energy of human
nature in a struggle against the intolerable tyranny. Yet we
know as a fact that thousands of people submitted to it joyfully
at the mere will of Wesley and his ecclesiastics, and we hardly
know of any more extraordinary fact in the history of religion.

i8o THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. [Nov.,

Thousands of people in the same manner now submit to the
authority of the Salvation Army, and expose themselves to the
vilest abuse and cowardly attacks of mobs in order to induce
others to join them. Crazy enthusiasts both may be, but en-
thusiasts who are filled with laudable zeal for the salvation of
souls. It is somewhat difficult to ascertain what are the exact
tenets of the Salvation Army, for hitherto they have shown
themselves willing to coalesce with all religious parties, regard-
less of dogma or doctrine. Their aim would seem to be to
awake the masses to a sense of their sins, to make religion a fact
too visible to be denied, and to change the spiritual complexion of
the age. Were its leaders sons of the church they would be
utilized and might take their places with the founders of vast
communities ; but Protestantism is never able to make use of such
exuberance of devotion. The Anglican Church loves the ortho-
dox and has a genuine horror of anything she considers irregular.
Such has always been her characteristic a characteristic more
strongly marked in the time of Wesley than now, when ritual-
ism has made such inroads in her practices and worship, but a
characteristic that still exists and will probably exist as long as
the Anglican communion itself; for it is the prevailing character-
istic of Anglicanism not only in England, where it had its origin,
but in the United States and in the colonies. Protestant dissent
likewise, though far more elastic than Anglicanism, is unable to
utilize to their full extent such persons as Wesley, because the
principles on which these persons act are in reality not the prin-
ciples of Protestantism but of Catholicism. Were the adherents
of the Salvation Army sons of the Church they would doubtless be
used as a special preaching order, and their sermons would carry
conviction to the masses without producing any of those scenes
that may be described as half-painful and half-profane. Whether
or not the present race of Anglican prelates are wiser in their
generation than those in the last century we know not, but it is
significant to note that a dignitary of such standing as the arch-
deacon of Northumberland not only inyited the co-operation of
the Army at Stockbridge a town near Newcastle but with his
curates headed a procession through the streets the rear of which
was brought up by the soldiers of the Army. Addresses were
delivered by the archdeacon and others, and the matter is thus
referred to by the organ of the Army, the War-Cry:

" We certainly think that the church and its high officials have taken
their true position by showing how willing and how capable it is of utiliz-
ing all agencies that are attempting true religious'work."

i882.] THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. 181

The High-Church press, as may be supposed, was extremely in-
dignant and denounced the archdeacon in strong terms; but the
bishop of the diocese apparently believed the maxim that " si-
lence was golden," for he refused to interfere, and in any case
it may fairly be presumed that the archdeacon would not have
acted contrary to the wishes of his diocesan. The celebrated
ritualistic monk, the Rev. E. Lyne, who goes by the name of Fa-
ther Ignatius, and who founded some years ago a quasi-Benedic-
tine monastery in Wales, of which he himself, though only in dea-
con's orders of the Anglican Church (and inhibited by most
of the bishops), is abbot and superior, in the course of a sermon
lately preached in Birmingham alluded, however, to the Salva-
tion Army as " a body of men who believed what they talked
about," and proceeded to use the following words :

"They have taken Christ at his word : they have a mighty love of souls
and would go through fire and water to win one. Therefore," he said,

' God speed the Salvation Army ! Let us have such men as Wesley, Gen-
eral Booth, St. Francis Xavier, St. Francis of Assisi, and then the Gospel
will be a different thing from the cut-and-dried, fashionable, worldly formal-

ty which it too often is in our midst."

Such language from the mouth of an advanced ritualist like
Father Ignatius is significant and shows the strong feeling that
exists in men's minds as to the necessity of doing something to
counteract. the worldliness and indifference of the day.

The Salvation Army act on the belief that Christianity is dy-
ng surfeited with ease. They say that once it was the Gospel
of the poor and of the outcasts, but that now it is the property
of the well-to-do and the respectable ; that with danger to face it
grew strong, but that with luxury around it has become enervat-
ed. They hold that its true precepts are radical, Protestant, and
uncompromising, but that as it is it is sadly changed. With the
old words staring it in the face, the teachings of to-day manage
to be their opposites in spirit. There is doubtless much to be
said on this side of the question. The Established Church of
England, which may be considered the representative of Chris-
tianity in England, is certainly more the church of the wealthy
than of the poor, and the adherents of the Salvation Army are
presumably too prejudiced against, or too ignorant of, the Catho-
lic faith to know that it stands out pre-eminently in every coun-
try and in every clime in a contrary aspect. But, educated as
they have been in a land where the light of the true faith has
been for centuries falsely represented, and where even now in

1 82 THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. [Nov.,

many places it carries on only a fitful existence under great dif-
ficulties and hardships, we cannot be surprised that their notions
of a " church " are derived from that one which is called " Estab-
lished," and which enjoys the exclusive possession of the good
things of this world. This church appears to them, as to so
many others who dissent from her, as one who strives to crush
her children's vigor to deadness and dryness like her own ; as one
who does not and cannot admonish, having no burning words at
hand, but as one who gives up the sincerest and most coura-
geous members of her flock to the judgment of her most unspirit-
ual children, and whose lawyers decide, as far as they can, who
are and who are not Christians.

The Salvation Army hold that conformity is the death of
Christianity, that the smooth customs of the world, little by lit-
tle, assimilate to themselves the ideal of the individual who
lives in them. They assert that the true Christian is always a
nonconformist in the strongest sense of the word, for he bows no
knee to the prince of the power of the world ; that a new coming-
out of nonconformists and Protestants is constantly needed to
replace those who fail or fall away, or are seduced by the false
dream of the world, or who die themselves, or who let the tradi-
tion of warfare grow indistinct. They insist that it is infinitely
more easy and agreeable to conform to custom than to follow
the star of conscience ; that the one road is wide, easy, and well
trodden, whilst the other leads among thorns and steep hills ;
while those who are not with the pilgrim are against him very
bitterly so and very many in number, whilst he is but one.
Christianity, they teach, was undoubtedly in its origin the most
masculine (if we may use such an expression) of all forms of re-
ligion, but that now it is the most effeminate. Once, they say, it
bowed only to the Almighty Father and feared nothing in the
world, neither hunger, persecution, nor disgrace. It armed itself
in its faith and went on gladly to war and death. Persecution
was then real and terrible. Now all is changed, and Christianity,
in the eyes of too many persons (alas ! even Catholics must un-
happily be included in the number), is Christianity if it occupies
a soft pew-cushion with respectable regularity one day in the
week. Women, they think, make better Christians of this kind
than men and are more plentiful in the churches. The picture
they draw of too many places of worship in the present day is se-
vere, but unhappily true a number of people, richly dressed,
who yawn decorously for a few hours seated on benches that are
sheltered from all storm, and then go home imagining they have

1 882.] THE " SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. i8j

partaken in a Christian service; and yet these people are the so-
called followers of Christ, who have contented themselves with
the letter and not the spirit of the teaching of Christ. When
such Christianity is so widely prevalent can we wonder at the
birth of sects like the Salvation Army, who, wearied and disgust-
ed with the coldness, unbelief, and apathy around them, seek to
inaugurate a system more resembling the original ?

The argument made use of by the agents of the Army when
defending themselves against the attacks of members of the na-
tional church is similar to that made use of by other dissenting
communities, and one in which there is a great amount of truth
viz., that the vow to renounce the world in the baptismal service
is essentially absurd, for the Church of England is emphatically
the world, being the creation of the* state. The government of the
world rules the church, appoints her bishops, deans, and clergy,
and the prayers are those ordered to be prayed by the parlia-
ment of the world. Therefore if the young person is true to his
confirmation vow to renounce the world he must of necessity
there and then leave the world's church. A few of the High-
Church party who believe Anglicanism to be a divine institution
are scandalized by such sentiments, but the majority of impartial
outsiders recognize their truth and believe, with a late lord
chancellor, that the Church of England is a human institution,,
the creation of the state, and under its support and government.
Professor Bonamy Price, of Oxford, and other eminent econo-
mists hold this view. The Salvation Army practically agree
with the Catholics that Christ is the head of the Church of God,
but the queen that of the Anglican. Both assert that Christ is
the dispenser of gifts of the ministry, according to Holy Scrip,
ture (Ephesians iv.), and both believe that man is their dispenser
in the Anglican body. The Church of God and the Church of
England have really nothing in common ; and though we may
consider the adherents of the Salvation Army as more logical
than Anglicans, we feel that they and all religious denomina-
tions outside the pale of the church are in a hopeless condition.
The people of England, who succumbed to the voice of Henry
VIII., Luther, and Calvin in the sixteenth century and abjured
the ancient faith, have during the past three hundred years
agreed so well together that in this latter part of the nineteenth
century the country is flooded (like other Protestant countries)
with hundreds of discordant sects cordially hating and devour-
ing one another, linked together by the one single bond of ha-
tred to Rome. The remedy suggested by those who look on at

184 THE "SALVATION ARMY" IN GREAT BRITAIN. [Nov.,

the strife without participating in it is abnegation of all religion
i.e., open unbelief. This, they hold, is the sole method of allaying
the ceaseless animosities bred in their midst. Outlandish, how-
ever, and peculiar as are the tenets and practices of this latest
sect, it is possible some good may be effected by it in a nation
so eaten with materialism and indifference as Great Britain.

As a nation we fear it must be said of Great Britain, as indeed
of most nations at the present time in the world, that it is 'a poor
satire upon Christianity and a false distortion of it atheist in
politics, materialist in philosophy, socially unfraternal and indi-
vidually selfish. If the preachers of Christianity were to cease
prophesying smooth things, and if the voice of Mammon men lis-
ten to so eagerly, saying, "A measure of wheat for a penny, and
three measures of barley for a penny, and the oil and wine hurt
thee not," could but be hushed for a time, then the strange si-
lence might find room for a few words that seem wonderfully
appropriate : " Thou sayest I am rich, and I have become wealthy,
and have need of nothing ; and knowest thou not that thou of all
others art the wretched one, and the pitiable one, and poor, and
blind, and naked." Were these words to be brought home to
us we might then wonder whether it was the phantom of Chris-
tianity expiring that had spoken them or the herald of its in-
auguration. We may always find relief in turning from the
contemplation of the debased kingdom of the Christian to the
kingdom of heaven which a plain Carpenter brought into light
before our eyes, which kingdom is the spiritual concourse of all
men of unselfishness and of purity, of charity and of honor, of
courage and of toil, of faith and of purpose, of sincerity and of
tenderness.

There seems, indeed, to be abundance of indications that un-
belief under one name or another is making considerable progress
in the ranks of Protestantism, though there is no lack of pro-
tective and curative efforts on the part of Anglican prelates and
pastors. The Protestant Archbishop of Dublin (Dr. Trench), for
instance, is reported to have said that he thought grammar was
among the most effective specifics for scepticism ; but such a be-
lief is not general, and many think, on the contrary, that the more
education spreads itself the greater will be the amount of scepti-
cism. Be that as it may, there can be no doubt that the churches
in' most of the large towns are badly attended, and even if they
were crowded they could not contain half the people. We
speak, of course, without reference to Catholics, and deduce our
arguments from the religious census that has been recently taken

i882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 185

in various parts of the country. Christian England is, in fact, to
a very large extent of no religion at all. It was to remedy this
that the Salvation Army was formed, and if it can succeed in
rescuing even a few individuals from paganism and immorality
it will have done a good work and be deserving of the praise of
all Christian people.

THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE.

PART II.

SCENE : Exeter Hall, London. TIME : 18 .
PERSONS REPRESENTED.

AMERICAN DELEGATES. ENGLISH DELEGATES.

Rev. Bishop Latitude, Methodist Rev. Dr. Chosen, Presbyterian.

Episcopal. Rev. Dr. Sophical, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Topheavy, Baptist. Rev. Dr. Ballast, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Flurry, Presbyterian. Rev. Dr. Whistle, Independent.

Rev. Dr. Liberal, Congregationalist. Rev. Washington Dipwell, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Bounce, Lutheran. Rev. Luther Knockpope, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Jocund, Methodist Episco- Rev. Amen Hallelujah, Primitive

pal. Methodist.

Prof. Augustus Synonym, having Prof. Jeremy Ratio, holding the

the chair of Lost Arts and Occult chair of Algebraic Inequalities,

Sciences, College. etc., etc., - University.

Together with a large, enthusiastic, and somewhat demonstrative audience.

DR. BALLAST, instanced the almost total cessation of the rite
of confirmation in the evangelical churches as a further indica-
tion that the unity of Protestants could not be of the same nature
as ;that f the primitive church, which 'evidently practised this
rite. He would ask his learned brother, Dr. Chosen, if he did
not hold confirmation to be apostolic.

DR. CHOSEN, while thinking the present attitude of debate
reprehensible, was compelled to admit that confirmation was
Scriptural. Calvin, in his Institutes, had so declared it.

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL also testified to its Scriptural-
ness. An association of the Baptist Church in America in the
year 1742 had maintained that " the laying on of hands " was of
equaljauthority with baptism, prayer, and the singing of psalms.

1 86 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Nov.,

DR. BALLAST rejoiced to hear these admissions. He had read
a sermon preached by that sterling Protestant, Richard Hooker,
on confirmation, in which Tertullian,* Cyprian,f Irenaeus,^:
and Jerome were cited as asseverating with great distinctness
the practice of this rite in their day. Bingham, the eminent au-
thority referred to by other speakers, had with much particular-
ity described the ceremonies used in conferring it viz., ist, the
unction, the consecration of the chrism ; 2d, the sign of the cross ;
3d, imposition of hands ; and, 4th, prayer practices, happily for
the promotion of the view before the house, now as notori-
ously disregarded in the evangelical churches as retained in the
Romish Church.

DR. BOUNCE would venture to direct the attention of Confer-
ence to one point of departure from primitive usage a matter
of some delicacy, yet one in which probably most of its mem-
bers would feel a personal interest. Nothing was further from
the mind of the comfortable evangelical preacher than the prac-
tice of asceticism. Yet Bingham had argued that it had always
existed in the church, and that the monastic life was fully estab-
lished in the fourth and fifth ages.fl He (the speaker) was not
there to recommend the celibacy of the clergy, though the four-
teenth chapter of the Revelation of St. John certainly seemed to
view celibacy with favor.

REV. AMEN HALLELUJAH had a word to say on celibacy. He
had found it impossible. (Roars of laughter and calls to order.)
Let him not be misunderstood. (Cries of Oh ! oh !) He had not
referred to a want of the gift of continency. (Uproar ; calls to
order and cries of " Louder.") He possessed it (Hear, hear, and
cries of " Question "), and in early life had mentally vowed to
remain single, but his necessities had driven him to seek for a
discreet person who should become Mrs. Hallelujah. (Cries of
" Chair," " Order," etc., etc.)

DR. CHOSEN begged to know, in view of the gentleman's pre-
mises, what necessities had driven him into matrimony.

REV. AMEN HALLELUJAH had referred to his pecuniary neces-

*"Caro manus impositione adumbratur ut et anima Spiritu illuminetur" (Tertull., De
Resur. Cor.) " After baptism administered, then followeth imposition of hands, with invoca-
tion and invitation of the Holy Ghost, which willingly cometh down from the Father to rest
upon the purified and blessed bodies, as it were to acknowledge the waters of baptism a fit seat "
(Tertull., De Baptis.)

tCyp., Epist. ii. ad Donat., c. ii. \ Iren., liber ii. cap. xxxii.

" I deny not but the custom of the churches is that the bishop should go abroad, and, im-
posing his hands, pray for the gift of the Holy Ghost on those whom presbyters and deacons far
off in lesser cities have already baptized " (Hieron. advers. Lucif. c. iv.)

| Book vii. c. i. i.

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 187

sities. (Laughter.) He would explain. (Hear.) When he first
began to preach he received one hundred dollars per annum.
The asceticism practised by him on that salary he begged Bro-
ther Bounce to make a note of (laughter), as perhaps in excess of
anything related by Bingham. He was aware that by getting
a wife he could thereby double his income. Providence had
smiled on his efforts, and the lady was soon found. (A voice :
"You bet.") Providence had continued to smile, and a large
family was given to him. As so much per capita was added to
his salary, he was placed in a position to demonstrate to young
preachers that grace of a substantial nature actually flowed from
matrimony.

DR. BALLAST demanded that debate be restricted to the ques-
tion.

DR. CHOSEN trusted Conference would now, perhaps, be
favored with additional proof that evangelical unity and incom-
prehensibility were synonymous. This whole subject, to his
mind one of the simplest, had, by the sophistries of ingenious
argument, been converted into an unwholesome fog.

THE CHAIR called attention to the fact that although several
of the Fathers had been appealed to on other subjects, none had
yet been cited in support of visible unity.

DR. SOPHICAL said that Cyprian, in the third century, had
written : " The church sends forth her rays over the whole
earth ; yet the light is one and her unity undivided. He that
does not hold this unity of the church, can he think that he holds
the faith ? " * And again : " The church cannot be separated, or
divided against itself, but preserves the unity of an inseparable
and undivided house." f Ignatius % had said : " Where division is
God dwelleth not." Justin Martyr had spoken of " one church,
one synagogue, one soul." Clement of Alexandria || had observ-
ed : " The excellence of the church, like the principle of every-
thing concrete, is in unity" Chrysostom had taught : " If it " (the
church) " be of God, it is united and it is one."

THE CHAIR thought, from what had been extracted from the
writings of these Fathers, it was clear that they believed in visi-
ble unity. It now became essential, in order to give force to
Dr. Topheavy's theory (which, for sake of brevity, the chair sug-
gested be called the Topheavian theory), to show that visible
unity was joined with false doctrine, even as the invisible unity of
the Evangelical Church was now identified with the pure faith.

* Cyp., De Unit ate Eccl. tSermo xxiv. in Nat. Dom. \ First century.

Second century. | Third century.

1 88 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Nov.,

DR. SOPHICAL said this could be easily done. Cyprian, to be-
gin with, had taught that the unity of the church flowed from
the chair of St. Peter and the Church of Rome, and styled it
41 the principal church, whence the sacerdotal unity takes its
rise." It was a matter equally simple to show that other, and
even earlier, Fathers, all of whom had flourished in an age when
the visibility of the church was unquestioned, had held doctrines
totally at variance with the standard of faith of the invisible
Evangelical Church. Thus Irenaeus* had taught that "the faith-
ful of all countries " must have recourse to the Church of
Rome " because of its superior headship." Jerome f had writ-
ten : " One is chosen, that by the appointment of a head all oc-
casion of schism may be removed." ^ And again : " I speak to
the successor of the fisherman and to the disciple of the cross.
Following no chief but Christ, I am united in communion with
your Holiness that is, with the chair of Peter. I know that on
that Rock is built the church." Optatus of Milevis, || writing
to some separatists from the church, had used the following lan-
guage : " It cannot be ascribed to ignorance on your part, know-
ing as you do that the episcopal chair in which, as head of all the
apostles, Peter sat was first fixed by him in the city of Rome ;
that in him alone may be preserved the unity of the church ; and
that the other apostles may not claim each a chair for himself, so
that now he who erects another in opposition to this single
chair is a schismatic arid a prevaricator." ^[ (Sensation.)

Origen ** had said of confession : " The holy do penance ;
they feel their wounds ; are sensible of their failings ; look for the
priest ; implore health ; and through him seek to be purified." f f
Basil ^ had enjoined that "the confession of sins must be made to
such persons as have power to apply a remedy." Ephrem of
Edessa had written : " The remission of sins is not granted to
mortals but through the ministry of the priest." Tertullian ||||
had taught that praying for the dead was apostolical ; and Cyp-
rian had mentioned a discipline in the church which for a cer-
tain offence operated as a bar to the offering of sacrifice for the
soul of the departed. The Council of Nice had asserted the doc-

* Second century. f Fourth century. % Liber i. contra Jovin. in med. et epist. 57.

Catechism of the Council of Trent, art. ix. on the Creed. 1 Fourth century.

If Catechism of the Council of Trent, art. ix. on the Creed. There is preserved in the Vatican
Museum a silver-gilt cruet, on one side of which is depicted the head of Christ with a nimbus,
and on the other that of St. Peter, a relic of the first or second century. See plate 174, Reli-
gious Life of the Middle Ages and at the Period of the Renaissance, Paul Lacroix. New York :
Appleton & Co.

** Second century. ft Horn. x. in Num. %\ Fourth century.

Fourth century. |j Second century.

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 189

trine of indulgences.* Justin, who suffered martyrdom at
Rome in 166, had taught transubstantiation as clearly as the
Council of Trent : " As Jesus Christ, made man by the word of
God, took flesh for our salvation, in the same manner we have
been instructed that the food which has been blessed by the
prayers of the words that he spoke, and by which our flesh and
blood in the change are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that
Jesus incarnate." f Irenseus had asked the separatists from the
church in his day " how they could prove that the bread over
which the words of thanksgiving have been pronounced was the
body of the Lord, and the cup his blood?" Cyril \ of Jerusa-
lem, in addressing the catechumens, had said : " The eucharisti-
cal bread, after the invocation of the Holy Ghost, is no longer
common bread but the body of Christ "; and Ambrose, f in his
book on the " Initiated," had declared that " the same true body
of our Lord which was assumed of the Virgin is received in the
sacrament " ; and in another place, with the greatest distinctness,
had taught that " before consecration it was bread, but after
consecration the flesh of Christ." Polycarp, Cyril, and Ephrem,
all before the fifth century, had sanctioned the veneration of
relics. The latter had said : " God dwelleth in the relics of the
saints; thence they are able to work every kind of miracle." T
But that to which he (the speaker) would specially direct the
attention of Conference was the antiquity of veneration paid to
the Virgin Mary. In the liturgy of St. James she was address-
ed as " Most Holy," " Most Glorious," " Immaculate," " Mother
of God," and "Ever Virgin." (Sensation.) In the liturgy of
St. Mark was to be found " Most Holy, Immaculate, and Blessed
Mother of God, and Ever- Virgin Mary." The same expressions
were to be found in other ancient liturgies. St. Athanasius, the
champion of the doctrine of the Trinity, had exclaimed, " Queen
and Mother of God, intercede for us "; ** and the prayer, " We fly
to thy patronage, O Holy Mother of God," now used in the Lit-
any of the Blessed Virgin in the Romish Church, originated with
Ephrem ff in the fourth century. (Increased sensation.) The
learned doctor's speech, which commanded more than ordinary
attention, concluded as follows : " Such examples demonstrate
the force of the Topheavian theory. (Cheers.) Pure evangeli-
cal faith cannot be united with a visible unity, which is perversely
seen to be always inseparable from Romish error." (Hear, hear.)

* In 325. t Apol. ad Imper. Anton. \ Fourth century.

Cat. Mystag., iii. n. iii. | Fourth century. T Vita B. Abra.

**Serm. in Annunt. ftSerm. de Laud. B. V. M.

190 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Nov.,

DR. FLURRY said no better evidence of the prevalence of
false teaching and superstition in early times could be afforded
than was to be obtained from a view of the liturgies to which he
had before referred. Nearly every distinctive doctrine of Rome
was therein asserted. Certainly, he continued, the testimony of
the learned Bingham in regard to the particulars of the ancient
practice and worship would be received without question in a
Protestant assembly. The frequent genuflections which Catho-
lic priests and ministers made before the altar had formed a
feature in the superstitious practices of the ancients ; the Jews,
from whom the Christian religion had sprung, having been ac-
customed to bow themselves down towards the mercy-seat. The
Christians after them, in the Greek and Oriental churches, from
time out of mind, in like manner had bowed themselves towards
the altar or holy table, saying, like the publican, " God be merci-
ful to me a sinner," * as appeared from the liturgies of Chrysos-
tom and Basil, and had continued to do so to the present day.f

In treating of the psalmody of the ancient Christian Church
Bingham \ had explained the office of the precentor a personage
yet in demand at certain Romish services and showed the
primitive use of the plain song or intonation. He had made cer-
tain that the Magnificat now termed in the Romish Vesper ser-
vice " The Song of the Blessed Virgin " the Creed, and the Te
Deum were all sung. The superstition now employed at solemn
High Mass, at the reading of the Gospel, of carrying lighted
candles before the sacred text ; the salutation Pax vobis, the
equivalent of which was now found in the Mass ; the standing
up at the reading, and the responses, " Glory be to thee, O God "
and " Thanks* be to a God " (the Gloria tibi, Domine, and Deo
gratias of the Mass), were all shown to have been parts of the
ancient services ; the authorities relied on by Bingham being
Cyprian, Chrysostom, Ambrose, and Jerome. Bingham, con-
tinued the learned doctor, had not scrupled to speak as follows
of Chrysostom and what he (Bingham) had termed the essential
parts of his liturgy :

"In the sixteenth homily he" (Chrysostom) "takes notice of the use
of the seraphical hymn in the eucharistical service : ' Consider,' says he,
4 you that are initiated, what a mystical service you have been employed
in, with whom you have sent up that mystical song, with whom you have
cried out, " Tptdayto? Holy, Holy, Holy ! ' " In the thirty-sixth homily,
upon Pentecost and the Holy Spirit, he treats at large of that ancient form of

* Bing., Antiq., book viii. c. x. 7. \ Ibid. \ Book xiv.

Domine sit in corde tua, etc.

i882.j THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 191

salutation used in every office, " Peace be with you," or " The Lord be with
you " (the Dominus vobiscum of the Latin service), and the usual response,
"And with thy spirit " (the Et cum spiritu tuo of the Roman Church). ' Our
common father and teacher, the bishop, pronounces, "Peace be with you
all," and you all make answer with a common voice, " And with thy spirit."
Neither do you make this answer only when he goes into his throne, or
when he preaches to you, or when he prays for you, but when he stands
by the holy table. When he is about to offer that tremendous sacrifice '"

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE demanded to be heard.

DR. FLURRY refused to yield. He threw himself upon the
fair dealing of the chair. He refused to be choked off, and re-
pelled this attempt with the scorn it merited. Did the gentle-
man pretend to say he was out of order ?

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE replied that in a well-regulated
Protestant assembly all Romish and Latinized phrases should be
deemed out of order. Was the doctor a Jesuit in the r61e of a
disciple of the Master ?

THE CHAIR resented the gentleman's reply as a reflection on
the chair. The gentleman was clearly affected by aberration of
his theological vision. Dr. Flurry might proceed under the pro-
tection of the chair.

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE disclaimed any intention of re-
flecting on the chair, for whom he had, both personally and evan-
gelically, the greatest possible respect.

DR. FLURRY continued the quotation from Chrysostom as
follows :

" 'When he (the bishop) is about to offer that tremendous sacrifice (they
that are initiated will know what I say), before he touches the elements
lying upon the table he prays, " The grace of the Lord be with you," and
ye reply, "And with thy spirit"; reminding yourselves by this answer
that it is not the minister that effects anything in the matter, neither is the
consecration of the gifts the work of human nature, but that it is the
grace of the Spirit then present and descending upon the elements which
constitutes that mystical sacrifice.' "*

In homily xli., continued Dr. Flurry, Chrysostom mentioned
part of the solemn prayer for the dead then in use in the church.

(The Rev. Luther Knockpope here made a movement towards rising,
but was restrained by the Rev. Amen Hallelujah and others.)

DR. FLURRY went on :

" It is not without reason," said he, " that he that stands at the altar
when the holy mysteries are celebrated says : ' We offer for all those who
are dead in Christ and for all those who make commemoration for them ' " ;
* Bing., Antiq., book xiii. chap. vi. 5.

T HE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Nov.,

ind a little after he declared, "We at that time also make prayers for the
whole world and name the dead with the martyrs, and confessors
priests ; for we are all one body, though some members exceed
bers in glory." H

In homily xxxv., continued the reverend speaker, Chrysos-
tomhad noted the words "for ever and ever " -the per omm
strcula stzculorum of the Romish Church-as the common conck
sion of the primitive eucharistical thanksgivings.! As to
use of the Lord's Prayer in the celebration of the Holy Euch
rist Bingham had quoted St. Austin as follows : " After the
sanctification of the sacrifice we say the Lord's Prayer "
observance which he (the speaker) had ascertained was yet
lowed in the Church of Rome, the Pater Noster immediately sue-
ceeding the prayer of consecration and the Memento of the living
and the dead. Bingham, in book xvii., had shown the ancient
use of ashes by penitents on the first day of Lent a fast which
was found to have been as superstitiously practised then as it
now by the Romanists ; and also, by Cyprian and Tertulhan, tl
the festivals of martyrs were observed in the second century
the term natalitia being used by the latter to designate, "
their natural birth, but their nativity to a glorious crown in t
kingdom of heaven." But the heresy of the ancients perhaps
the most pertinent to this inquiry was their objection to t
known by denominational names. Thus Bingham had transcnb
ed from Chrysostom : " We take not our denominations froi
men- we have no leaders, as the followers of Marcion, Mam-
chcEus, or Arius";|| and from Epiphanius : "The church v
never called so much as by the name of any apostle ; we nev
heard of Petrians, or Paulians, or Bartholomasans, or Thaddeai
but only of Christians, from Christ " ; 1 and from Gregory Nazi;
zen " I honor Peter, but I am not called a Petrian ; I hon
Paul, but I am not called a Paulian. I cannot bear to be nara
for any man, who am the creature of God." '

DR. LIBERAL called the last speaker's attention to the fact
Bingham ft h *d shown, in connection with the practice of fasti
before receiving the Eucharist, that the sacrament was celebrat
at funerals; and had cited authorities to prove that at St. -
tin's # funeral this was done, as also at the burial of the sami

* Bing., Antif., book xiii. c. vi. 9. t Ibid. t Ibid. c. vii. 3-

8 As to the ancient use of Sursum cor da (" Lift up your hearts") see B
mon on "Common Prayers, Ancient, Useful, and Necessary" (Brogden's Liturgy a,

V01 ' lowborn, xxxiv. in Acta. 1 Epiph., H*r. x!ii. Marcion

** Gregor. Nazian., orat. xxxi. \\ Book xxiii. Better known as St. Augn

1 882.] To A WATER-LILY. 193

mother, the pious Monica. The same author had quoted the
words of St. Ambrose respecting the funeral of Valentinian :
" Bring me the holy mysteries ; let us pray for his rest with a
pious affection." He had also shown that Eudius had buried his
notary singing hymns to God at his grave " three days together,
and on the third day had offered the sacrament of redemption."

TO BE CONTINUED.

TO A WATER-LILY.

O WATER-LILY, who with full content
On the calm bosom of this land-locked pool
With cedars fringed art, 'neath shadows cool
'Mid limpid waters breathing forth thy scent
In safety, while the mid-day heats are spent ;
To me thou say'st to me, whose heart as fuel
Doth flame beneath temptation's heats too cruel
For one so weak " Thine hours of earth are lent
And not for ever giv'n ; before God's feet,
O'ershadowed by the eternal hills strife o'er
Thou shalt enjoy, like me, a rest complete,
And grateful praise thy soul for evermore
Shall breathe, like my fragrance a tribute sweet
For heavenly joys, thy everlasting store."

LAKE GEORGE, HARBOR ISLANDS, 1882.

VOL. xxxvi. 13

194 A REAL BARRY LYNDON. [Nov.,

A REAL BARRY LYNDON.

THE fondness and familiarity of Thackeray with at least the
social history of the reign of Queen Anne and the earlier Georges
is apparent throughout his entire work as well as in the spe-
cial subjects of some of his most important novels. It colored
the style with which he treated his studies of contemporary so-
ciety, and he returned to it with as unconcealed fondness as
Scott to the traditionary and family history of Scotland. It was
the subject of his first complete story and his last unfinished
fragment, and one of the most important, if not the greatest, of
his novels. In point of art, finish, and skill Thackeray never wrote
anything superior to the History of Henry Esmond ; and although
we agree with those who are of the opinion that every author's
greatest work is that which he devotes to contemporary life and
is founded on the knowledge which is his by birthright, obser-
vation, and the unconscious saturation of circumstance rather
than by the study of books, however minute, sympathetic, and
complete, there is no dispute but that Henry Esmond is one of
the most accurate as well as one of the greatest of English his-
torical novels. Ivanhoe is a boy's book in comparison, in spite of
its vigor and genius ; and Barnaby Rudge, in spite of the extraor-
dinary vividness of the pictures of the Gordon riots, has nothing
of its assumption of contemporary style and thought, while its
single historical portrait, Sir John Chester, is an exaggerated
caricature. Its only English rival founded on study and an at-
tempt to recreate an ancient life from contemporary literature is
Romolafor Scott's historical Scotch novels were more the re-
sult of traditionary than literary knowledge, and when he left
that familiar field his figures instantly became those of the con-
temporary melodrama.

We doubt whether in the finest? and most accurate historical
novel, even in Henry Esmond and Romola, there is an exact re-
production of the underlying and essential element which is the
manner of thought and feeling ; and however minute and faithful
is the copy of the language and method of expression, to say no-
thing of the more obvious accuracy of incident, social custom,
and other accessories, the characters think and feel after the fash-
ion of the time of the author and not of their own. It may be
said that the human heart is the same in one century as in an-
other, and that the pleasures and pains of life produce the same

1 882.] A REAL BARRY LYNDON. 195

effect in one generation as another, which is perfectly true. But
it is also true that there are essential shades of difference in the
current thought of one age from any preceding*one. We need
not take the difference in religious sentiment and belief for an
example, although it is a very marked one, but may point to dif-
ferences in humanity, in perceptions and acquired tastes, hardly
less noticeable. It does not require any particular knowledge to
perceive that this is a more humane age than its predecessors,
whether from the spread of a more genuine philanthropy or a
more nervous weakness at the sight of physical suffering ; and
that not only in our daily conduct but in our sports and the exe-
cution of the law we would not tolerate things which our an-
cestors regarded with indifference or'which accorded them posi-
tive pleasure. It is a well-understood fact that the admiration
and appreciation of the grand and picturesque in nature has been
the growth of comparatively a few years, and that it was not
only wholly unknown to the ancients, so far as expressed in their
literature, but that it cannot even be found in English poetry be-
fore the time of Gray. Other instances might be noted equally
conclusive of the peculiar differences of one age from another,
and as a final test it may be said that no historical novel, how-
ever accurate and skilful, could ever be mistaken as the product
of the time of which it treats ; and if Henry Esmond and Ro-
mola were discovered in manuscript without any clue whatever
to the date of their authorship, there would be no difficulty in
assigning the time of the writing of the one or the other without
any other evidence than the fashion of thought.

The individual difference of temperament, of course, has its
effect, and is strongly marked in Thackeray's treatment of the
scenes and characters of a former age. One of his most marked
characteristics was his sensibility, in spite of the mask of cyni-
cism which he often put over it. His feeling for the pathos and
misery of life was as keen as the ear of Goldsmith, of whom the
touching story is related that the voice of a street-singer singing
an ordinary ballad so moved him with its underlying grief that
he could not rest until he had left the gay company, who had
heard nothing but the words and tone of the song, and went out
and relieved the poor creature. Fielding was the avowed lite-
rary exemplar of Thackeray, the model of his satire and his hu-
mor, his nice observation and his honest declaration of what he
saw, and in these things he did not surpass his master. But he
did infinitely in his pathos. It would be too much to say that
Fielding had no sensibility for anything but the outward misfor-

196 A REAL BARRY LYNDON. [Nov.,

tunes of life, but in comparison with the keen insight and sensi-
tive sympathy of Thackeray for the wounds and pains beneath the
fair outside, or the woes that may be hidden under a boisterous
merriment, he was no more than a man born blind. Nothing is
more notable in Thackeray's treatment of subjects in which his
predecessors had seen only the coarse humor and farce than his
exhibition of their real misery, the unhappiness and the cruelty
of villany, and the tragedy under the rude jest. Two of the
characters of his first historical novel, Catharine, were avowedly
taken from Farquhar's comedy of " The Recruiting Officer," and
Captain Galgenstein and Corporal Brock are expressly describ-
ed as a later Captain Plume and Sergeant Kite. Their appear-
ance and adventures are essentially the same. But while in
reading of the latter we are simply conscious of their high spirits
and coarse humor, and rather admire and sympathize with them
than otherwise, taking no thought of the harm of crimping and
seduction, their counterparts are instantly impressed upon our
minds as a pair of unconscionable scoundrels, and their frauds,,
sensuality, and selfishness are shown to be as detestable and ruin-
ous as they really are. Their fine laced coats are not taken off,
but the stains of drink and dirt are shown on them, and there is
no more glamour about their personality because they lived in
the time of Queen Anne than if they were a couple of drunken
brutes who ought to be walking the treadmill in the time of
Victoria. At least Thackeray's historical characters are not
theatrical lay figures, but persons of very genuine flesh and
blood, and this makes an essential difference between him and
the ordinary historical novelist.

Thackeray's sympathy and understanding of the essential
elements of Irish nature is also very marked, and was the natu-
ral result of his keen sensibility and the melancholy underneath
his humor. It is true that he often caricatured it coarsely and
severely. He was full of the English prejudice against Ireland
in the concrete, and never hesitated to give it vent upon oc-
casion when his political or national animosities were aroused.
The book which he wrote of sketches in Ireland, almost wholly
unworthy of his genius in a literary point of view, is a singular
compound of the prejudices of the travelling cockney, annoyed
by the disorderly ways and the improvidence and discomfort
which he saw and experienced, with a genuine expression of the
peculiar melancholy charm of the Irish landscape, and a keen
and sympathetic appreciation of the pathos and humor of the
Irish character. The dark wastes, the gray lakes and richly-

i882.] A REAL BARRY LYNDON. 197

colored heather hills of the west of Ireland never had a more
sympathetic describer, and again and again he made pilgrimages
to the Irish Highlands to renew the charm. The same book
that contains his sneers at the " Liberator " and at everything un-
English in the ways and manners of the people also contains his
charming portrait of Peg of Limavady and a hundred touches
that show how keenly he appreciated the native pathos and hu-
mor. His novels show his fondness and appreciation of Irish
character still more plainly. His portrait of Captain Costigan
was drawn con amore, nor is there any concealment of the fact
that he felt a hearty liking for that amusing vagabond, whose
very degradation does not deprive him of respect for his sense of
honor, his generosity, and his unselfishness. Those who regard
it merely as a coarse caricature can see nothing in Sir Lucius
O'Trigger but a perpetrator of ingenious bulls. That Thack-
eray thoroughly appreciated the humor and pathos of the native
Irish ballad-poetry and songs he has himself declared in so many
words through the mouth of Captain Costigan, and there are
scattered allusions and quotations throughout his novels to show
his fondness and familiarity with them. This may have been
partly the result of his acquaintance with Dr. Maginn and others
of the Irish literary adventurers who did in his time, as they do
now, so much of the work on the London press, and enlivened
the cider-cellars of his favorite resort with so much song and
joke. But it was chiefly because his character and temperament
were so much in consonance with the Celtic spirit in the deep
pathos underlying its humor, its keen sensibility, and its kindly
generosity. His life as well as his books are full of evidences of
this, and he need only to be compared with Dickens to show
completely the Celtic element in his nature.

One of the most striking and remarkable of Thackeray's his-
torical novels is devoted to an Irish theme, and in some respects
he never surpassed it. There is none of his work that shows
more strength, remorseless faithfulness in the development of
his characters and his theme and in vivid reproduction of an
historical time, than The Memoirs of Barry Lyndon. The sub-
ject is not an attractive one. The account of a coarse-mind-
ed, low-bred scoundrel, who rose from the crude and boastful
knavery of his youth to the accomplishments of a successful
chevalier d' Industrie in Europe, and was as heartless as he was
profuse, as cowardly as he was impudent, and as foolish as he
was cunning, from his brutal youth to his idiotic old age, is not
a pleasant one, but it is drawn with marvellous force and vivid-

198 A REAL BARRY LYNDON. [Nov.,

ness. As a study of villany the character of Blifil is a coarse
caricature in comparison with it, and that of Jonathan Wild, the
Great, is an exaggerated satire beside its natural truth. In in-
dividual and in national characteristics it is faithful throughout,
and in none of his books is there a more powerful historical
sketch than the Princess Tragedy, or the account of a soldier's
life in the armies of Frederick the Great. But it is in relation
to the Irish life of the time that we are more specially interested
in this connection.

In this respect we believe it to be not only faithful in the way
of a general resemblance, but that it was taken from an indi-
vidual model, whose character was not only an exact prototype
of that of Barry Lyndon, but whose career and fate were similar
and even more extraordinary. It is needless to say that Barry
Lyndon and his friends and relatives are not portraits of Celtic
Irishmen and Irishwomen as they now are. They were of the
English colony in essence at the worst age of the Protestant
ascendency, when the Catholics were depressed to the last de-
gree by the penal laws forbidding education, social freedom and
patriotism, and when the Protestants were equally degraded
with the vices of mastery, unbridled license, and unworthy aims
in life. This age [produced several characters who more than
rivalled Barry Lyndon in the flagitiousness of their careers at
home and on the Continent, and bred that race of fortune-hunters
who afforded such material for English satire in the pump-rooms
of Bath. The notorious " Fighting" Fitzgerald had a career far
surpassing in its extravagance that of Barry Lyndon, and in some
episodes not unlike it. But George Robert Fitzgerald was es-
sentially a very different person from Barry Lyndon. He was
of noble blood and not a low-born upstart, and in his wildest
flights never forgot that he was a gentleman and a descendant of
the Herveys. He was much more of a madman than a villain,
and was never a rake or a debauchee. He won and retained the
love of two admirable women as wives, and the taint of insanity
in his blood, in addition to a bullet- wound affecting the brain, was
more accountable for his frantic escapades than innate viciousness
or ferocity. His life was written by himself and by others, and
Thackeray was doubtless familiar with it ; but there were other
examples furnishing much more direct models for the character
of Barry Lyndon, and one of these, whose origin, life, and end
were almost exactly similar, was also dealt with in contemporary
memoirs, and, if we are not mistaken, furnished the direct ma-
terial for Thackeray's portrait. This was the once celebrated

1 882.] A REAL BARRY LYNDON. 199

individual known as " Tiger" Roche. It is true that his military
career was in America and not on the Continent, but the novel
was written before Thackeray had made that study of colonial
life which resulted in The Virginians, whereas he was familiar
with the European scenes, and in all other respects there was a
singular resemblance in his character, adventures, and fate to
those of Barry Lyndon. At any rate his story is remarkable
enough in itself to be interesting as a study of character and an
illustration of the time, even if it is not an addition to the bib-
liography of Thackeray.

William, alias " Tiger," Roche was born in Dublin in 1729,
and consequently his youth was passed in what was probably the
most flagrant period of Irish society in the metropolis, when the
ferocity had not the excuse of actual contention between the
two races, without being abated in degree, and was displayed in
private brawls and duels, and when profusion and debauchery
ruled the hour. It was the era of the " Hellfire Club," the
" Mohawks " and " Cherokees," in which the young men en-
deavored to rival the savages after whom they named themselves
and to fillip their debauchery by ingenious blasphemy and out-
rageous indecency. It was such a time and such a society as
might be expected to produce a "Fighting" Fitzgerald and a
" Tiger " Roche as its bright and consummate flowers. The
origin of our hero is wrapped in obscurity that is to sa}-, his
family was obscure and its fortunes meagre. He was very pro-
bably the younger son of a reduced gentleman, too proud to
work or to engage in any useful occupation, and yet without the
means to live comfortably or to more than hang upon the edge
of semi-genteel society. This class was very numerous at that
time, when there was much more gentility than prosperity, and
of aspiration for fashion than the means of sustaining it, and
unfortunately has not disappeared at the present day. Neither
Roche's appearance nor manners gave evidence of good blood
and gentle breeding. He was handsome in feature and form, but
his face had an impudent look and his bold black eyes an in-
solent stare, as though demanding that consideration which did
not naturally belong to him ; and his frame, athletic and vigor-
ous, although not tall, was marked by the broad shoulders and
robust calves considered by English satirists as characteristic of
the Irish adventurer. And although he dressed with all the
extravagance and display of the time in gold 'lace and velvet, it
is very doubtful if he had anything of that grace and high breed-
ing that enabled George Robert Fitzgerald to carry off his

2oo A REAL BARRY LYNDON. [Nov.,

diamond buttons and buckles, his silk small-clothes, his lace, his
bejewelled rapier, and his sable muff with an air that made them
proper adornments, and to more than rival the Comte d'Artois
and other noble French dandies on their own ground. " Tiger"
Roche was of a decidedly lower social quality.

The first that is heard of him is that he attracted the attention
of Lord Chesterfield, then lord-lieutenant, and at the age of six-
teen was offered an ensign's commission without purchase. This
was a fine chance in life for a young Irish adventurer, but it is
said that his friends, having other views for him, declined it.
This can be hardly more than an euphemism for the fact that
they were unable to furnish him with a suitable outfit ; for there
could have been no career more suited to such a young man or
more agreeable to the fashion of the time, nor was there any-
thing else for him to do but to continue a life of idle debauchery.
It was a very serious injury to young Roche, as it both embit-
tered him and made him more reckless, and it is possible that
with an honorable commission he might have worked off his
combative spirit in a legitimate way and had a creditable if not
a peaceable career. At any rate he became more idle and dis-
sipated than ever, and was the leader of a crew of the most des-
perate young ruffians in Dublin. One night they killed a watch-
man, and Roche, being held mainly responsible, was obliged to
flee the city. He took refuge in Cork, where he remained con-
cealed for a time, and, having obtained a small sum of money,
sailed to try his fortunes in the New World. The French and
English War was raging at the time, and, according to his
memoir, he took service as a volunteer that is, fought in the
ranks, although not as a regularly enlisted soldier. He was at
home in the wild adventures of the frontier, and his desperate
daring and energy attracted the notice of his superior officers, so
that he was in a fair way to obtain a commission, when a misfor-
tune occurred which blighted his career for a time and led
to the ferocious savagery from which he derived his name. One
of the officers of the regiment possessed a valuable and much-
coveted fowling-piece, which was stolen. On a search it was
found in Roche's quarters, and he was accused of the theft. He
declared that he had bought it of one Bourke, a corporal in the
regiment. Bourke was sent for and examined, but he solemnly
denied under oath that he had sold the gun to Roche, and the
latter's statement was disbelieved. He was tried by court-mar-
tial and convicted, but in consequence of his gallantry his sen-
tence was commuted to ignominious dismissal from the regi-

1 882.] A REAL BARRY LYNDON. 201

ment. He challenged the officer who had prosecuted him on
the spot, but the latter refused to meet a degraded man. He
then insulted him on the parade in the grossest terms, and, sud-
denly remembering his real enemy, he rushed to the picket-
guard and attempted to kill the corporal. Having been disarm-
ed, he crouched down and sprang upon his enemy with the
ferocity of a wild animal, fastening his teeth in his throat and
bringing away a mouthful, which he declared was " the sweetest
morsel he ever tasted." From this time he was known as
" Tiger " Roche.

By the advance of the army upon Ticonderoga Roche was
left in the wilderness; but he sought out some friendly Indians
accompanying the expedition, and arrived in time to take part in
the attack upon the fort, where he displayed such desperate
bravery that he attracted the attention of General Abercrombie ;
but the fatal stain of theft was upon his character, and no ex-
ploit could recover his position. He left the army and made his
way to New York, after suffering very severe hardships from
poverty and illness. There he attracted the attention of Gover-
nor Woods Rogers, who sheltered and aided him, and finally,
having obtained a sufficient sum of money from home to pay his
passage, he sailed once more for Great Britain. A small legacy
having fallen to him, he purchased a commission ; but soon after
he had joined his regiment the news of his disgrace in America
arrived and he was sent to Coventry. He characteristically un-
dertook to reinstate himself with his sword, and he began by
challenging the officer to whom he had traced the origin of the
charge, who consented to meet him, and in the duel both were
desperately wounded. Before he had recovered he met his
former colonel and another officer of the regiment in the Park,
and savagely attacked them, getting the worst of the encounter.
He then followed one of them to Chester and attacked him in
the street, receiving a disabling wound in the sword-arm. At
this time a more effectual vindication arrived from America.
The corporal confessed on his death-bed that he had stolen the
gun and sold it to Roche, and his character was thoroughly re-
established. There was so much sympathy for him on account
of his unjust sufferings, and admiration for his gallantry, that he
was promoted to a lieutenancy without purchase, and for a time
he was the lion of Dublin, being under no affliction of modesty
about relating his exploits or swaggering in the highest society
he could reach. In Dublin he had the opportunity of distin-
guishing himself by another exploit. While going along the

202 A REAL BARRY LYNDON. [Nov.,

streets at night he came upon a gang of young ruffians who
had attacked an old gentleman and his son and daughter, who
were returning from a dinner-party. Hearing the shrieks of the
young lady, he ran to the spot and attacked the whole gang sin-
gle-handed, rescuing the young lady from the grasp of the one
that held her, and severely wounding one of the assailants and
putting the rest to flight. It might very easily have happened
that he had been one of the attacking party ; but as it occurred
the other way, and he received such praise for his exploit, he
formed a body which undertook to put down the lawlessness
and ruffianism by patrolling the streets and engaging the rowdy
mobs with their own weapons. Something of this kind of thing
occasionally occurs to frontier communities in the West, where
the most dangerous desperado is engaged as town marshal
and works off his fighting energies by quelling his former
associates, and preserves the peace because it is even more
exciting than his former lawlessness. As long as Roche had
active employment and plenty of fighting his better qualities
were the more conspicuous and he might be called even a valu-
able member of society. But this element was necessary to his
well-being.

Idleness and peace developed all his worst qualities. By the
reduction of the army after the peace of 1763 he lost his commis-
sion and his income. He went to London, where he became a
mere gambler, roisterer, and fortune-hunter. He made his coup in
the latter capacity not so grand a one as that of Barry Lyndon,
but still quite a prize for a penniless adventurer by marrying a
Miss Pitt, who had a fortune of four thousand pounds. The com-
mand of this sum completely turned his head and he indulged in
the wildest extravagances until it was gone. His reduction to
poverty developed the brute in him and he turned upon his un-
fortunate wife, beating and abusing her until she was obliged to
leave him. He was arrested for debt and thrown into the King's
Bench prison. In his confinement even his courage left him, and
this ferocious man-eater and desperate dare-devil degenerated
into an abject and shameless coward. His fellow-prisoners in-
sulted and kicked him, and instead of resenting it he would blubber
like a cowardly school-boy. On one occasion the notorious Buck
English, who was confined in the same prison, beat him savagely
with a cane, while he crouched under the punishment without
attempting resistance. It was hard to imagine that this broken-
spirited imbecile was the terrible " Tiger " Roche, if history was
not full of the cowardice of bullies " down on their luck."

1 882.] A REAL BARRY LYNDON. 203

At length he was liberated under an act of grace, and, having
received a small legacy, he was enabled to set himself up again
as a figure in the gay world. He became as impudent and as
daring as ever, playing the professional bully in the coffee-houses
and gambling resorts, and ready to maintain his character with
as desperate duels as ever, while he even showed examples of
the singular freaks of generosity which sometimes possessed
him. At one time, while returning home to his lodgings at
night, he was attacked by two robbers, who presented pistols to
his breast. He attacked them with his sword, pinning one to
the wall, while the other fled. He took his prisoner to the
watch-house, and the other was arrested the next day. They
were tried at the Old Bailey and sentenced to be hung, but at
the earnest interposition of Roche their sentences were commut-
ed to transportation. So high was his reputation as a desperate
and skilful duellist that he was selected by the Wilkites to inti-
midate Colonel Luttrell, afterward the infamous Lord Carhamp-
ton, at the time of the Middlesex election, and was actually put
in nomination for Brentford. But he had not the faithfulness
of the Italian bravo, and thought it cheaper to take money for
not fighting than for fighting ; at least he was accused of having
made terms with the opposite party, and was obliged to fight
another duel to avenge this imputation upon his "honor." The
strange fascination which persons of this character and repu-
tation frequently exercise upon women furnished him with an-
other victim in a young lady of respectable family and some for-
tune, who clung to him until he drove her away by blows and
brutality after squandering her means.

Finally he obtained a commission as a captain in a regiment of
foot in the service of the East India Company. In the transport-
ship his ungovernable temper brought him into a quarrel with
Captain Ferguson, a fellow-officer. The vessel put into the
Cape of Good Hope and the officers went ashore. Roche was
seen lurking about the inn where Ferguson lodged, and the latter
went out on receiving a message that some one wanted to see
him in the street. His body was found around the corner of the
house, weltering in blood from nine deep wounds in the left side,
which was significant that he had been attacked without an op-
portunity to defend himself. Suspicion, of course, immediately
fixed on Roche, who fled during the night and took refuge
among the Caffres, as he had before among the American In-
dians. He remained with them until the vessel had sailed, and
then returned to the Colony, where he was arrested and tried by

204 A REAL BARRY LYNDON. [Nov.,

the Dutch authorities, but acquitted on account of the absence
of all the necessary witnesses. He then sailed for Bombay,
where he was again immediately arrested for the murder of Cap-
tain Ferguson; but the offence having been committed outside of
the British dominions, he was sent to London to avoid the ex-
pense of a special commission under the colonial law. He was
tried at the Old Bailey, and acquitted on the ground that he had
once been tried for the same offence by the authorities at the
Cape of Good Hope. This was the end of his career. He
rapidly sank into complete poverty and degradation, was reduc-
ed to ask for alms in the streets, and died and was buried in the
wretchedness and obscurity of the unfortunates of his condition.
His character and career present such singular resemblances
to those of Barry Lyndon, although differing in the locality of
his military career, that although he was the type of a considera-
ble class it seems quite probable that he was the actual model,
and that Thackeray had read the memoir of his life and adven-
tures with a keen appreciation of its materials for a romance.
The story will be remembered of his saying that after having
invented Captain Costigan he was astounded to see the original
in face, figure, and dialect walk into a tap-room where he was
sitting and offer to sing a song. If he likewise invented Barry
Lyndon he would have been equally surprised at the faithfulness
of his conception in learning of the life and career of "Tiger "
Roche. Whatever was the fact, the resemblance in character
was perfect, except that Barry Lyndon was the more unconscion-
able villain and never deviated into magnanimity or forgot his
selfishness for a moment ; whereas if Roche had only been sup-
plied with enough of fighting in the way of his profession he
might have died creditably.

THE spirit of man is like the earth, which, fertile although it
be, produces nothing but briars and thorns so long as it remains
without cultivation.

Never offer any great opposition, especially in regard to
things of little importance. Instructions of St. Teresa.

1 882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 205

OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE.

THE English universities are not what they were. They
have lost their religious influence over the country. They are
little more than big schools for big pupils. Thirty years ago
the exact opposite was the case. The country was largely in-
fluenced by the universities, by the tone of thought and of
church polemics which they favored. Indeed, " religious move-
ments " were chiefly begotten at the universities, though much
moire so at Oxford than at Cambridge. Distinguished men may
have come chiefly from Cambridge, but religious movements
have come chiefly from Oxford. Perhaps Evangelicalism was a
plant of Cambridge culture ; but High-Churchism, the most
important of English movements, was both begotten and fully
developed at Oxford. The country now hears nothing or it
most certainly cares nothing about what may be " going on "
at the universities. They have ceased to be the nurseries of
English thought. And as the fact is quite as patent as it is
curious, it may be interesting to inquire into the causes.

Lord Carnarvon said recently in the House of Lords that
" the divorce between religion and learning had brought it
about that many students end their academical careers utterly
reft of all religious belief"; and certainly he might have added,
had he thought it prudent to do so, that most students are the
mere sport of private " views," equally baseless and fantastic, in
regard to faith. The Archbishop of Canterbury, speaking on
the same occasion, and being desirous of making the best of
a hopeless case, offered the following apologetic observation :
" There is still a something left in the universities which may,
under a happier state of things, be the means of keeping alive
religious instruction in the universities." What that "some-
thing " is we are left to conjecture, though doubtless the arch-
bishop was alluding to the influence of the few clerical dons who
are still at Oxford. But it is somewhat humiliating to be told,
on the very highest authority, that our universities have almost
ceased to be Christian. As we have remarked, this was not the
case thirty years ago. In those days it may be said with per-
fect truth that the dominant element of Oxford thought was
religion. Of Cambridge thought this could not be said with
equal truth ; yet the assertion might be allowed to pass without
cavil. Religious movements being characteristic of Oxford

2o6 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

thought from the time of the Stuarts down to thirty years ago,
the religious element was most " lived on " by the great body of
undergraduates, as well as by professors and dons. Indeed, the
Oxford of thirty years ago was more emphatically polemical,
more absorbed in theological disputation, than the Oxford of
the time of Cromwell or of James II. In the time of Cromwell
the Oxford attitude was that of disgust ; in the time of James
it was that of " Anglican " alarm ; but thirty years ago it was
an attitude of intensely earnest inquiry, of an almost passionate
desire to find the truth. And the chief reason of this enthusiasm
was that in those days there were great leaders of great parties
or great schools of religious thought. High-Churchmen and
Low-Churchmen, and even a Christian sort of Broad-Churchmen,
had their gifted and thoroughly trusted leaders and champions,
who were looked up to by their disciples as men of the purest
aspiration as well as of high attainment in theology. Hence it
followed that the enthusiasm about a leader became the same
thing with the enthusiasm about his " views." It was impossible
to separate the one from the other. The students being all
young men, and the leaders being all matured men besides being
clergymen, doctors of divinity, college dons it was not only
natural but inevitable that the hero-worship of the don should
be the inspiration of the enthusiasm about his " views." This
was in the days when all the dons were clergymen, except the
few who had the intention of becoming so. But in these days
only 2ifew of the dons are clergymen; there will be fewer and
fewer in the course of years ; the whole professorial and tutorial
element is becoming not only lay but anti-clerical, and with
the change comes indifference to theology. It is easy to see
how, along with the indifference, there must grow up the spirit
of antagonism. Just as it was thought unworthy, almost con-
temptible, thirty years ago for an undergraduate not to attach
himself to some party, and therefore to some leader of that
party, so now, rationalist teachers being in a majority, rationalist
ideas have come naturally into favor. Just as in the old days it
was the '\fashion " to be theological, so in these days it is the
fashion to be sceptical. Clerical dons having ceased to attract
disciples, rationalist dons have begun to corrupt students.

It follows naturally that the country has ceased to be interest-
ed in the " theological tone of thought of the universities."
This is the fault of the universities, not of the country. Thirty
years ago there was as much enthusiasm in the country about
what was " going on " at the universities as there was enthu-

1 882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 207

siasm among- the " sets " of the undergraduates in regard to their
chosen leaders and champions. But it is totally impossible for
the country to be enthusiastic about communities from which
every pulse of enthusiasm has died out. The country cannot be
expected to be enthusiastic about scholarship, for that is a mat-
ter which concerns scholars alone. Nor are the constitutions,
the statutes, the endowments of the universities of the smallest
interest to any persons in the world, save only to the few per-
sons who profit by them. No ; if the country is to be really in-
terested in the universities it can only be because great move-
ments are either begotten within their spheres or learnedly, and
also earnestly, developed by them.

Let us briefly trace the process -by which Oxford say in the
last twenty .years has lost its (religious) influence with the
country. We will speak only of Oxford, because its greatest
movement was its own movement, unaided by any force outside
itself. About the year 1845 there began the movement which
throughout England was nicknamed the " Puseyite " or " Trac-
tarian." Its development shook the country to its very depths.
^Fathers and mothers who had sons to send to Oxford were
profoundly stirred by the risks of " Romeward teaching " to
which their sons would be exposed while at college. Yet
" Puseyism " seemed to fascinate half the nation. Even the
Times newspaper, usually cautious and far-seeing, adopted the
new theology as a " national success." After a time that politic
organ changed its tone ; but it shows how almost " national "
was the enthusiasm that even the Times believed that Puseyism
would win the day. Then came three great changes great
developments. First came the conversion of Dr. Newman ;
secondly, the (natural) reaction from that conversion ; thirdly,
the twofold counter development on the one side in the direc-
tion of fictitious ritualism, on the other in the direction of rank
scepticism.

But has not the country, it may be asked, rather adopted
the new ritualism than adopted the alternative of rank scepti-
cism ?

The answer, we fear, must be as follows. Ritualism having
been proved to be logically a fallacy, and practically a Protes-
tant ape of Catholic authority, the country, like Oxford, has
abandoned it as a sound movement and has grown indifferent
to its excesses and pretensions. It is true that many Anglicans
continue to toy with pretty ritualism ; its dresses attract the
educated and the multitude ; its choral music and mimic chasu-

208 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

bles still delight ; its mise en scene of decorous services still
allures. But all this is but purely natural taste ; it has but lit-
tle to do with faith ; it has simply nothing to do with the con-
viction of possession. So that the country, taking the example
from Oxford which was primarily responsible for the new
ritualism has sat down calmly in an attitude of speculation,
and even amuses itself with wondering what the next move-
ment is likely to be in the usually prolific maternity of Oxford
thought.

But is it credible, it may be inquired, that both Oxford and
the country have thrown aside the old interest, the old enthu-
siasm ? Even if the country has really done this has Oxford
become so utterly changed ? Has Oxford lost all passion for
polemics? Has Puseyism become a thing of the. past? Has
High-Churchism ceased to be thought worth wrangling about ?
Has controversy grown too cold to be even a pastime ? It must
seem that this is practically the case. Dr. Pusey is absolutely
nowhere !* St. Mary's pulpit is a mere chair of (Christian) free
thought. Divinity professors are heavy accessories of a big sys-
tem. Indeed, theology, except in terms or watchwords, has
ceased to be a science worth the combating. Not only is there
no chance of a new development, but there is positively nothing
left to be developed. As an Oxford professor said quite recent-
ly to the present writer: " We have gone clean through the pos-
sible processes of developments." Not even the imagination can
picture yet a new one. It is not possible, we should assume, to
develop rationalism. Nor is it obvious how dull indifference
can be developed. It is not easy even to develop the shams of
pretty ritualism, except in the way of toilet or of affectation.
So that the " something " of which the Archbishop of Canter-
bury spoke, as being just possibly a new germ of a new move-
ment, is really nothing more than a tradition of decorous piety
sweetly lingering round the chapels and the cloisters. And at
this point let us inquire for one moment : Is that " something "
possibly pregnant with fresh revival ?

It has been abundantly proved that the having always before
one's eyes the glorious monuments of a faith which has passed
away is not in itself any inducement to "go back to the old reli-
gion " which animated the founders of those monuments. Eng-
land is crammed full of Catholic monuments. Yet England is
crammed full of dull Protestantism. It is true that Oxford is ex-
ceptionally Catholic in its monuments, both in their number and

* This article was written before Dr. Pusey's death, a few weeks ago. ED. C. W.

1 882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 209

in their exquisite richness. But who knows this ? or who notes it?
Who considers, when he is walking through Christ Church, that
St. Frideswide, with twelve other holy virgins, laid the foundation
of the college in the eighth century ? Who remembers, when he
is visiting All Souls, that it was originally the " collegium omni-
um animarum fidelium defunctorum de Oxon," and that the so-
ciety was commanded to pray for the souls of Henry V., Henry
VI., the Duke of Clarence, and for such soldiers as had fallen in
the war with France ? Who cares if he even knows when he
enters Balliol that the founder ordered Masses to be said in per-
petuity for the repose of certain persons named in his charter;
any more than he cares if he even knows that the scholars were
required to speak Latin during dirfner, and, if obstinate, were
served last or not at all? Who reflects, as he wanders in the
cloisters of that most exquisite of the gems of even Oxford,
" Magdalen, the queen of cloistered colleges," that the archi-
tects were pure idealists because they were Roman Catholics,
and that it was in the " dark ages " of Roman Catholicism
that such angels of art achieved monuments of genius and of
faith such as Montalembert called " inspirations from a higher
world " ? Who has any recollection, as he passes Corpus Christi,
that the charter recites that the founder endowed this college in
honor of " the body of Christ, and of the Blessed Virgin, ... of
St. Cuthbert, St. Swithin, St. Birin " ; and that the founder, like
all the other founders of Oxford colleges, such as Waynflete and
Sir Thomas Pope, Wykeham, Edmund le Riche, and Walter de
Merton, appointed requiems to be said in perpetuity for them-
selves and for those who were dear to them ? No one thinks of
such " superstitions," even if he remembers them. At the most
they are but the dream of the antiquary. A certain poetical
interest may be attached to such traditions in the mind of the
educated or the imaginative ; but Cromwell and Fairfax, who
quartered their soldiers in Magdalen College and ordered all
the stained glass to be smashed to pieces like Parker and Grin-
dall, who destroyed the grails and the processionals, and effaced
the fairest monuments of Catholic art, which had made New Col-
lege one of the wonders of the middle ages were really not
more Protestant in the coarseness of their actions than are most
Oxonians in the coldness of their spirit.

So that we do not attach much importance to the eloquent
pleadings of Catholic monuments, whether they be colleges,
cathedrals, or sanctuaries ; nor do we think that the " some-
thing "in which Archbishop Tait still believes can be found in
VOL. xxxvi. 14

210 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

the Catholic structures of a community which has turned a deaf
ear to those structures for three centuries.

What, then, is that "something," or where shall it be looked
for, either within or without the universities ?

Now, first, let it be noted that the Catholic bishops of Eng-
land have decided that the " something " does not exist ! Not
only have they failed to detect any quickening of the dry bones
of the once living Catholic colleges, but they have emphatically
declared that Oxford and Cambridge are but dry bones from
which no future life can be expected. At a meeting of the Eng-
lish bishops in last Low week it was resolved that Catholic pa-
rents could not send their sons to the universities without incur-
ring a more than grave responsibility. The reasons given were
quite as plain as they were numerous. The universities are
now thrown open to both non-Christians and Christians ; the
heads of houses may be laymen maybe even rationalists; the
fellows need not necessarily be resident ; the resident tutors in
the colleges are reduced to such small numbers as to be incom-
petent to exercise personal influence ; the obligation to attend
chapel has been done away ; a paid chaplain may perform the
functions in the college chapels ; the whole character of the uni-
versities has been rendered secular, even more so than that of
the army or of the navy. How, then, can Catholics " go to Ox-/
ford "? If in 1867 it was made known that the Holy See had set
its face against such perils to young Catholics, it is probable that
in 1882, now that the perils have grown greater, the Holy See
would not only warn but forbid.

So that the " something " of Archbishop Tait must not be
looked for in a new infusion of the Catholic with the Anglican-
Rationalist element. Before the commissioners had changed
the character of the universities by pronouncing emphatically
that they were not Christian, the first impression of the young
" Freshman " was that he was in an Anglican college where reli-
gious duties were as binding as religious tests. All tests and all
duties have now vanished. It may be true that the old restric-
tions were much more formal than real ; but there is all the dif-
ference in the world between affirming that there are no restric-
tions and leaving Freshmen to be sincere or insincere. It may
be true that a Freshman, as a rule, regarded chapel as he regard-
ed the obligation of dining in hall ; he might seat himself be-
neath the don who read the prayers as he would take a chair
at the don's lecture on Aristotle ; but at least there was the re-
cognition of the postulate, " Let it be granted that this college is

i882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 211

Christian." In the same spirit, when a Freshman went to lecture,
he might be disposed to smile at the white tie of the reverend
don; he might appreciate the droll requirement that the don
must be a divine in order to lecture on Horace or Juvenal ; but
at least there was the recognition of the statutable fact that a
Fellow and a Christian were the same man. With the exception
only of one or two institutions, such as the observatory, or pos-
sibly the music schools, or the chair for Sanscrit or for any ex
ceptional study, the representatives of all studies were ecclesias-
tics, and their title was at least " reverend," if not " doctor."
In this fact lay the confession of Christianity. Undergraduates
could seldom get through half an hour without being reminded
that they had " sworn to the Thirty-nine Articles."

And be it remembered that this " confession of Christianity "
had been always the backbone of the universities. There might
be changes from age to age in the scholarly fame of the univer-
sities, in their literary as well as social prestige, in their influ-
ence with the country as courts of appeal on points of taste, or
in their political relations to the reigning dynasty ; but there
was never any question that Oxford and Cambridge were first
Christian, and only secondly classic or loyal. Take, for exam-
ple, that one period of their history when James II. sought to
compel them to become Catholic. Now, there was no period in
their history when they more deserved the sympathy of English
Catholics than when they fought their hardest against the king
who would " convert " them. If the principle were once con-
ceded by the two first communities in England that the king
might force a religion upon all his subjects, it was obvious that
any king, no matter what his religion, might in any age abuse
the same prerogative. Loyalty to English liberties was there-
fore a higher political duty nay, it was even a higher Christian
duty than loyalty to King James or to his religion. It was not
question which religion was the right one ; it was a question
whether all future generations were to be enslaved by the ca-
price of the ruling despot. It so happened that in the time of
James II. the universities held the highest social position which
they had probably ever held in the country. More than this,
they held a higher social position than any other university in
Europe. Louvain or Leipzig, Padua or Bologna, Leyden or
Utrecht, were as nothing, in their inherited dignity, to the im-
memorial universities of England. English nobles of the high-
est degree were proud of their academical robes. English ora-
tors, statesmen, lord- chancellors, thought as much of their de-

212 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

grees as of their official rank. Isaac Newton, Fellow of Trin-
ity College, Cambridge, perhaps the greatest of geometricians
and natural philosophers, was esteemed more highly for being a
teacher of undergraduates. No literary man of any pretension
to success could dispense with the kindly criticism of the uni-
versities. And it was just at this time, when the universities
were supreme, that James II. tried to force them to become Ca-
tholic. Christ Church, University College, Magdalen College,
at Oxford, were commanded to become Catholic against their
will. Cambridge had Catholic masters thrust upon it, while its
Anglican masters were turned out into the streets. High re-
sentment followed such high-handed treatment. The universi-
ties were intensely Tory, intensely loyal ; but they were, above
all else, intensely loyal to their Church of England. It was this
loyalty which gave them their favor with the country. And
when these two great bodies pronounced boldly against tyranny
against King James' usurpation of all legislative power and
his assumption of illimitable prerogative they judged rightly
that it was not a question of the true religion, but a question of
the future existence of religious liberty. We Catholics in Eng-
land owe to King James' stupidity, to his perpetual breaking of
his royal promises to defend all liberties, more than a century of
the bitterest persecution. Just as Charles II. threw away his
political opportunities, as well as his Catholic opportunities, for
the sake of the most frivolous gratifications, so did King James
throw away his opportunities of " popularizing " Catholicism
for the sake of playing the despot and the tyrant. Faithfulness,
prudence, generosity would have won the hearts of all the
Protestants in the land; but James II. taught English Protes-
tants to believe that English Catholics were equally faithless and
pitiless. The universities took the side of the country in re-
senting both the perfidiousness and the cruelty. Nor can we
blame either their politics or their principles. Had King James
learned his lesson from the universities, and become as prudent
as he was dull and self-willed, it is probable that there would
have been no need for the " Catholic Emancipation," because
Catholics would not have been made to suffer through his fault.
Thus the relation of the universities to the country, which
was always theologically important and always academically in-
teresting, was dignified, just before the revolution, by a vast
addition of political sympathies, and became auxiliary to the
overthrow of the dynasty.

From that time to this neither Oxford nor Cambridge has

1 882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 213

exercised much influence in politics. Their influence has been
social and literary. As seminaries for the clergymen of the Es-
tablishment they have also had ecclesiastical influence. Yet
these three kinds of influence the social, the literary, the eccle-
siastical have now faded into little more than imputed merits
from which all substance of real power has vanished. Socially,
the " Germanizing " of the universities has lost to them their
aristocratic tone. Literarily, the great spread of education, the
institution of new seminaries of the highest class, and the com-
petitive examinations for public offices have somewhat thrown
into the shade the old dignity of Oxford and Cambridge by
doing away with their monopoly of granting grades. Ecclesias-
tically, Oxford and Cambridge are simply nowhere ; for since
they cannot now direct the " views " of the nation, having aban-
doned all earnest views of their own, the nation cares no more
for the theology of Christ Church, Oxford, or for the theology
of Trinity College, Cambridge, than it cares for the theology of
the London University or for that of St. Bees or St. Aidan's.
Moreover, the introduction of the new order of " literates," or
non-graduated clergy, in the Church of England has lowered
the social standard of the Establishment a fact which must react
on the universities, because their influence as sole nurseries of
clerical thought has been taken from them, never to be restored.
So that, from the social, the literary, the ecclesiastical point of
view, Oxford and Cambridge have gone down ; and though they
must always retain their rank from their prestige, they cannot
hope to recover their influence from their monopolies.

It would be a mistake to suppose that there are not a great
many Englishmen who look back with regret on a past time.
There are many old-fashioned " Anglicans," both Oxonians and
Cantabs, who grumble at all the modern innovations. Putting
religious questions aside, they grumble at the new tone, the new
ideas. They are wont to say : " Ah ! in my day, sir, some forty
or fifty years ago, we had leisure to think of other things than
the schools. We were not bored to death with incessant lec-
tures nor worried out of our lives with examinations. We used
to ride, sir, and hunt, and enjoy life ; and we were none the
worse scholars for not being ' crammed.' In these days, sir,
cramming ruins the men. They have not time to think of any-
thing worth thinking of. They are mere plodders not gentle-
men, not men of thought, but big school-boys who are always
thinking about their ' pass.' " And there is a great deal of truth
In such grumbling. " Cramming " is undoubtedly a great eviU

214 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

The system has spread all over England. Instead of cherishing
individuality and developing natural powers, mere memory is
the one thing crammed and worried. From this cause, to some
extent, comes the comparative disregard which university men
now show to " religious movements." They have not time to
be interested about such things. It is all very well to scoff at the
old days, when the Don Amiable, the Don Gentlemanly, the Don
Learned, the Don Churchy, the Don Pious, the Don Proctorial,
the Don Presidential appeared to outsiders to be academical
monuments to which undergraduates looked up with divided
sentiments. It is very easy to cast ridicule on the " fast men,"
on the formal character of attendance at lecture, on the wildness
of wine-parties and supper-parties, on the indevout spirit of
"keeping chapels," or on the Sunday morning university ser-
mons. But in those days there was a fine spirit of the best sort
of aspiration, which had plenty of leisure to develop itself be-
tween studies. The new system is to make studies everything
and to taboo both religion and personal bias. The university
commissioners have effected this great change. Not a word can
be said against inciting to industry ; but why do this* at the
expense of higher objects ? It was better that the men should
have good leisure, during which to develop their own minds,
than that they should be taught that to be always cramming,
and not to believe in any religion, are the highest discoveries
in modern training. Are the Germans or are the French any
better, as men, citizens, cultured gentlemen, or good Christians,
from the system of substituting machine-work for the old de-
velopment by thought and observation ? The present condition
of Europe does not show this. Neither Bismarck nor Paul Bert
can be said to show it. " Education " in these days has little to
do with e-duco ; it is rather a forcing down of alien sympathies
into alien natures.

We must arrive, then, at the conclusion that modern pro-
gress is rather a sham, and that the rejuvenescence of the uni-
versities, like the "something" of Archbishop Tait, is a purely
visionary hypothesis of vague hopes. It would seem that if the
universities are ever to become what they were the " move-
ment " must be external, not internal. It is just possible if we
shall not be thought too complacent in venturing on such a san-
guine expectation that the immense rise and vast improvement
in English Catholic colleges may teach a lesson to the now ra-
tionalist universities. The Catholic axiom that in all Christian
education we must not separate Catholic theology from Chris-

1 882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 215

tian philosophy ; that the light of nature without the light of
revelation is insufficient to " educate " the whole man ; and also
the Catholic fact that the Catholic Church made the universi-
ties, with the reasonable inference that what it was once com-
petent to make it is equally competent at this day to make
again are considerations which must commend themselves to
such of our countrymen as are not wholly blinded or indifferent.
Moreover, the statistical fact that the students of Catholic col-
leges notably of Ushaw and Stonyhurst have come out among
the first in the open and wide competition of the undoubtedly
first-class London University is a proof that English Catholics,
intellectually and aspiringly, are fully competent to compete
with all comers. The fascinations of science and of culture,
which are assumed to be antagonistic to Catholicism, have been
proved by hundreds of Catholics to have no injurious charm
over their industries, their attainments, or their faith. Not only
so, but the superficiality of those pretensions before which Pro-
testant students fall down helpless, and the positively ludicrous
state of muddle, intellectual and spiritual, into which modern
thought has dragged its votaries, are sound reasons, in the mind
of the Catholic student, for continuing to combine theology with
philosophy. If Oxford and Cambridge would recruit their
ranks for five years from the English Catholic colleges alone,
refusing admission to all non-Catholics with the same deliberate-
ness of will with which they now welcome all wanderers from
all faith, there is not the smallest doubt that at the end of the
five years the universities would have recovered their national
place. For it is confusion which has made the universities to
seem weak, and doubt which has destroyed their teaching in-
fluence. Once let them be harmonious in belief, and their com-
bined culture and creed would be irresistible. This, however,
cannot be. The universities are lost to the church. There is no
more hope of their becoming Catholic from an inward move-
ment than of the dean and canons of St. Paul's Cathedral invit-
ing Cardinal Manning to replace them with priests from South-
wark or from Kensington. And as to an outward movement,
from what source is it to come ? The state, which has assisted
Oxford in becoming rationalist, is now hesitating whether it
shall declare itself infidel. The legislature is uncertain whe-
ther a confession that God exists should be made a requirement
from those Englishmen who make the laws, just as it is uncer-
tain whether a confession that God exists can be desirable in
the teachers of English youth. It has even decided that such

2i6 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

teacher smay be rationalists, which is exactly the same thing
with saying that they ought to be. For if Christianity is an open
question it is obvious that no college tutor would be justified in
pronouncing it to be paramount. So that Oxford and Cam-
bridge, perceiving this, may just possibly become alarmed and
may be disposed to look outside for Christian help. In other
words, the better sort of university men may one day ask
Catholics to help them in recovering the Christian belief. Shall
we hope this against hope? Shall we hope that just as the uni-
versities in the seventeenth century welcomed the foreigner to
deliver them from persecution, so one day they will welcome
Catholics as their only possible deliverers from their deteriora-
tion by a deteriorated state ? The hope might seem dreamy
were it not for the natural law that extremes always bring about
a reaction. Thus France, having got to its lowest ebb, thanks
to its anti-Christian government, is now exhibiting a desperate
Catholic earnestness which will probably lead to a revision of
the education laws. Oh ! that the English government would
persecute the universities instead of tamely encouraging them
in rationalism. It is the detestable politeness of English, rational-
ist liberalism which removes the sting of offence from its infidel-
ity. The universities want shaking. They have no guardians in
the government, in the Established Church, in the (now depart-
ed) clerical college dons, in the gifted leaders of thoughtful
schools of Anglican theology, nor even in any outside orators or
writers. If Cardinal Newman were to return to residence at
Oxford he would find "sets" which would regard him with
deep respect, but which would be unaccustomed to enthusiasm
about conscience. Enthusiasm has died out for the present.
Nor is there any hope of its being revived from within. If a
new enthusiasm is to be begotten at all it must be begotten from
the great body of English Catholics. It is for them to make the
next " religious movement." In other words, it is for English
Catholics to convince Oxford, by an effort which they have not
yet gravely attempted, that education, to be perfect, must be
Catholic.

Is such an effort out of the question ? Intellectually, there
is no doubt it is practicable. But there is a coldness and a stiff-
ness about the English Catholic body in the ordinary, social
sense of the word " body " which promises badly for a vigorous
initiation. The failure of the new Kensington University showed
how disjointed are English Catholic sympathies. It is unfortu-
nate that whenever some big idea is to be carried out, no matter

1 882.] OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. 217

whether it be academical or ecclesiastical or even'the starting of
a first-class periodical to be in harmony with the wants of the
time the various sections of Catholic Englishmen pull this way
and pull that way, but do not pull, as they should do, all together.
This person is afraid of offending that person, and this caste
is afraid of offending that caste ; so that the new idea drops
through, or is so hampered by sensibility that it does not ripen
into the full stature of its first intent. This comes from the long
habit of being " bullied," of being " sat upon " by a Protestant
country, till at last the very idea of big movements has come to
be thought risky or temerarious. Time may possibly mitigate
the evil ; but unless all English Catholic magnates, in all spheres
and in all professions, will try to forego a certain egotism of
sensitiveness and to combine heartily with those from whom
they differ, there is little hope that the old dignities of the old
Catholic universities will be inherited by a new Catholic univer-
sity. It is manifest that a mere conviction of the superiority of a
religion is insufficient to " convert " institutions, as it is insuffi-
cient to convert a whole country. There must be, naturally
speaking, the recognition of a collective power, of a combined
energy, resoluteness, and calm enthusiasm, before the ancient
seats of learning can come to recognize that superiority which
would make it safe to transfer their interests and their obedience.
We have no right to trust to the supernatural when we do not
make the best uses of the natural. Now, it cannot be said that,
from the natural point of view, English Catholics present a con-
quering front. Neither in the House of Lords, nor in the House
of Commons, nor in literary ventures of a commanding kind is
there that superiority of Catholic men and of Catholic works
which would strike astonishment or deep respect into the Pro-
testant mind. There is a shrinking from a bold front, from com-
bined power. There is even a smallness about Catholic public
life. No individual can be to blame for such smallness we can-
not be born giants at our own discretion yet the smallness might
become largeness, if the " bundle of sticks " were not divided, or
if the big sticks and the little sticks were less sensitive. It has
been one of the greatest misfortunes to the Catholic Church
throughout her history that her natural side has seemed to dis-
prove her supernatural. It has happened a thousand times that
her biggest men were her smallest men ; that her grandeur of
heart and her gentle purity of intellect have been " typed " in
some tyrant or some quibbler. It is not the Catholic religion
which has ever failed to make conquests ; it is Catholic men who

218 OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE. [Nov.,

have failed to commend their own religion. And so, too, in the
social life there is little winning of the outsider by magnanimity,
by delicacy, by superiority, but rather a presentation of narrow-
minded sectarianism the exact opposite of the " spirit of the
church." It may be excusable to allude passingly to this sub-
ject when we have to face the undoubted fact of national failure.
We have not conquered the intellect nor the heart, nor even so
much as the imagination, of the British public. And the great
seats of learning are now calmly indifferent to the " Catholic
body," as they are to the superb logic of Catholicism. Oxford
and Cambridge, once Catholic, " sit as easy" to Catholicism as
they do to the gentlemanly religion of the Dean of Westminster.
They would like to be impressed by Catholicism, but Catholics
are not sufficiently impressed by it themselves. They recognize,
indeed, the faith of English Catholics, but not their exceptional
force of combination. They may be even convinced of the
splendid harmony of Catholic doctrines, as they are convinced of
the splendid harmony of the heavenly bodies ; but they are dis-
appointed because the harmony of the doctrines does not inspire
all Catholics with a sublime will. They will not distinguish, as
we do, between the natural and the supernatural. It is, indeed,
impossible that they should do so. But Catholics ought to re-
member that impossibility. And not until Catholics remember
it, and keep it always before them, and unite magnanimously to
do great works in a great way will the universities invite their
confidence and their fellowship, or say to them, " Come over to
us and help us."

ALWAYS accommodate yourself to the dispositions of those
with whom you converse. Be cheerful with those who are in
good spirits, and show your sympathy for those who are de-
pressed ; and, in short, become all things to all that you may
gain all.

Never speak with exaggeration, but express your thoughts in
a calm and simple manner.

Never speak positively about anything of which you are not
perfectly sure. Instructions of St. Teresa to her Religious.

1 882.] MR. BANCROFT* 's NEW VOLUMES. 219

MR. BANCROFT'S NEW VOLUMES.*

THESE volumes are printed on [clear and substantial white
paper, in large, open type, with the words well spaced apart, and
present very easy reading to dim eyesight. If the style of the
author had been as clear and transparent, and the construction
of his sentences as simple and natural, one could have scarcely
desired anything more for the perfection of book-making. The
first volume, of five hundred and twenty pages, contains an ap-
pendix of two hundred and forty pages, consisting, in smaller
type, of " letters and papers illustrating the formation of the
federal Constitution." The second volume, of five hundred and
one pages, has a similar appendix of one hundred and thirty-three
pages, in continuation of that in the first volume. Thus there
are in both volumes six hundred and forty-eight pages of the
text and three hundred and seventy-three pages of appendix,
which may be regarded as a comfortable amount of what the
booksellers call " padding."

The contents of the text are divided into four books, of which
the first treats of "Confederation" meaning by the term any in-
dications and opinions in favor of a confederation. The title of
the second book is " On the Way to a Federal Convention." The
third book contains " The Federal Convention," and the fourth
book treats of " The People of the States in Judgment on the Con-
stitution." Every one will hail with lively interest whatever re-
lates to the original formation of the Constitution of the United
States, however partial or imperfect it may be when compared
with the whole subject. It is on such ground that this work
must rest for a complimentary reception with the public ; for al-
though its sub-title is The Constitution of the United States of Ame-
rica, and its full title The History of the Formation of the Constitution,
etc., yet it is due to the reader to say that it is justly neither one
nor the other. The author says : " That which I attempt to do is
to trace the formation of the federal Constitution from its origin
to its establishment by the inauguration of its President. I have
spared no pains to compress the narrative within the narrowest
limits consistent with clearness. . . . Large extracts from my
collections are printed at the end of each volume. The selection

* History of the Formation of the Constitution of the United States of America. By George
Bancroft. In two volumes, pp. 520 and 501, octavo. New York : D. Appleton & Co.

22O MR. BANCROFT'S NEW VOLUMES. [Nov.,

has been strictly confined to those of which I have authentic co-
pies in manuscript. Unless my knowledge or memory fails me,
not more than half a dozen of them all have been printed hereto-
fore, and those are inserted for some special purpose. They are
so numerous and so different that I cannot but hope every one
will find something of interest, as well as assistance in watching
the movement of the mind of the people and of Congress from
a league of States to a perfect Union."

It is hardly necessary to say that the simple province of his-
tory is to describe events and the actions of men after the man-
ner in which they are viewed by the mind ; in other words, ac-
cording to the laws of the mind, which views them in the light
of cause and effect. Thus the inquiry is for the cause of an
vent or the reason of an action ; its nature, origin, and atten-
dant circumstances; the nature of the effect and consequences ;
and the connection between the cause and the effect is distinctly
traced. Only after these details have been presented the mind
is said to comprehend the subject of them. It is thus that what-
ever bears the name of history must be written to be entitled to
,its appellation. With what lively emotions would the citizens of
the United States welcome a work of such high character ! Let
it commence at the period when the colonists first realized the
danger impending over them from the military preparations of
the mother-country ; when they were disunited, dissevered, in-
experienced in a common interest, and unused to sacrifices for a
public welfare ; when they were depressed with apprehensions
and the future was veiled in impenetrable darkness ; when the
hour had come in which a new and a higher era was to begin in
the civil affairs of all nations by the elevation of the people to the
supreme control. It had fallen to the lot of these feeble colo-
nists to go from the Red Sea through the wilderness of strug-
gles and trials and blood until they were trained up and ripened
to lay the foundations and erect a structure to the liberty and
equality of men which should be like a city set on a hill and at-
tract the gaze of coming generations. To trace the unfolding of
the principles of our liberty through the actions of these men, to
present the motives or causes of those actions, with their halt-
ings, their fears for the loss of their liberties, their jealousies of
the central power to be created, the obstacles encountered and
the gradual moulding of their minds to accept and achieve the
great conclusions these would form the charm of a truly-con-
structed history of the formation of the Constitution of the Unit-
ed States.

1 882.] MR. BANCROFT'S NEW VOLUMES. 221

Such is not this work. It does not appear whether it was the
purpose of the venerable author of these volumes to issue them
as supplementary to his previous History or as an independent
work. If the latter was his design he has left these volumes sad-
ly deficient in that preliminary information necessary to aid the
reader in comprehending the state of affairs in which this subject
holds a place. Without this knowledge from some source the
mind of the latter will soon become confused and wearied. He
finds in Book I. a collection of incidental meetings for some com-
mon cause on the part of two or three States ; extracts from let-
ters speaking of the feebleness of "the powers that be," without
scarcely a word in explanation of what those powers are ; extracts
from resolutions of some legislative assemblies, and finally a re-
ference to the dissatisfaction existing in the army of Washington
when disbanded. These are presented as evidences of the move-
ment of the mind of the colonists towards a new constitutional
union. Whereas the first impression on the mind of the judi-
cious reader will be that the most of them are simply clamors of
despondent or ambitious individuals for a stronger government ;
and if the proceedings of the Constitutional Convention are looked
into some of these persons appear there as the advocates of na-
tional union. Even the sagacity of Washington is put at fault in
these quotations. He wrote to a member of Congress : " I never
expect to see a happy termination of the war, nor great national
concerns well conducted in peace, till there is something more
than a recommendatory power in Congress." Yet he lived to
see a happy termination of the war and many years of peace
without any additional grant of power to Congress. No indica-
tions are given in these pages of the views of those who did not
clamor for a strong government, but the preamble of a resolution
of the State of Virginia offers some light, thus : " The permit-
ting any power other than the General Assembly of this com-
monwealth to levy duties or taxes upon the citizens of this State
within the same is injurious to its sovereignty, may prove de-
structive of the rights and liberty of the people, and, so far as
Congress may exercise the same, is contravening the spirit of the
confederation." Here our author remarks : " The contest was
between the existing league of States and a republic of unit-
ed States ; between ' State sovereignty ' and a ' consolidated
union ' ; between ' State politics and continental politics ' ; be-
tween ' the centripetal ' and the fear of ' the centrifugal force '
in the system." But of this contest we are allowed to see and
hear only one side in these pages, as if the other had gone out of

222 MR. BANCROFT'S NEW VOLUMES. [Nov.,

existence. When the Constitutional Convention assembled a few
years later Luther Martin, a delegate from Maryland, in his re-
port to the Legislature of that State thus described the three
parties in the former body : " One party whose object and wish
it was to abolish and annihilate all State governments, and to
bring forward one general government over this extensive conti-
nent of a monarchical nature, under certain restrictions and limi-
tations. . . . The second party was not for the abolition of State
governments nor for the introduction of a monarchical govern-
ment under any form ; but they wished to establish such a sys-
tem as could give their own States undue power and influence in
the government over the States. . . . The third party was what
I consider truly federal and republican. This party was for
proceeding upon terms of federal equality ; they were for taking
our present federal system as the basis of their proceedings, and,
as far as experience had shown that other powers were necessary
to the federal government, to give those powers. They con-
sidered this the object for which they were sent by their States,
and what their States expected from them."

Book II. is entitled " On the Way to a Federal Convention,"
and commences after the appearance of Washington's letter to
the governors of the States " urging a convention of the people
to give energy to the federal Constitution." Of this address our
venerable author says : " It was to a nation which had not as yet
a self-existent government, and which needed and felt the need of
one, that it went forth." The people of that early day whom he
designates a " nation " were then living in a harmonious union
under " Articles of Confederation " so prepared as to protect the
rights and liberties of the people, and to preserve them from all
efforts to institute over them a strong centralized government.
Therefore this confederation was declared to be " not as yet a
self-existent government " ; therefore these clamors of its feeble-
ness, of its imbecility, of its want of power to grasp the people
as individuals and put their bodies in the army as soldiers and
their property in the treasury as taxes, were raised that it might
be got rid of. It is such clamors, together with incidents of
dilatoriness of State legislatures, indifference in paying imposts,
and other events indicative of feebleness in Congress, that form
the current topic of this book and of the first volume. Admit-
ting their existence, they seem to have achieved nothing, al-
though they are here presented as constituting the public sen-
timent of the colonists. On the contrary, the colonists accepted
the " Articles of Confederation " which conducted them to a

1 882.] MR. BANCROFTS NEW VOLUMES. 223

triumphant issue of the war and preserved them in peace some
years, during which their prosperity greatly revived. This ex-
perience made apparent some defects in the Articles and proved
them to be inadequate for some necessary purposes. Hence the
real idea of a reorganization arose from the necessity of regulat-
ing commercial intercourse between the States and with foreign
nations, and of making provision for the payment of the debt.
Some measures were taken at a meeting of commissioners from
the Middle States and Virginia, which were of no avail until
Congress on February 21, 1787, adopted a resolution expressing
the opinion that delegates appointed by the States should meet
in convention in Philadelphia " for the sole and express purpose
of revising the Articles of Confederation and reporting to Con-
gress and the several legislatures such alterations and provi-
sions therein as shall . . . render the federal Constitution ade-
quate to the exigencies of government and the preservation of
the Union." Rhode Island gave no attention to the resolution.
The legislatures of all the other States appointed delegates, and
gave them instructions, in almost the very words of the resolu-
tion, to join in discussing and devising " such alterations and fur-
ther provisions as may be necessary to render the federal Con-
stitution adequate to the exigencies thereof." In every instance
except New Hampshire and Maryland the instructions were to
revise and amend the federal Constitution, which was the Arti-
cles of Confederation. How could this be unless the people ac-
cepted the Articles of Confederation ? Those Articles, revised,
altered, and amended, would now be in force, probably, if the de-
legates to the convention had not disobeyed their instructions.

Sufficient has been said to show that these volumes present a
very imperfect view of the history of the formation of the Consti-
tution, and one which would induce the reader erroneously to
think that the fathers, with one mind, demanded a consolidated
government. There are many meritorious features in the work
which will cause it to be regarded as a valuable contribution to'
the subject.

BEAR it in mind that you have but one soul, that you can die
but once, that your lifetime can be but short, and that there is
but one glory which is eternal : and this thought will detach
you from a multitude of things. Instructions of St. Teresa, to her
Religious.

224 I N THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

IN THE NEXT HOUSE.

WHEN we came to live here the house next door was vacant,
and had been for a long time. It looked so. Not that it had been
neglected or needed repairs, for the paint was fresh, the shutters
carefully closed, the gate locked, and even the vines against the
small front porch were trimmed, if not thriving ; but the whole
place wore a withered, shrunken, hollow aspect, betraying the
long want of the warmth and vigor of human life. An impalpable,
grim forlornness had settled down upon it, as the thin shadow
of dark green mould had formed along the edges of the brick
walks and in the small brick gutters under the rain-spouts.
Our own yard presented quite a jovial and enlivening contrast
of scattered wrapping-papers, wisps of straw, and cast-off hats.
Muddy footprints, large and small, went up the worn front
steps before us and led us on cheerfully through the bare, sun-
shiny rooms. The echo of last words in strange yet welcome
voices lingered along the entries and lurked in empty closets.
Three days before this had been the home of a large family, and
no haunting idea of a loneliness like unto that the same roof shel-
tered was possible. We were glad of it. We are a cheerful
family from principle, having worked it out as a soul-trying prob-
lem through trials when cheerfulness was a triumph. Conse-
quently, gloom and dreariness are the more distasteful in that
they are reminders of a past we have happily surmounted but
find it impossible to forget. " Only the sorrows of others cast
their shadows over " us nowadays, but we are sensitive to them.
This voiceless, fireless, lampless house was an oppression, and
the dirt and litter with which we had to contend in "settling
down " greeted us like a smile on a freckled face beside the
blank beauty of a blind and sullen one.

Naturally it came about that we made a joke among our-
selves of our dislike to our quiet neighbor. Where there are a
number of kindred souls, lively, impressionable, communicative,
there is a vast amount of talk which is often chatter, harmless
and even inspiriting. Over our breakfast-table we let that house
to all sorts of people, we fitted it to all sorts of " wants " in the
daily papers, we conjured up all sorts of horrors in its past, and
pictured all sorts of futures for its occupants who surely must
come, sooner or later. Amid all the chaff and dust of this there

1 882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE. 225

were often certain ripe and perfect grains of thought and fancy
we knew how to value. They were part of the daily bread of
life, sweetening and strengthening its dry crustiness. But it
wore itself out at last as a subject of interest, and still stood,
empty and forlorn, greener as to the walks and gutters, more
withered and shrunken as to its general aspect, when the second
year of our stay came in.

" Is the house haunted, Mr. Trexle ? " we asked the landlord
during one of his monthly settlements. Mr. Trexle was " a
study." We always contrived to form an admiring and appre-
ciative audience around him.

" Well, no," he answered, unmoved and deliberate ; " there's
nothing the matter with the house, but you see " Then he
paused. We brightened into expectancy and waited. " You
see, there don't nobody seem to come furrard. Good-mormn',
ma'am ! "

He slid away, as was his custom, backing through a crack of
the door and bobbing out of sight, placid, wrinkled, dry, and
shabby, as though he had no part or lot in anything beautiful,
generous, or gracious, here or hereafter. We looked at each
other and burst into a laugh.

" I was so disappointed ! " exclaimed Mabel. " I was so per-
fectly sure he was about to say something."

"He did," remarked John. "It was the 'yea and nay ' of
Scripture the literal truth."

Before his next call some one had "come furrard." The
house was taken.

I had been out to our old home in the country for several
days, and, coming back in the serene, sweet calm of a late spring
evening, it was a pleasant surprise to me to find the windows
open and the gate swinging hospitably on the latch. A faint
yellow glow from an inner room struck through the long-accus-
tomed blackness of the hall-door lights. I could scarcely believe
my eyes. But our own hall-door flew open and I was taken into
the bosom of my family with a rush.

" O mamma, the spell is broken ! The house is taken ! "
were the first intelligible words.

" So I see ! " I responded as eagerly. " Do tell me about it!
Who are they ? When did they come ? "

"They are, not 'seven,' but two apparently very young,
very ' shiftless,' I should judge, and not very happy. And they
came night before last and last night."

" Came at night ? " I questioned, puzzled.
VOL. xxxvi. 15

.226 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

" Yes, mamma, at night. It was nearly ten o'clock on Tues-
day night when we heard the wagons drive up, and in a little
while one of the men came to borrow our keys to open the gate.
Later a pale young fellow, a mere boy, came to return them
and to ask something about the kitchen range. It was easy to
see they had taken the house without even looking at it. Yes-
terday and to-day we have seen the mistress going in and out.
She looks younger than Mabel. Another wagon came late last
night."

" Well," I said, " I am glad the spell is broken. Where is
John?"

" Gone to New York. They sent for him the day you left.
He will be home to-morrow. Oh ! have you had your tea? "

The little ripple in the quiet tide of our lives had died upon
its surface. It was not until I awoke in the middle of the night
that my thoughts reverted to the next house. Some one was
moving restlessly to and fro in the room adjoining mine ; the de-
spairing tones of one youthful voice and the tender replies of an-
other were distinctly audible in the profound stillness. I was
too tired and sleepy to speculate long, but hand-in-hand with the
consciousness that we had neighbors at last came the assurance
that they needed help and comfort of some kind ; that however
young they might be, " the trail of the serpent " had marred their
Eden. I fell into confused dreams, during which I was present,
in some unaccountable manner, at all sorts of tragedies in the
next room, and from which I was only roused by the sharp click
of a gate-latch. " John, of course ! " was my first thought as I
sprang to the window. But, no. A pale and slender young
fellow was leaning over the next gate, fastening the stiff bolt.
He was very young and very sad-looking, and he walked away,
when he had accomplished his aim, with a weary, heavy step
that fell on my heart. It was six o'clock, and I went on with my
toilet, while sounds of awaking life began to make themselves
evident through the rooms ; but I could not get rid of the idea
that there was keen suffering very near us. It quite dulled the
lovely sunshiny morning, as it always must to those who have
suffered themselves and are the better for it. The tie of brother-
hood is never loosened by the chastening hand of God.

But, again, the claims of my own sufficed to exclude kindly
fancies. There was a great deal to do which met me at the
very threshold of my room, and there was a telegram from John
on the breakfast-table. " Home on Saturday " it said ; and this
was Wednesday, and I needed him for consultation over matters

j882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE. 227

I must attend to at once. Altogether I pushed aside my mid-
night revelations, my dreams, and my pale ghost of youth in the
dawning, only to take a hurried, wistful glance at them when an
occasional remark from one of the girls proved their interest had
received the added impulse of a discovery of some sort. John
came home on Saturday at noon, and we opened our budget to
him.

" She is such a pretty little thing, John, and they seem so
fond of each other," said Mabel when we had reached the next
house in our journalizing. " But she is awfully shabby. I think
she hates to be seen. Isn't it too bad we can't be neighbors
after all ? "

" Why not ? " questioned our lord and master serenely.
" Mother, haven't you called on them ? "

"No, not yet. They seem so shy."

" And well they might seem shy ! " he exclaimed indignantly.
" What were you thinking of all of you ? Where are your
country manners to allow two poor young strangers to struggle
through the horrors of such a home-coming ? I am ashamed of
you ! "

" O John, everything is so different here. One does not know
what to think of people," remonstrated Bessie.

" Nonsense ! " cried John, the straightforward. " / never found
them anything but men and women, whether you added saint or
sinner. And how on earth are you to find out what you ought
to think, shut away from them like royal mummies? "

" There she is now ! " broke in Mabel, who faced the window.
John looked over his shoulder, rose, walked straight to it, and
gave a low whistle of surprise. We looked at him in very much
the same state.

" Why, mother," he said, " that's Palgrave's daughter. Don't
you remember her on Fanshawe Street? "

" And her blue silk and white feather ! " cried Mabel.

"And her lazy little ways with those boy-beaux of hers,"
cried Bessie. " I wonder if she has married one of them ? "

" No ; I remember him now," I said, enlightened as the others.
" That is her brother. He used to be in the store, John. But
where are the others? "

John had returned to his easy-chair. He changed the sub-
ject : " Mother just while I think of it Thompson, Reynolds
& Co. would like you to send down that tin box of papers
when their boy comes up to-night. And you had better take
a list of the papers. Where is it ? It is curious you did not

228 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

recognize poor little Sweetbrier, Mabel. That is what the fel-
lows used to call her down there. I never knew her, but I used
to hear them talking, and they said she was sharp enough
when it was necessary, for all her wild-rose prettiness and lazy,
careless way. I remember now the father came to some kind
of grief. Never was much of a man, anyhow. Mother, here !
What does this mean ? " And we left our gossiping idleness for
the time, while I explained, sorted out, and numbered the papers
John had before him. When he had finished we were alone.

" Palgrave's daughter!" he exclaimed softly, leaning back in
his chair and slowly shuffling his memoranda like a pack of
cards. " Mother, the old man is a specimen of total depravity,
they say brought his family into all sorts of straits, and got
himself into prison somewhere. May be it is as well you and the
girls have not called ? " He looked at me with a question lurk-
ing in his brown eyes which the words did not express.

" I am very glad we found out something about them before
we called," I answered. " It might have been awkward. But 1
think I had better go in this afternoon."

" That is a good mother ! " he assented heartily. " Poor lit-
tle thing! she looks a very wilted blossom now."

She did indeed. While I was getting ready to make my
call, and waiting on the little porch before the dumb brown
door, a vision of two years ago was very vividly present to
me. We had then made harmless little jokes among ourselves
on the pretty girl who passed and repassed the house half
a dozen times in each day, brave with ribbons and cheap yet
tasteful adornings, fresh, child-like, whimsical, as any one could
see, and the " adored object " of some half-dozen callow youths.
There had never been anything about her to object to, and we
only knew of her as the daughter of the druggist on the next
corner, just come home from school and enjoying her girlish
triumphs as any light-hearted girl has a right. But now !
She opened the door herself. She was pale and thin, with
heavy shadows under her shy, sweet, sad eyes, that looked half
frightened at her sorrowful experience of a life she had believ-
ed so different. Her dress was worn and faded, but she had
made it neat as far as her poor means allowed, and she. had add-
ed a touch of bravery in ribbons pretty, richly-tinted, care-
fully-cleaned ribbons, tied at her throat and on her soft hair in
the old cunning bows we used to think she had such a knack for
making. She looked a little startled, and a shade of color flared
into her cheeks when she saw^ who had rung the bell.

1 882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE.

" I am your next-door neighbor, my dear," I said, directly
and cordially, for there was something in her face that warranted
it. " I thought perhaps you might be so far settled down as
to feel a little lonely this afternoon, and not quite averse to a
strange face, so I came in."

She opened the door with a quick, eager touch of welcome
succeeding her embarrassed first inspection. " She is used to
unwelcome guests," I thought, " and has learned to try, ineffec-
tually, to guard her poor, desecrated hearth."

" I am very glad," she said, holding out a slender hand and
brightening into a smile as girlishly pretty as any face of
seventeen ever wore. " I think I was lonely, but I hardly have
time to feel anything. We are not Very much at home yet."
There was a sudden falling of her voice on the last sentence, and
a darkening of her bright look, as she led the way into the par-
lor ; but she struggled with both bravely and did her best to
seem unconscious of the bare and forlorn room. There was no
carpet and no curtains, two old and faded sofas of one style,
three old and worn chairs of another, and a shabby table with a
shabby cover, strewn with books, an old portfolio, a handsome
old silver inkstand, and some closely-written papers.

" We have to use this room constantly," she said, " as we
must keep a fire here for my mother's room over it. If you don't
mind if you please " hesitating, and then suddenly pulling
herself together again in the way I had noticed before and
seriously doing what she had to do " mother is never able to
see any visitors. I am really ' the person of the house.' And /
am very glad to see you," with a little questioning look.

" I am Mrs. Byrne, my dear. We have lived here for more
than a year and like the place very much. Our only objection
was this empty house, and now that is removed. I hope you
will like it well enough to stay with us as neighbors."

" Yes," was all she answered a quiet little " yes " that meant
volumes. It was rather a curious visit, I thought afterwards.
She certainly seemed glad to see me, and did not want me to
shorten the call, but she was not quite at her ease and we had
some difficulty in " making talk." All the time of my stay there
was not a sound or so much as a movement in any part of the
house. All was as silent and, I could not but feel, as empty as
a grave.

" Now, you must be very sociable and come in to us very
often," I said as I made my adieux. "My girls are older than
you, but they are very lively and fond of company. It will make

230 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

it pleasanter for you to have friends at hand, as you say you
cannot leave your mother."

" Yes," she eaid again that quiet, not-to-be-gainsaid, but
very unaffirmative " yes." I felt she would not come, although
at the last, when I gave her my hand, she held it warmly for a
moment, and then, quite impulsively, all gracefully and tenderly,
raised herself on the tips of her toes and kissed me on the cheek.
It was a shy, entreating, daring little caress. She blushed over
it, but looked me full in the eyes silently, and I knew she was
holding back tears. I was never more moved. Through what
fierce storms the little wild rose must have passed to be so torn
loose from all shelter and support, so beaten down under sun-
shine, so fluttering and wasted ! Yet how sweet it was and how
lovely still ! I went home quite in love with this blossom, and
poured out my whole treasure of enthusiasm for John ! Yes, I
did. My son is certainly easier to confide in than my daughters,
and easier to get on with, although many people think him less
"sensible." He listened quietly to all I said and made no re-
mark of any moment, but he did not forget it.

I was right in my conjecture as to her not coming to see us.
She never came. But I saw her quite 'of ten after a little. She
was alone in the house with her mother from early dawn until
dusk, and any little errands or outside calls she was forced to
attend to herself. We used to meet on the pavement and hold
interviews over the fences, back and front. She was very bright
usually, and strove so earnestly to hide all the miseries in the
background that I could only help her by accepting the view
she set forth for my inspection. I never saw a braver spirit, a
more determined fight against adversity. She grew paler and
thinner day by day, shabbier and shabbier, and the light in her
great eyes was pitiable, it was so despairing. No one ever came
to see them, nothing was ever sent to them. Then there com-
menced each night a noise of tacking, which continued until the
dawn was close upon the darkest hour. At first we were quite
delighted with it. " Some one has come to their aid and given
them some comforts ! " Mabel exclaimed the first evening. " They
are putting down a carpet." But no, it could not be that, we
found. It went on and on and on, until, thinking of what was be^
hind it and the shadow over all, it awoke dismal fancies of coffin-
making and sepulchre-hewing. One night John came into my
room, looking more worn and anxious than I had seen him for
years. It was about nine o'clock, and the tacking had just
commenced. We had located it some time before in the

1 882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE. 231

third story front, next to John's room, which was just over
mine.

" Mother," he said, coming up to my writing-table and be-
ginning at once to move its many trifles restlessly to and fro
" mother, I can't stand this any longer. I believe they are starv-
ing to death in there. Have you seen her lately ? "

" Why, no ! " I answered, stopping to count " no, not since
day before yesterday, and then only at the window."

" Well, I have. I saw her to-night. I I stopped there. She
opened the door, and she looked so wan and ghastly I could
only just make some foolish excuse I believe I said you sent
me, mother and come away again. It is dreadful ! I walked
in with the brother this morning he was a little late, he said
and he has just that bloodless look, like a wax figure, I remem-
ber in the face of a man I saw once. They said he was starving
when they found him and brought him to the hospital." I could
not speak. Thought was too busy. I believed John was right,
for some fear of the kind had been busy within me during many
days, and I had racked my brain in the vain endeavor to offer
them " a good square meal " without wounding that wonder-
fully sensitive pride, that brave reserve which would not com-
plain.

" What are we to do ? " I asked my son.

" You will have to go in and ask them," he said steadily,
looking me gravely and even commandingly in the eyes with
his father's dear brown eyes. " Mother, there comes a time
when we must risk being disagreeable. Those poor young
things have striven to face the inevitable and deceive even it, if
possible. They cannot exist without help of some kind, and they
must submit to it."

"Very well," I said quietly. I must say I like it when
John ta^es me out of my own hands and makes himself respon-
sible for me. I have been a lone woman for twenty years, and
have done well for myself, but I do not like it. A lord and mas-
ter is necessary to my happiness, since freedom brings two cares
to every privilege.

" I have been afraid of this very thing," I went on, as he set-
tled himself at his ease to consult with me; "and all that I could
do in the way of fruits and fancy, nourishing dishes sent to the
mother I have done as often as I could. But you know I dare
not what is that ? "

It was a cry from next door. The tacking had ceased, I now
remembered, soon after John came in, and there had been steps

232 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

in the next room. Hardly had the cry died away when our
bell rang violently. John was off like the flash of a gun, and I
hurried after him to the head of the stairs. A breathless and
agitated voice came floating to me, and then John's voice :

" Mother, you are wanted at once! Don't stop for anything."

I ran down instantly and out into the porch. John seized
my hand and went with me into the next house. " It is the
mother," he whispered. " He thinks she is dead. Don't be
frightened ! I will wait here."

He had led me to the top of the stairs, dimly lighted by the
lamp burning in the front room on the second floor. I went in
at once.

It was a large, white, bare room, without carpet, without
curtains, without chairs. A bed stood in the centre of it, and
there was a chest of drawers, old and black, between the win-
dows. Not another thing !

Except the motionless, emaciated, gray-haired figure on the
bed, the white, rigid, despairing creature kneeling beside it, and
the poor young fellow vainly trying to raise her in his trem-
bling arms.

I went over to her side and spoke to her in my usual voice
as much as possible :

" My dear, you must move, if you please. Let me get to your
mother to bring her to. She has fainted."

She gave a wild cry and sprang to her feet. " Can you do
anything ? Does she live ? O mother, mother ! I have killed
her."

" Indeed you have done no such thing ! " I said decisively ;
for, whether her mother lived or died, I knew the poor dear was
innocent of any share in her fate. " Just take your sister away,
will you, please ? John, call the girls and bring me some brandy.
And have you any sal-volatile or camphor at hand ?" *

" We have nothing," answered the boy (he was not more
than eighteen) in a dull, hopeless, passionless way that almost
sickened me, it revealed such depths of misery. He had taken
his sister in his arms in the window-seat, and they sat, two for-
lorn images of utter despair, neither moving nor speaking, al-
though at intervals a strong, convulsive shudder shook her
slender frame. My girls came in and John went for the doctor.
We did all that we could, and I was soon convinced the poor
lady was not dead, but it was something more than a fainting-
spell. The doctor, arriving, at once pronounced it stupor result-
ing from some narcotic.

i882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE. 233

" What has she taken ? " he asked, looking round on the
waiting group.

" Maddie?" questioned the boy.

" I gave her some coffee. There was nothing else," an-
swered the girl.

" Coffee ! Impossible ! What was in it? How was it made ?
You must te.ll me the exact truth, or I cannot save her."

" There was nothing in it. I poured the water 1 on it from the
hydrant, and I got the sugar at the store. We had no milk.
Oh ! I know it was coffee," she cried out with a sudden terrible
earnestness. " I made it myself, and I pounded every grain al-
most separately, because I wanted it to be nice."

" Pounded ! " exclaimed the doctor, with evident satisfaction.
" Get me what you pounded it in."

She went into the next room and brought him a small and
dingy-looking mortar and pestle, evidently a relic of the drug-
gist father.

" This has been used in the preparation of some narcotic
drug," said the doctor after a moment's inspection. " I had a
case of the same kind once before. I think we can pull through
now. Just clear the room, my dear madam, of all who cannot
help us. There is no time to lose."

There was none lost. Mabel and Bessie were admirable as-
sistants, while John carried off the brother and sister to the par-
lor below. After a long, long time we saw the poor lady re-
stored to her best estate and poor enough it was the doctor
went home, and I prepared to spend the rest of the night with
her. Bessie, too, remained, but Mabel went down to the wait-
ing trio, relieved their fears, and took poor Maddie in to sleep
with her. When I went home at nine o'clock the next morning
she was still in bed. She had broken down at last, and lay, weak
and helpless, among the pillows hardly whiter than her deli-
cate face.

" Your mother is quite comfortable, my dear," I said, kissing
her. " It gave you a great shock and you must take time to
rally. We will nurse you both."

She smiled faintly and tried in vain to utter thanks with
trembling lips. I went away at once and left her to quiet rest.
That evening I was sitting alone with her when suddenly she
began to cry not loudly nor hysterically, but in a pitiful way
that wrung my heart.

"What is it, dear child?" I asked her, getting my arms
around her and gathering her close to me, she seemed so alone

234 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

and so helpless. " There, there ! Tell me what distresses you.
The worst is over for you, I am sure."

" Oh ! please, please tell me if I was wrong ? I thought it was
right not to tell not to complain and so did Robert. It was
nobody's fault but but father's." Her voice sank, and she cov-
ered her face and shrank away from me at the last word. I was
glad the time had come so soon for her to open her heart, and I
drew her closer to me and kissed her pretty forehead under its
soft rings of hair.

" You have been a brave, good child ; you have both done
nobly. But the time has come for you to rest a little while on
the kindness of those who are glad to help you. You must not
be selfish and forbid the blessedness of helping to those who
have known what care and sorrow is. We know. We have
been very, very poor in our lives."

" Have you ? " she asked eagerly, looking up at me. " As
poor as we are ? Were you ever hungry ? "

Oh ! the unutterable meaning of that question ; the horror
in her young eyes, the quiver of her young lips ! And this had
been going on under our very roof !

" My poor, poor child ! " was all! could say, answering the
revelation, not the question.

" It was very, very terrible ! " she said softly. " And poor
Robert ! And poor mother, too ! But it was not quite so bad
for her, and she did not know it all until we took the chairs out
of her room to sell, you know," seeing my look of wonder.

" Tell me all about it," I said, making myself comfortable
with a pillow and a shawl. " It will do you good to talk it all
over once, and then forget it as much as you can. When did it
begin? Two years ago you were very well off, I think. We
lived on Fanshawe Street then, and I used to see you very
often."

"Oh ! did you? Oh! what a silly, silly, happy little goose I
was."

She was so weak and nervous she broke down again at the
memory of her former self. But I knew it would do her good.
Presently she began to talk quite naturally and almost cheerfully.
. " I am glad you used to see me then. I was a silly little thing,
and that made it harder for me when everything changed so. But
even the silliness was not all my fault. No one taught me any
better, and I did not know about about father. He used to
drink. Mother kept me away at school as much as she could,
and I had never been at home long enough to find out anything

1 882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE. 235

until that summer. I used to wonder why Robert was so sad.
He had been home a year and saw it for himself. I thought I
was just going to have a good time all my life, like the holidays
had always been ; but it only lasted a few months. Then the
dreadful trouble came."

She paused, as if to think over the best way of telling it not
to hide or excuse it, I was sure, but so that I might understand
it as it was.

" I had had a little glimpse of something sad. I had seen fa-
ther once or twice when he was so strange, but neither mother
nor Robert said anything, and I tried not to believe it. But one
night he was brought home all cut and bleeding, and not know-
ing anything he said, and saying such- dreadful things. After that
I never knew what it was to be happy. It seemed to me the
very sunlight changed color ! And then, before very long, they
seized the store, and father was taken to prison for something
about ' false pretences ' I never could understand it and mo-
ther had a stroke of some kind, and there was only Robert and
I to do everything. And we were so young and so foolish ! "

She looked at me with pleading eyes.

" And what did you do? " I asked.

" It was a year ago. There was nothing not one cent. We
sent for my uncles mother's brothers. Father has no relatives.
They live a long way from here, and they are not very well off, so
only one of them came. He was a stranger to us, and of course
he did not care for Robert and me, but he tried to be kind. He
said if we would go home with him he would do the best he
could for us. Robert could go on a farm and I could help
about the house for a while. But he told us we must first pro-
mise him never, never to have anything to do with father. He
would not be disgraced by any jail-bird claiming kin with him,
and if we went it must be so understood. We could not pro-
mise. For, after all, he was father, and he was always fond of
us, poor fellow ! Robert said he would never give him up that
way, and, of course, I said so too. It seemed dreadful. And
mother you know mother had nothing to say ? "

I did indeed know it. Their poor mother, still a young wo-
man as to years, was helplessly imbecile and crippled. She had
not even known the change of nurses during the last few hours.

" Then -uncle went away angry. He gave mother ten dollars,,
and that was all we had. Robert tried to get work, but he never
had any success worth counting. We had to leave the house on
Fanshawe Street, and we went into rooms away up town. We

236 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

sold the furniture little by little, and our clothes, and the best of
the books, and things got worse and worse. One day old Mr.
Trexle came to see us he used to know my grandfather and
offered us this house rent free. He did not behave as though he
was doing us a kindness, but I think now he must have been real
good. He pretended it was a house going to ruin because he
could not rent it, and asked us to just take care of it for him.
We have never seen him since, and when we came we found it
so nice. We had scarcely anything to put in it, but oh! it was so
nice not to have to think of the awful rent. It was such a rest at
first ! But still things grew worse and worse. Robert could not
do some work Mr. Trexle got for him, because he was not strong
enough, and he could only get some light jobs at a notion-store
to do at home. So he walked about all day, looking for a place,
and then came home and made the boxes and wall-pockets at
night, and I helped him when I could. At last that day, you
know we had only ten cents to our name, and nothing in the
house but bread one loaf. Mother cried for some coffee, and I
could not bear it. I went down to the store and bought a quar-
ter of a pound and a little sugar, and I was ashamed to ask them
to grind it, it was so little. I pounded it up in the old mortar
we never could sell because it was broken, and mother drank it
and said it was so good. When she went to sleep I was so glad !
I never thought there was anything wrong about the sleep until
I went in to look at her before I commenced to help Robert with
the boxes he had brought home. You know all the rest. It
seems a long way off to me ; and it was only yesterday ! "

" Only yesterday," I said, " but over for ever, I think. Now
lie down and take a good rest. Robert is with your mother.
He has been at home all day, you know."

I slipped away from her and sat down in my own room to
think. Quietly and simply she had told her heroic tale of patient
suffering, but I could fill in the outlines. Those days and nights
of wearing, enforced idleness ; the failing mother, fretting, she
knew not why, and unconsciously adding pang to pang in those
poor young hearts ; the slowly-dismantled home ; the never-end-
ing repression of every youthful fancy what a long agony it had
been ! Poor Sweetbrier ! Surely the pruning had stripped her
of her thorns as well as her blossoms, and the rugged uprooting
had been the forerunner of a rare transplanting. The silliness,
the pettishness, the whimsical caprice were all gone, and in their
stead a patient sweetness, an unselfish self-denial, an unquestion-
ing submission ! I had to find John and tell him all about it.

1 882.] IN THE NEXT HOUSE. 237

" Old Trexlc ! " he exclaimed suddenly, after we had talked it
over. " Now, who would have suspected him of such delicate
generosity ? That's the reason he never comes for his rent any
more. Don't you remember, mother, the queer little notes he
has sent us several times, making some excuse for having it sent
to him ? He has been keeping out of their way. I will look him
up to-morrow and see if we can't hit on something for Robert
between us. And he can tell us all about the father, I have no
doubt. Dear little thing ! How we used to laugh at her down
on Fanshawe Street ! "

" I declare it will be a lesson to me all my life," I said.
"And I ought to be ashamed to be learning it now, too. The
discipline of life is a wonderful artist, isn't it? It hews the an-
gel out of most unpromising material under our very eyes."

" The discipline of life in this case was but the tool in the
Master's hand, mother," said John, turning from me and walking
over to the window. " I shall never forget that night-watch
with them, poor things ! They were all in all to each other in
their sorrow, and quite forgot me. That worn old prayer-book
of hers could .tell us where they got the strength for their silent,
patient endurance."

He was very much moved and went hastily away into the
quiet of the summer night. I sat in the dusk and dreamed.

He did "look up " Mr. Trexle the next day, and very reluc-
tantly the odd old man admitted his kindly care for the daughter
of his old friend and her children. When he had once admitted
it, however, he quite warmed to the subject, and told of Robert's
modest pride, his unflinching honesty, his undaunted determina-
tion from the first to make good at all sacrifices his father's
errors. John has a way with him people cannot resist, and he
found a situation as clerk for the boy before the week was out.
Maddie had gone back to her household cares quite refreshed
and in a fair way for building up her shattered health. Youth
needs only hope and love as tonics, when it is youth unspoiled
by an evil world.

After that things went on very fairly well with our next
neighbors. They were as economical a pair as ever "set up
house," for they had had a sharp and bitter lesson. With some
one to help and talk over things Maddie developed a taste for
house furnishing and decoration that worked wonders with
trifles, and all her wild-rose sweetness and beauty came back to
her. She never mentioned her father, but as the time drew near
for his release we saw a change in her that was not at all a sad

238 IN THE NEXT HOUSE. [Nov.,

one. She was quieter, perhaps, but stronger and more tender.
I asked John one day what he thought they would do with him
when he came out.

" Take him home and make much of him," said John prompt-
ly. "She will hide all his past with her* love, and any one who
tries to put it aside for a cruel glance beyond will find the
Sweetbrier's thorns are not all gone. She is as true as steel and
as good as bread."

It was as John said. One evening Maddie came in quietly,
as she often did.

" Mrs. Byrne," she said as naturally as possible, " I thought
you might like to know that father has come home. He is very
glad to be with us."

" And you are glad to have him," I said in the same tone.
" How is your mother ? "

" Quite happy and very comfortable. Father knows how to
amuse her and to interest her. I think she knew him at once."

Whether she did that or not, she soon placed him in his
rightful niche and was never so pleased and content as when he
was with her. It suited very well in all respects. He was not
strong, and he shrank from the world and its contact. He de-
voted himself to her and to his pen, and, in a quiet way, proved
most helpful to his good children. We saw more of him than
did any one else, and we liked him very much as time slipped on.

By the time John brought his Maddie to me in the fit ending
of our little romance we had come to live as one family with the
people of the next house.

Now, I have told my simple story with a purpose, of course.
It is so simple, so uneventful, so unvarnished, it needs some ex-
cuse in the shape of a moral. The other day I overheard the
young people of a friend's house making merry over the myste-
rious " goings-on " at the house across the way. They told of the
gradual change in its general aspect, of the altered routine of
the day, of the removal, piece by piece, of the furniture, etc., etc.

" Why, they used to live in swell style," said one of the boys.
" Had a colored servant-man, went out to drive with a double
team, and the girls dressed like flowers in May."

" And what has happened to change all this ? " I asked.

" Oh ! we don't know. They are strangers to us only came
a few months ago. We don't even know their names."

" Some adventurers," said my friend coldly. " Children, I
wish you would not watch the people around us. It is so vul-
gar!"

1 882.] MONKS AND NUNS A T THE "REFORM A now." 239

" Mamma," said one of the girls, " I feel real sorry for them.
That youngest one looks so sad."

" Nonsense ! People like that are used to it, no doubt. No
one knows anything about them. And she is quite too young to
feel anything much. She cannot be more than sixteen."

I thought of our Maddie and her lesson at sixteen. My
friend's words jarred on me. I could say nothing, for I knew no-
thing. But when I came away I looked earnestly at the house
across the way. It looked dirty and neglected. There was the
shadowy outline of a bowed head and a moving hand on the
linen blind of an upstairs room. I thought of the tacking, tack-
ing, tacking that had once stood between three people and
death only that. Was there here a Sweetbrier losing its
thorns ? or a lily taking a stain on its pure petals never to be
effaced ? Ah ! who could tell me ? Who could unveil the possi-
ble tragedies within those walls ? Who can ever be sure of the
life beating out the slow days in the next house ? How dare we
echo with a laugh what may be the rattle of an endless death !

THE MONKS AND NUNS AT THE " REFORMATION."

A CLOSE study of the Benedictine Rule of Life will enable
the Catholic reader to realize what an impulse the worship of
God received from the extension of the monastic houses in Eng-
land ; yet the unscrupulous calumniators of those " heaven-born "
institutions assure posterity that they " were the produce of the
dark and barbarous ages preceding the Reformation."

I here propose to lay before the reader a brief account of the
real history of the monks and nuns who were driven upon the
world by Henry VIII. and his successors.

The prioresses of some particular convents received a pen-
sion of one hundred shillings per annum. This allowance did not
continue long, for the high officials in the reign of Edward VI.
were thoroughly dishonest, and it became dangerous for the
pensioned monks or nuns to complain of not having received
their moneys at the stated period. The pensions were supposed
to be paid by the treasurer of the Court of Augmentation ; but
it happened that the treasurers and their confidential secretaries
were not unfrequently defaulters to a large amount. The monks
were paid more regularly than the nuns, for some of them

240 MONKS AND NUNS AT THE "REFORMATION" [Nov.,

" spoke boldly for the fulfilment of their claims." Many of the
nuns were old, timid, and dreaded to approach the insolent
officials of Somerset's council or to complain of their griev-
ances. So they quickly disappeared from London and wan-
dered through the country in utter wretchedness.

The pension stipulated for certain classes of the monks and
nuns was subsequently withdrawn by the Protector Somerset,
and again by Queen Elizabeth, who rarely evinced any sympa-
thy for the religious of her own sex. The sum awarded for the
aged nuns was so scant that, in the words of Pomeroy, " it would
scarcely sustain life for a short time." Three of the nuns in one
district received back their pensions through the intercession of
Lord Leicester, to whom they were related. Home, Bishop of
Winchester ; Pilkington, of the see of Durham ; Aylmer, Bishop
of London ; and Grindall, Archbishop of Canterbury (1576), were
merciless in their persecution of nuns, many of whom were from
seventy to ninety years old, some blind and others paralyzed
from cold and want of warm clothing. A number of those
ladies had good fortunes, which they spent in the relief of or-
phans, in succoring old age, in attending the sick, in protecting
young maidens from the snares of the licentious, and in redeeming
poor debtors, who in those times were cruelly used by the Lom-
bard Shylocks who were " scenting out the pound of flesh "
without mercy or pity. At a later period Archbishops Whit-
gift and Hutton were the unmanly persecutors of the few monks
and nuns that remained. The last monk who received the pen-
sion died blind in the reign of James I. Paul Whittington for
such was his name had reached his ninety-sixth year a few days
before his death. He was once honored as an eminent Greek
and Hebrew scholar. He died in great poverty near Bury St.
Edmunds. He was possessed of a marvellous memory ; in his old
age he received visits from Shakspere, Spenser, Ben Jonson,
Walter Raleigh, and the members of the Story-Telling Clubs,
who were delighted with his anecdotes, ranging down from the
accession of the Tudor dynasty.

Many of the nuns died from starvation and cold in the reign
of Elizabeth ; they were to be seen wandering along the roads in
the rural districts where they had once been the hope and com-
fort of the peasant classes. The new clergy denounced them,
and too many of the ungrateful people scoffed at them. There
were, however, a few honest and humane persons who sympa-
thized with their sufferings and " divided with them their last
cake of bread." The populace of London acted in a cruel man-

1 882.] MONKS AND NUNS A T THE u REFORM A TION" 241

ner to those poor ladies who had done so much for the rising
generation. In London the presence of the Sisterhoods of the
Cross did immense service for the poorer class of females in the
overcrowded districts, where, in the times of pestilence, they
acted both as physicians and nurses. The hospitals for children
originated with the nuns, and foreign princesses and ladies of
rank, youth, and beauty retired from the world to act as nurses
to poor sickly children. There were many such women as
Cecilia Varmey, once the glory and the pride of Somersetshire,
who were hunted down by those persons styled " Reformers of
Christianity."

Again I refer to contemporary evidence in order to meet the
untruthful assertions of writers who are called " historians,"
but have evidently written for the book-market of their time.
Sir Thomas Wyatt, who was a contemporary of the disbanded
monks and nuns, has drawn a striking picture of their labors
during the plague and the sweating sickness, which brought
such a train of terror to King Henry and his courtiers. Wyatt
relates that every convent and monastery in and near London
contained an infirmary, or hospital, well arranged in all its " nec-
essaries " to combat with disease and soothe the sufferings of
its victims. There were a large number of beds for men, women,
and children; the nuns "taking charge" of the women, girls;.,
and little children, so many of whom died in great agony of,
the plague. At the approach of the dreadful sweating sickness,
Henry VIII. and his court fled from London. The divorce of ,
Queen Katharine was laid aside ; the king commanded his con-
fessor " to be near at hand " ; the courtiers looked grave and
were to be seen in the royal chapel on bended knees ; a general
terror seized on all classes, and every one possessed of any
means retired to some remote part of the country ; all business
was suspended ; but the church doors were thrown open day and
night for prayer ; the fallen, the debased, and those who had led a
life of wickedness responded to the warning voice "from, on
high " ; they entered the churches and cried out for a confessor,
who was quickly at hand with words of comfort to welcome
back the stray sheep to the old fold of the Good Shepherd. The
lamentations of the young widows and their little orphans were
to be heard at every corner. The monks and nuns were fearless
and busy in 'attending the sufferers, whose dreadful agonies last-
ed some fifteen hours before their dissolution.

Sir Thomas Wyatt, in a letter to Lord Leonard Gray, has
placed on record his opinion as to the merits of the London. hos-
VOL. xxxvi. 16

242 MONKS AND NUNS A T THE "REFORMA TION" [Nov.,

pitals under the management of monks and nuns during a dread-
ful plague which carried off nearly five thousand six hundred
people in London in the space of three days. " On one morn-
ing," writes Dr. Logario, " the monks and nuns buried eight
hundred people, nearly all women and children." Thomas
Wyatt, like Logario, was " an eye-witness," being in search of a
friend who died at one of the monastic houses. Wyatt wrote of
a visit he had paid on " one dreadful night " to the hospital of
the Crutchet, or Crossed, Friars. He was attended through the
place, filled with the groans of the dying, by two friars bearing
iron crosses in their hands, and with the badge of their order a
cross of red cloth on their gray garments. The courtly Wyatt
lapsed into a reflective mood and asked one of the fathers if they
did not fear death in such a pestilential place. " No," replied
Father Antony, " because our mission is from heaven to rescue poor
souls from Satan and his devils, who are roving about in the form of
men and women." " Have any of your community died of this
dreadful sickness ? " inquired Wyatt. " Not one," replied Fa-
ther Gabriel, who immediately afterwards was called to the bed-
side of an outlaw, whose last moments were so edifying that the
good father shed tears. The thoughtless young courtier stood
awe-stricken when he beheld, as he relates, " the last rites minis-
tered to men and women about to die." He remembered the
scenes of that night as long as he existed, and especially the
gentle persuasion the fathers used to win back to religion those
terribly wild characters who, sometimes weary of a wicked life,
sought spiritual comfort from the good fathers when on the
brink of dissolution.

Thorndale describes the young mothers and their little chil-
dren dying of the plague, and the various modes of comfort
offered to them by the nuns. " One woman," says Carlo Loga-
rio, " became frantic when she beheld her fine boy of twelve years
old expire of the plague. Sister Teresa ' told her to be comfort-
ed, for her boy was gone to heaven.' ' Then,' said the afflicted
mother, ' I will follow him." Laying her head upon the shoul-
der of the heroic nun, she kissed the cross and expired." " I wit-
nessed many such scenes," writes Dr. Francis.

During the plague the monks visited woods and forests in
search of outlaws and robbers who were attacked with this
dreadful pestilence, and gave them spiritual comfort in their last
hours. It is only fair to state that the king and Lord trumwell
heartily approved of those missions amongst the fallen.

A few words now as to King Henry and Crumwell, and their

1 882.] MONKS AND^NUNS AT THE "REFORMATION" 243

demeanor during the plague. An unusual terror at this dreadful
visitation pervaded even the foul atmosphere of a court where
Lords Suffolk and Clinton were taking part in the royal amuse-
ments ; they were all frightened into a temporary abstention from
evil. King Henry humbled himself to the dust, and walked in his
bare feet for an entire day by way of penance, for which his physician
remonstrated, fearing bad consequences to the health of his royal
patient. Lord Crunawell exceeded the penitential observances
of his royal master by washing the feet of six malefactors, who
were brought into the king's presence zvith a rope around the neck
of each ; and the monarch addressed them in these words : " I
am informed by your confessors that you are all heartily sorry
for your evil mode of life. As your- earthly ruler I now forgive
you. This act of mercy is for the honor and the glory of God."
So the men went their way in peace, but soon found that their
wives and children had all died of the plague. When the plague
disappeared Henry Tudor was himself again, illustrating the
truth of the more veracious than polished sarcasm

"When the devil fell sick, the devil a saint would be;
When the devil got well, the devil a saint was ke."

How differently Queen Elizabeth and the " clergy of her crea-
tion " acted towards the multitude in times of pestilence and
famine !

In the face of contemporary evidence, records, and State
Papers of the times Mr. Froude alleges " that the monasteries
and convents in the days of their prosperity did little for the indi-
gent ; they had few hospitals, no relief for the sick or decrepit. This
state of things was particularly felt in London" Yet London was
the, source of the boundless charity of the far-famed religious
orders of England.

The plunder of the revenues which humane and charitable
Catholics had provided for the one hundred and ten hospitals was
the most heartless of all King Henry's evil deeds.* Yet an his-
torian of the nineteenth century has had the evil courage and
worse taste to enter upon a defence of the actions of this cruel
and reckless being, at the mention of whose name humanity
shudders.

It is a pleasing task to acknowledge that the religious orders

* In the second volume of the Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty the reader will
find, commencing at p. 391, the correct details of how far Archbishop Cranmer and his family
profited by the plunder of those hospitals which were the real heritage of the sick, the destitute,
and the unfortunate in the race of life.

244 MONKS AND NUNS A T THE "REFORM A TION." [Nov.,

of the olden times commonly called " the dark ages " have
been ably defended from the calumny and falsehoods of Puritan
writers by members of the Anglican Church, who adopt the
Christian maxim of the late distinguished author of the Arch-
bishops of Canterbury Dean Hook, so often quoted in my his-
torical works : " The detection of a lie is the triumph of truth" So
wrote Dean Hook.

A Calvinist author of the present day, who differs from his
party as to the merits of the monastic institutions of the olden
times, thus writes:

"The monastic bodies have undoubtedly done good in the Past, and in
them for centuries the fire, the incense, of literature was kept alive,
which elsewhere was almost entirely extinguished; without those vene-
rable institutions a thick darkness would have covered the world ; the
works of ancient learning would have been lost; science would have suf-
feied a total eclipse, and civilization would have declined. The monastic
houses afforded refuge and succor to the poor and the unfortunate of all
nations and of all creeds ; they exercised the amiable duties of hospitality on
a large scale ; they preached and practised charity to their neighbors and
held up a purer and a higher standard of life ; in fact, they have shown at
times rare examples of piety and good works ; yet, in the name of reform
and of equity, they have been struck down and their property handed over to
the minions of the crown to courtesans and to profligate courtiers."

There is a mysterious grandeur in connection with Catho-
licity that at once arrests the mind of a wandering or a sad
spirit. He is struck with its antiquity, its unchanging form,
and the amiable feeling of its charity towards its enemies. He
sees that the good Catholic clings to his creed as an historic
church. He finds on inquiry that in every age of that church's
existence its Present is linked with its Past. Its Faith is also a
symbol of Unity, because it is part of the proud heritage of
Catholic tradition not an ever-changing system of religion and
worship, but one inherited through an immense line of ancestry,
to be transmitted unimpaired, without spot or stain, to the end
of time.

ATTENTIVELY consider how fickle people are, and how little
room there is for trusting them : and so repose all your confi-
dence in God, who changes not. Instructions of St. Teresa to her
Religious.

1 882.] THE FESTIVAL OF ALL SAINTS IN VIENNA. 245

THE FESTIVAL OF ALL SAINTS IN VIENNA.

MOST touchingly beautiful are the old traditions and cus-
toms observed by Catholics in Austria upon the festival of All
Saints. It is a " Decoration Day " in the truest sense of the
word a day when loving offerings of God's sweetest gift to
earth, the tender flowers, are laid upon the graves of the peace-
ful dead. It seems an in memoriam offered by a nation not
only to individual families and friends, but their token of re-
spectful remembrance of bereavements which have fallen upon
their sovereigns and a tribute to the illustrious departed of the
imperial land. Cemeteries and churchyards are crowded upon
that day, and every grave, every family vault is wreathed with
laurel and hidden under garlands of flowers. High and low,
rich and poor, gather around the graves of their loved ones ; the
mother kneels beside the grass mound and

" Tenderly plays with the waving grass
As with curls of an infant's hair,"

and brothers and sisters meet at their parents' tomb, bringing
loveliest floral offerings and crowns of immortelle. No loud
talking is heard, no smiles are seen ; clad in sober gray or black,
the crowds of people pass from one grave to another, speaking
in whispers or kneeling to offer a short prayer at the tomb of
a friend.

Two years ago on the eve of All Saints we drove to the old
cemetery at Wahring ; while in Austria it was our yearly pil-
grimage to the tombs of Beethoven and Franz Schubert. The
plain granite slab covering the grave of Beethoven was embedded
in moss, upon which were laid heaps of garlands, laurel crowns,
white dahlias, and wreaths of golden immortelle. The shaft,
upon which a golden lyre occupied the central position, was
wreathed in laurel leaves, and around the " butterfly encircled by
a serpent," which ornaments the shaft toward -the top, was a
crown of myrtle. The name " Beethoven," in large gold letters, is
carved upon the base of the monument. Kneeling upon the
granite steps leading into the little enclosure in which the grave
lies, we watched the people as they passed. Every man, every
German boy raised his hat and bowed his head reverently as

246 THE FESTIVAL OF ALL SAINTS IN VIENNA. [Nov.,

he passed the tomb ; and many whispered, " To Beethoven all
honor ; may his soul rest in peace ! "

Scattered over the old churchyard were groups of mourners
twining laurel and ivy, interspersed with rare greenhouse flow-
ers, about the marble obelisks which mark the tombs of the rich
and honored ; around the modest iron and bronze crosses that
threw their shadows over the graves of the working-class loving
hands were busily twining garlands of garden chrysanthemums
and crimson berries from the woodlands ; while far off, in that
portion of the grounds allotted to the poor, little children or in-
firm old women were placing bits of tinsel and paper flowers,
with a few sprays of evergreen, upon the graves of their parents
or upon the little mounds beneath which brothers and sisters had
been laid to rest

" Within the church's shade."

Under the great crucifix which stands at the entrance, as here at
Wahring, or marks the central portion of the cemeteries in the
Catholic countries. of Europe, a choir of German voices were
softly chanting a triumphal hymn, like a Te Deum for saints en-
tered into eternal rest, glorious in the perpetual light shining
upon them. The last gleams of the golden October sun shone
over the western walls of this old cemetery " God's-acre " the
Germans beautifully name it and amid the perfume of flowers,
the solemn monotone of whispering voices, that grand paschal
anthem,

" As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive,"

arose clear and strong, bearing blessed message of faith and hope
to sorrowing hearts mournfully kneeling beside the tombs of
their beloved dead. We lingered until the music sank into si-
lence, and then turned homeward where lights twinkled in the
hazy twilight hovering above the palaces of imperial Vienna.

The following day All Saints we attended Mass at the
" Capuciner," the church which contains the imperial crypt where
members of the family of the reigning house of Austria are bur-
ied. This Kaisergruft, as it is called, is only opened to the pub-
lic from the eve of All Saints to the evening of All Souls' day.
The Capuchin Friars were brought to Vienna in the year 1600
by Emperor Matthias, son of Maximilian II., and to them were en-
trusted the care of the bodies of the imperial family after death.
At close of the service we descended the broad white marble

1 882.] THE FESTIVAL OF ALL SAINTS IN VIENNA. 247

steps leading into these chambers of ' the imperial dead. This
crypt is formed like the church above it, and on either side of
the long aisle, paved in white marble, stand the great bronze
caskets of the Hapsburgs, Lothringens, and Bourbons. Beside
them are huge candelabra and torcheres filled with wax-lights,
while wreaths of evergreen and gorgeous blooms are scattered
upon the bronze effigies and blazoned shields and insignia of
rank lying upon the caskets. We lingered longest by the tomb
of Napoleon-Josef-Karl-Franz, the young Due de Reichstadt.
His cradle, in which he was laid as King of Rome, is in one of
the imperial treasure-rooms of the emperor, but here he lies in
a simple bronze casket, a silver crucifix and a sculptured lily on
the lid.

The tomb of Maximilian of Mexico is placed in the small
chapel to the left. The escutcheon of the Hapsburgs, with
sword and belt of the unfortunate emperor, lie upon the richly-
sculptured bronze and silver catafalque. The chapel containing
the tomb of Maria Theresa and her husband, Francis of Lothrin-
gen, is under the high altar in the church above, and even ex-
tends beyond the cloister-walk in the rear of the chancel. From
this walk one can at any time look down through a large glass
window upon the tomb of this illustrious empress ; and it is said
that through this window she used to be lowered in an arm-chair
into the chapel crypt, when she became too feeble to descend
the stairs, to pray at the tombs of her husband and children.

The magnificent bronze catafalque upon which the figures of
Maria Theresa and her husband are represented half reclining
occupies the centre of the chapel. Together they grasp the
sceptre, but in her left hand the empress keeps the sword, em-
blem of power. The coffins of her children are placed in a semi-
circle around the apsidal termination of this chapel. The casket
of Josef II. is one of the plainest there. It looks like a simple
bronze coffin on brass feet. No escutcheon, sword, or royal in-
signia are either placed or sculptured upon it ; the name " Josef "
and the date of his death are all that mark it as the resting-place
of that kind and gentle sovereign.

Crowds of people, citizens and strangers, keep up a continual
procession through these brilliantly-lighted marble aisles, from
the broad staircase at the entrance portal of the church to the
staircase leading up into the cloister at rear of the altar. Offi-
cers of police are stationed along the aisles and at the intersec-
tion of the transepts to prevent confusion and to keep the
crowd moving onward^ in orderly line of march. A railing

248 THE FESTIVAL OF ALL SAINTS IN VIENNA. [Nov.,

placed along the aisle separates the visitors from the caskets, and
the chapels containing the tombs of Maria Theresa and Maxi-
milian are only seen through doors formed of thin bars of
iron.

Towards evening we drove to the cemetery of St. Marx, be-
yond the Landstrasse suburb, where Mozart lies buried. Crowds
like those we had seen the previous evening at the Wahring
were wandering through the alleys and pathways, no longer de-
corating the tombs but visiting the graves of friends and acquain-
tances, and walking about the cemetery to see the flowers and
wreaths. Then we drove to the great " Central Friedhof," the
largest cemetery in Vienna. Here, too, in some portions the
pathways were almost impassable, so great were the throngs
gathered to see the decorations. Before all the churchyards
and cemeteries flower-merchants, and old women with wreaths
of evergreen or immortelle, displayed their wares and urged the
passing multitudes to buy. A good business they seemed to make
of it, for it is expected that all who enter the gates will carry
with them wreaths to place upon the graves of acquaintances,
even if their own family tombs have been decorated the evening
before. Late in the afternoon of the festival, therefore, the floral
display is very fine.

The next morning, All Souls' day, we attended Mass at the
" Michaeler " church of St. Michael and All Angels. A more
beautiful service could scarcely be imagined. This being the
day on which the church especially remembers the dead, a
catafalque of black velvet, with cross, crown, and velvet pall
heavily embroidered and fringed with gold, was placed in the
choir. After Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament the priests,
in vestments of black and gold, preceded by a deacon bearing a
silver crucifix, passed down the nave of the church, sprinkling
holy water on the kneeling congregation and upon the tombs of
the early Christian princes and nobles who are buried here.
The choir sang portions of the Requiem, and long lines of priests
and clerics passed and repassed through the church, sprinkling
water on the vaults beneath the pavements and swinging silver
censers from which rose clouds of incense. As the procession
passed around the catafalque a beautiful hymn on the church
burial service arose to memory :

" And when the soul had fled from earth

The church could yet do more ;

For the holy priest went on in front,

And the cross was borne before,

1 882.] THE FESTIVAL OF ALL SAINTS IN VIENNA. 249

While o'er the poor man's pall they bade

The sacred banner wave,
To teach her sons that Holy Church

Hath victory o'er the grave."

Upon the evening of All Souls' day it is customary for all
theatres and places of amusement to be closed, and the singing
societies of Vienna give Verdi's " Requiem " at the Imperial Opera
House. The curtain rises on what seems a large Rittersaal, hung
in crimson satin and lighted by a superb chandelier of crystal.
Orchestra and chorus are grouped on either side of the stage in
form of a horseshoe. The stringed instruments and cornets are
placed on the right and the chorus on the left of the stage, while
a few trumpets are grouped behind the tenors on the extreme
left. The ladies are all dressed in white with long black veils ;
the altos are seated as the curtain rises, and the sopranos, entering
to take their places in front, give graceful and effective move-
ment to the scene. After they are seated the stage looks as if
a silver and ebony horseshoe had been placed on a hill of crimson
velvet ; only this horseshoe is divided by an aisle leading to a
large arched doorway at the rear of the stage, through which the
soloists come forward to their velvet fauteuils by the footlights.

Verdi's " Requiem," so full of pathetic prayer, is a fit tone-
poem with which to close these in memoriam festivals which the
church year after year, ever watchful of her children in life or
death, so appropriately celebrates. Year after year floral offer-
ings are laid in tribute of respect upon the graves of the faithful.
Year after year the great musicians of Vienna chant requiems
over the dead whose tombs fill the cathedrals and churches of
the Austrian land.

The national anthem, the " Volkshymne," seems to give the
keynote of the cause of the prosperity of this imperial realm :

" Gott erhalte, Gott beschiitze
Unser Kaiser, unser Land !
Machtig durch des Glaubens Stiitze
Fiihr Er uns mit weiser Hand ! "

Yes, mighty through support of the holy faith, may wisdom for
ever guide the imperial house of Hapsburg !

250 THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN [Nov.,

THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN ENGLISH LIFE AND

LETTERS.*

" IF a literature," says Dr. (now Cardinal) Newman in his Idea of a
University, " be the voice of a particular nation it requires a territory and
a period as large as that nation's extent and history to mature in. Itfis
broader and deeper than the capacity of any body of men, however gifted,
or any system of teaching, however true. It is the exponent, not of truth,
but of nature, which is true only in its elements. ... In the case of great
writers the history of their works is the history of their fortunes or their
times. Each is in his turn the man of his age, the type of a generation, or
the interpreter of a crisis. He is made for his day, and his day for him."

Applying- this broad theory to the whole field of English litera-
ture, he adds :

"The man in the comedy spoke prose without knowing it; and we
Catholics, without consciousness and without offence, are ever repeating
the half-sentences of dissolute playwrights and heretical partisans and
preachers. So tyrannous is the literature of a nation ; it is too much for
us. We cannot destroy or reverse it ; we may confront and encounter it,
but we cannot make it over again. It is a great work of a man, when it
is no work of God's. . . . We cannot undo the past. English literature will
ever have been Protestant."

This comprehensive judgment of one who may be safely set
down as great among the great in English literature was pub-
lished in 1852. Since that time a new generation has sprung up
and grown into manhood. And while what Cardinal Newman
then said is as true to-day as it ever was, it is equally true that
Catholic thought and Catholic influence have told on English
letters. Men are apt to forget that English letters, in common
with all letters that were created within the Christian era, were
at least baptized in the Catholic faith and to a great extent de-
veloped under Catholic influence. Not only is this so, but that
strong and brilliant period of English literature known as Eliza-
bethan owes all to Catholicity, nothing at all to the as yet un-
formed or ill-formed new doctrines called Protestantism.

The Elizabethan age was intellectually a Catholic age, if
literature can be said to belong to any creed. Protestantism was
still, as all through in its essence, a negation and nothing more

* English Literature in the Reign of Victoria, with a Glance at the Past, By Henry Mor-
ley, LL.D., Professor of English Literature at University College, London. New York : G. P.
Putnam's Sons. 1882.

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 251

a protest, a revolt, led by false priests or fanatics and favored by
greedy courtiers. And as this negation gradually closed in and
choked out the positive Catholic Christian religion of the Eng-
lish people, its effect on literature, as on public and social life,
was of a marked downward tendency. Protestantism, like the
lady in the play, protested too much. It protested to give men
intellectual and civil freedom and a pure religion. In reality
it prepared them to accept tyranny both in church and state.
When Protestantism gained the ascendant over Catholicity in
England there was no choice for Englishmen between the
slavery of a hopeless Calvinism or the blankness of agnosticism ;
for the stop-gap of what was called the Church of England was
never the church of England at all, but a sort of ornamental
patch with a few papal trimmings stitched on the tail of the
English court. It will be the object of the present article to
show how all this came about to show what resulted from the
gradual elimination of Catholic thought and teaching out of
English letters and life.

Protestantism in England, as everywhere else, not only pro-
tests too much but it claims too much. To people in possession
claims, if they are only made loudly and constantly, are gene-
rally conceded, however preposterous the claims may be. It is
forgotten that Protestantism is an intruder into England into
English letters, English law, and English life. The worst and
most tyrannous laws passed in England against civil and reli-
gious freedom, against freedom of the press, of the person, and
of speech, were passed under Protestant rule and emanated
from a distinctly Protestant spirit. Yet Protestantism claims of
all things to have given liberty and light to the world. A closer
examination will show that all that is good in English law, life,
and public institutions comes down from Catholic days. The
worst of what is evil dates from the Protestant era. Before the
" Reformation " infidelity was unknown in England. After the
" Reformation," as the shadow of Protestantism deepened over
the land, infidelity gained the ascendant. The brightest of Eng-
lish intellects rejected a faith without a soul and a religion with-
out a sacrifice. Nor was it until the old faith began to revive and
stir in its tomb that the English people were aroused from the
death that was creeping over them.

To the Catholic mind the field of English letters is full of
mournful beauty. To assail English letters on the ground of
lack of brilliancy, power, and fascinating literary qualities would
be absurd. In all intellectual equipment the ranks of English

252 THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN [Nov.,

writers stand with the best of any nation or time. The mourn-
ful thing is that owing to false teaching these gifted intellects
have been led astray and entered the service of the Philistines,
while in a sort of mental blindness they imagined themselves
fighting in the ranks of Israel. Thus the Protestant period
marks three centuries of intellectual loss to the cause of Christ.
At the best it is what Newman describes as " the untutored
movements of the reason, imagination, passions, and affections of
the natural man, the leapings and the friskings, the plungings and
the snortings, the sportings and the buffoonings, the clumsy play
and the aimless toil, of the noble, lawless savage of God's intel-
lectual creation." Quite apart from considerations of genius,
of brillancy of thought and beauty of expression, the well of Eng-
lish letters has, from the time of the overthrow of faith, been poi-
soned at the very source, and has consequently become death-
dealing and destructive, instead of healing and refreshing to the
thirsty souls who drank of its waters. The truth of this is before
the eyes of all men in the aridness of soul, the narrowness of
mental vision, and the hardening of the heart prevalent in Eng-
land even to-day, where the favorite writers are those who can
scoff most brilliantly at religion and declare in a thousand-and-
one forms that there is no God. Science, poetry, imagination,
history, art in England have gone over to the service of Satan,
while prominent Protestant ecclesiastical writers have for two
centuries tried to conceal agnosticism under a flimsy veil of
Christian profession. " Is he a Christian ? " said an eminent
Catholic authority in England when asked what he thought of
the late Dean of Westminster. " You had better ask does the
man believe in a God."

As England is a land of desecrated shrines, so is it a land of
desecrated intellects ; and a like cause has wrought a like effect
in both cases. There has been an intrusion and invasion by an
alien spirit on all sides. What were homes of living faith and
noble temples erected to the worship of the living God have be-
come mere symbols of a faith departed and of a God either for-
gotten or unknown. With a silence that is eloquent with pain
they appeal to a venerable past, while men like the late Dean
Stanley are set as guardians over sacred places where rest the
dust of buried saints and of whole generations of Catholics. The
candles are quenched on the altars ; the image of the Crucified
is mutilated or taken down ; the lamp burns no longer before
the vacant sanctuary ; the cold altar is itself an empty tomb.
This is what has happened in the religious life of the English

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 253

people ; and the same sad signs are visible in the expression of
the national life through the lasting medium of their letters.
Their literature, like themselves, has wandered from the faith in
which the nation was baptized.

For English literature is essentially Catholic in its beginning,
in much of its formation, and in some of its earliest and greatest
writers. Without going back to what might be called the form-
ing or fermenting time of English letters, we may take our
stand at the very threshold of the change of faith and claim the
whole brood of the Elizabethan writers with perhaps the ex-
ception of Spenser as the product of Catholic times and of Ca-
tholic thought. After that period letters may have fallen from
the grace of their baptism and become Protestantized ; but dur-
ing that period there was not yet time for this. Protestantism
had not spread wide enough nor sunk deep enough to possess
the English heart. " The whole population of England in the
earlier years of Elizabeth's reign," writes Mr. Morley, " was be-
low five million, and burning questions of the day caused wide
divisions among these. If the best intellect of the people was
on the side of reformation in the church, more than half of them
were inclined to stand in the old ways. Among the reformers
there was subdivision." Mr. Froude divides up the population
at this time as about one-third sincere Catholics, one-third in-
different Catholics, and one-third inclined to Lutheranism. Pro-
testantism was as yet neither coherent nor cohesive. Henry
VIII. died leaving a provision in his will for perpetual Masses
to be said for his soul. It is to be feared that his present suc-
cessor to the title of which he was so proud that of Defender
of the Roman Catholic Faith hardly carries out the Tudor mon-
arch's behest. The court party naturally went with the court.
When the court was against Rome they were against Rome ;
when the court was for Rome they were for Rome. The mass
of the people were not much changed one way or the other.
This is sufficiently shown by the attempt under Henry's suc-
cessor, Edward VI., to establish a uniform liturgy and system
of worship for the English Church, showing how the people
were wedded to the old ways. When the Mass was abolished
by law there were insurrections of the people in many counties.
When Edward died and Mary Tudor came in Catholicity was
restored and became again the established religion at the request
of both Houses of Parliament. To Cardinal Pole's solemn ab-
solution Lords and Commons on their knees responded amen.
Protestantism in any shape was at this time only eighteen years

254 THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN [Nov.,

old in England. After Mary came Elizabeth, who by Mary's
dying-bed prayed Almighty God " that the earth might open
and swallow her up alive if she were not in heart and soul a true
Roman Catholic." If Elizabeth had any religion at all it was
doubtless the Catholic; but as Rome broke with her she broke
with Rome, and, to establish and secure her legitimacy, after some
hesitation set up a church of her own, hating the church that
confirmed the sentence of her own father which had declared
her illegitimate and consequently incompetent to succeed to the
throne. During these many and rapid changes in church and
state it may be imagined how much of Protestant thought or
theology had become fastened on the English mind and heart.

Protestantism was left to scattered pulpits and to the changes
of state. It was an affair of politics rather than of religion the
badge of the winning or losing party, as might be. The writers
did not meddle with religion. They wrote for money or for
fame, and they wrote in the old accents and in a Catholic tongue.
All Shakspere's inspiration is Catholic to the core. He speaks
of Catholic days, of Catholic peoples and periods, of Catholic
worship, of Catholic ceremonies, of popes and prelates, priests
and nuns, of all the sacraments of the church, of the pains of hell
and of purgatory, of the redemption of sin through the merits of
Christ, of the divinity of Christ, of God the Father, God the
Son, and God the Holy Ghost, of the Blessed and Immaculate
Virgin Mother everything that a Catholic believes and knows
by heart is there. Even in his one play, " Henry the Eighth,"
that touches on the opening of the " Reform," Rome and Rome's
beneficent power are nobly vindicated. Shakspere is steeped in
Catholicity from cover to cover. To open him is like entering a
great Catholic cathedral filled with a vast and motley throng of
all ages and all nations, of divers grades in church and in society,
but all united under the one head and all one in faith, in wor-
ship, and in prayer. To argue about Shakspere's Catholicity is
sheer waste of time. Tolle, lege ! open the volume and read.
His writings proclaim his religion on every page. Had he been
a Protestant, at a time when Protestantism was struggling to
engraft itself on the heart of England, surely he would, with his
supreme intellect, have given at least one utterance in counte-
nance of the new belief, one argument in favor of it. Yet you
may search all Shakspere in vain for a single Protestant thought
or expression.

Mr. Morley is anything but favorable to Catholicity. " In
England," he says, " when the pope was set aside the king re-

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 255

placed him, and opinions or usages ordained by authority were
imposed with frequent, abrupt change upon a country but half
willing to accept them." There is the whole story. And of
Elizabeth he says : " The queen's policy and the archbishop's
[Matthew Parker] was to find a middle way between the Roman
Catholics and those reformers against whom Pecock of old had
reasoned the Bible men, who in Elizabeth's time were first called
Precisians or Puritans." That is it : Elizabeth's church, called
the Church of England, has from her day to the present been a
Mr. Facingbothways between Catholicity and Calvinism.

Elizabeth ascended the throne in 1558 and died in 1603.
Shakspere was born in 1564 and died in 1616. Massinger was
born in 1584 and died in 1640. Fletcher was born in 1576 and
died in 1625. Fletcher's co-worker, Beaumont, was born in 1586
and died % in 1615. Jonson was born in 1574 and died in 1637.
Raleigh was born in 1552 and executed in 1618. Francis Bacon
was born in 1561 and died in 1626. The lives of these writers
range between Elizabeth and Charles I., most of them and
others of their compeers going out with James I., who reigned
from 1603 to 1625. Elizabeth's reign covered two generations,
and to the close of that long reign the spiritual convictions of a
very large body of the English people were undoubtedly Catho-
lic. Elizabeth insisted on uniformity in religion and persecuted
both Catholics and Puritans alike for nonconformity. She abol-
ished independent preaching and prescribed instead the instruc-
tions, or " Homilies," which were to be preached through all Eng-
land. Nevertheless much may be done within two generations,
and much was done during Elizabeth's reign to crush Catholicity
out of the kingdom. At her death the practice of Catholicity
was ruthlessly proscribed ; in fact, to be a practical Catholic was
to be guilty of treason. The Catholic spirit, the Catholic tone,
Catholic ideas were dying out. Then came King Jamie from
Scotland with his pretentious book-learning and his supreme
reverence for bishops as a necessary adjunct to royalty. "No
bishop, no king," was his motto.

The early years of James' reign were, as Mr. Morley says,
" the time of the full ripeness of the English drama." And dur-
ing the same reign the ripeness withered. The Catholic heart,
Catholic faith, Catholic knowledge and devotion that had inspir-
ed a Shakspere was dwarfed and crushed. England has never
known a great Protestant drama since. " The plays of Beau-
mont and Fletcher," says Mr. Morley, " were all first produced in
the reign of James. Apart from Shakspere there are none which

256 THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN [Nov.,

contain finer strains of imaginative verse ; but there is no longer,
in the choice and management of the plots, a range wide as all
the interests of man." Naturally ; for the sense of universality
of faith and community of religion was dying out. England was
narrowing to its own limits. The change was at once visible.
" Usually also," adds Mr. Morley, " it is not love on which the
plots turn, but a sensual passion that mistakes its name." The
" Reform " was working bravely. Where Mary's court was
pure Elizabeth's was dissolute and that of James I. both disso-
lute and common. " There was decay even in the polite forms
of ingenious speech" ; and, further, " there was decay also under
James I., or tendency to decay, in the old sense of the relation
between crown and people." Naturally ; for the harmonious
balance between crown and people had been broken. The
centre of all authority is faith in a supreme being frpm whom
authority springs. The highest living representative of that
authority has in all ages of the Christian era been the chief
pontiff of the Christian Church. When the monarchs came to
reject that spiritual authority and flout it as an assumption they
tried to throw its mantle over their own shoulders and assume
the triple character of prophet, priest, and king, supreme head
of the church in their own dominions, and so forth. Their people
at first secretly, afterwards openly, laughed at such pretensions ;
and thus the kings themselves were really the first to strike a
fatal blow at the convenient doctrine of monarchical divine right,
which itself was an attempt to revive the old pagan numen im-
peratorum. By a strange fatality James I. won his crown at the
sacrifice of his faith and of his mother's life. The authority thus
won was wiped out again in the blood of his son ; and all this
while the " Reformation" was as yet hardly a century old in
England.

Certainly the morals of the English were not reformed by
the " Reformation" ; the reverse rather. The English were al-
ways a strong eating and drinking race. " That island of Eng-
land," says Rambures (" King Henry V."), "breeds very valiant
creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage." " Just,
just," says the Constable; "and the men do sympathize with the
mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits
with their wives : and then give them great meals of beef and
iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils."
Shakspere knew his countrymen ; but, hard eaters and drinkers
as they were, history does not record that previous to the " Re-
formation " drunkenness was a national vice nor to get drunk a

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 257

social distinction. Yet as the " Reform " worked its way into
the land, when even Puritanism held up its head, Mr. Morley tells
us how Milton rebuked his time and his countrymen with the
masque of " Comus " presented at the Earl of Bridgewater's,
" when the fashion of the time saw only hospitality in him who
forced his friend down to the level of the swine." Drunkenness
kept pace with Protestantism, for " ' Comus ' escaped," adds Mr.
Morley. " His wand was not reversed. He lived on to become
God of the English court in Charles II. 's time. Only in our
day have we seen his wand reversed."

Catholicity was certainly not answerable for such excess ; and
though Charles himself died a Catholic, it was in his reign that
the Test Act was passed to exclude Catholics from taking office
under the crown, and in his reign also that villains like Gates
and Bedloe flourished and inflamed the English mind with the
wildest fabrications against Catholics. " He seems to have pass-
ed his life," says Macaulay of Charles II. , " in dawdling suspense
between Hobbism and popery." During most of the interme-
diate years between his coronation and death he was " occupied
in persecuting both Covenanters and Catholics." * Protestantism
now had everything its own way, and what use did it make of its
opportunities? " The political and religious schism," says Mac-
aulay, " which had originated in the sixteenth century was, dur-
ing the first quarter of the seventeenth century, constantly widen-
ing. Theories tending to Turkish despotism were in fashion at
Whitehall," while " theories tending to republicanism were in
favor with a large portion of the House of Commons." In the
conflict that ensued the king lost his head and republicanism
found expression in Cromwell, as great a despot as ever sat on
the English throne.

And how fared the church and its ministry ? What of the
men to whom the people looked for light, and who promised the
world a purer religion than that of Rome, and plenteous lib-
erty ? Macaulay, writing of the state of England in 1685, says :

"The place of the clergyman in society had been completely changed by
the Reformation. Before that event ecclesiastics had formed the majority
of the House of Lords, had in wealth and splendor equalled and some-
times outshone the greatest of the temporal barons, and had generally held
the highest civil offices." With Henry VIII. came "a violent revolution."
" The clergy had lost the ascendency which is the natural reward of supe-
rior mental cultivation. . . . During the century which followed the acces-
sion of Elizabeth scarce a single person of noble descent took orders."

* Essays. Mackintosh's History of the Revolution in England in 1688.
VOL. XXXVI. 17

258 THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN [Nov.,

Religion had gone out of fashion in England. Macaulay's
description of the English country squire and his wife, their
mode of life and surroundings, is anything but flattering and
shows that this large and very important class of the community
had been advanced backwards by the " Reformation." The
squire and country magistrate was for the most part an ignorant
sot, and

"^His wife and daughter were in taste and acquirements below a house-
keeper or a still-room maid of the present day." " His ignorance and un-
couthness, his low tastes and gross phrases, would in our time be consid-
ered as indicating a nature and a breeding thoroughly plebeian. Yet he was
essentially a patrician." " There was one institution, and one only, which
they [the squires] prized even more than hereditary monarchy ; and that
institution was the Church of England. Their love of the church was not,
indeed, the effect of study or meditation. Few among them could have
given any reason, drawn from Scripture or ecclesiastical history, for ad-
hering to her doctrines, her ritual, and her polity ; nor were they, as a class,
by any means strict observers of that code of morality which is common
to all Christian sects."

Yet these were the gentry, the main bulwark of church and state.
If they were such what must the mass of the people have been ?

The rural clergy Macaulay describes as " even more vehe-
ment in Toryism than the rural gentry, and were a class scarcely
less important." But low in the moral and civilized scale as the
gentry then were, " the individual clergyman, as compared with
the individual gentleman, then ranked much lower than in our
days." " The clergy were regarded as, on the whole, a plebeian
class. And, indeed, for one who made the figure of a gentle-
man ten were menial servants." The democracy of the Catholic
Church had been broken in upon the church that through all
her history has had one standard for her priests : virtue and
mental capacity. So that we see the sons of cowherds in the
papacy and the offspring of beggars founding great orders or
teaching a world through their works. In England all this
was changed with the " Reformation." " The coarse and ig-
norant squire, who thought that it belonged to his dignity to
have grace said every day at his table by an ecclesiastic in full
canonicals, found means to reconcile dignity with economy."

Such were many of the men on whom the duty fell of regen-
erating England and teaching it by word and example a purer
life than that it practised in Catholic days. In brief, the pulpits
of the people were occupied by sottish parsons who were them
selves the menial dependants of sots calling themselves gentry.

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 259

How long these mutual relations lasted is shown sufficiently in
such pictures of the period as are revealed in the novelists and
essayists of Queen Anne's time. The spiritual life being thus
deadened and besotted, the brighter minds, the men striving
after intellectual pleasures and eminence, turned away in disgust
from a system of religion that veered between Puritan cant and
fanaticism, Anglican degradation or sham.

Thomas Hobbes was born in 1588 and died in 1679 that is
to say, he ranges between Elizabeth and Charles II. He was the
son of a clergyman under the Establishment according to Eliza-
beth, and studied for five years at Magdalen College, Oxford.
He became an indifferent and a philosopher, his philosophy being
wholly that of the senses. Good and evil were only other terms
for pleasure or pain : what was pleasant was good, what was
painful evil. Yet this philosopher and teacher taught that " the
will of the prince was the standard of right and wrong, and that
every subject ought to be ready to profess popery, Mohamme-
danism, or paganism at the royal command." Catholics are.
generally accused of subserviency to royalty. In all the wide
range of Catholic teaching can anything be found approaching
so monstrous a doctrine as this ?

Milton, the son of a Catholic father, proved a literary janis-
sary. The father was an apostate ; the son became a bigot. He
never joined any religious communion and refused to have com-
mon prayers in his family. He never attended church. He
died in 1674, and a year previously was published his pamphlet
on True Religion, Heresie, Schism, Toleration, and what best Means
may be used against the Growth of Popery. In this he urged tole-
ration for all the conflicting sects of Protestantism, but for
Catholics none. And yet the man who called upon the Lord
to avenge those " slaughtered saints," the Waldenses, is in his
highest and grandest flights inspired by the spirit and the teach-
ings of the Catholic Church. No absolute Protestant could
have chanted the " Ode to the Nativity " or written of " the Vir-
gin blest," and no Catholic could have made Satan a hero.

Then came indications of a reaction, not from a Puritan but
from a Catholic source, oppressed though Catholics were at this
time in England. Thus Dryden was led by the controversies of
the time over to Catholicity. He was born in 1631 and died in,
1700. His place in English literature needs no defining. On his
tomb in Westminster Abbey is graven the one word " Dryden,"
That is enough. The son of a Puritan father and brought up
amid Puritan surroundings, he turned by natural sympathy and

260 THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN [Nov.

conviction to the royalist side. In 1682 he produced his " Religio
Laici," a poem to prove the necessity of some final voice to deter-
mine where Truth lay. Though still a Protestant, Mr. Morley
says " his poem showed that he was a Roman Catholic already."

In 1685 died Charles II., and in spite of Test Acts his brother
James, an avowed Catholic convert, succeeded to the throne.
Protestant writers have done their utmost to belittle James.
Had he not become a Catholic it is probable that they would
have exalted him into a hero, for he had certainly done good
and brave service to the state. He was even at the worst an
honest man altogether too honest for a politician. He declared
against religious persecution and protected the French Hugue-
nots who took refuge in England after the revocation of the
Edict of Nantes. He sent William Penn to Holland to plead
toleration with William of Orange and Mary. In 1687 he de-
fended liberty of conscience before his Privy Council, but neither
his Privy Council nor England would have a liberty of con-
science that embraced Catholics. He proceeded to issue a De-
claration of Liberty of Conscience, suspending all religious oaths
and tests. "This," as Mr. Morley says, " set dissenters free as
well as Roman Catholics." It cost James his crown, and yet it
only anticipated the present situation in Great Britain and Ire-
land, which has been reached by a circuitous route of riot, revo-
lution, bitterness, and blood. It was in 1687 that Dryden, now a
Catholic, published his beautiful " Hind and Panther " with a view
of bringing about religious harmony. In the following year
James had to fly and William and Mary were brought in purely
to sustain Protestantism and the Protestant succession in Eng-
land. Toleration was abolished, the Test Act was renewed, and
Dryden resigned his office of poet-laureate rather than take the
oaths. " If we are to judge Dryden's sincerity in his new faith,"
says Scott, " by the determined firmness with which he retained
it, we must allow him to have been a martyr, or at least a con-
fessor, in the Cathclic cause." Dryden probably thought him-
self neither one nor the other, but simply the honest Catholic that
he had become.

Nor did he stand alone in his conversion. James Shirley, the
dramatist, who lived from 1594 to 1666, became a Catholic, sac-
rificing the rich living of St. Albans for his change of faith. Sir
William Davenant, who succeeded Ben Jonson as poet-laureate,
who had been petted by Shakspere, and who was befriended by
Milton under the Commonwealth, was also a convert. He was
born in 1605 and died in 1668. Sir Kenelm Digby was converted

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 261

in 1636, suffered for his conversion, and died, a type of noble
and gentle manhood, in 1665. Sir Thomas Browne, like many
another, approached to the very threshold of the church, but
never stepped across it. Locke pleaded honestly for religious
toleration, but pleaded in vain. So did Swift. But these names
bring us to a new age and era in English literature to the his-
torians, the novelists, and the essayists leading up to the news-
papers and the literature of to-day.

The reign of William and Mary reaches from 1688 to 1702.
They were followed by Anne (1702-1714) ; and Anne, through no
special virtue of her own, has given her name to a very brilliant
period of English literature. Within this period, whose writers
really stretch from Charles and James into the time of the
Georges, we find such names as Addison and Steele, Fielding and
Smollett, Swift and Pope, Defoe and Thomson, Collins and
Young, Johnson and Goldsmith, Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon.
The literature of France exerted great influence on the literature
of England during this period. In France the savants and the
philosoplics, aided by the monarchs and their ministers and mis-
tresses, were exerting all their wits and all their force to un-
dermine the Christian faith. Later on Voltaire and Rousseau
brought those teachings to a head. In England the statesmen
of the period were the Bolingbrokes, Shaftesburys, Walpoles
sceptics all, as were the favorite statesmen of the period all over
Europe. In France the new school of sceptics called themselves
esprits forts ; in England they were called free-thinkers. " Indif-
ference in matters of religion is the bane of our age," writes
Bossuet. " It is- openly avowed in England and Holland, and is
not unfrequently to be met with among Catholics." Most of the
philosophic and historic thought in England took this direction
in the eighteenth century, which only formed a natural sequel to
the seventeenth with its degraded church and debased clergy.

It may be objected here that all or much of what has been
said of the condition of Protestantism and of Protestant soci-
ety and letters in England during the seventeenth and eight-
eenth centuries is equally true of Catholic countries also. But
even granted that it be so, that does not concern the immedi-
ate subject in hand, which has been to show the actual effects
on England of the suppression of Catholicity and the establish-
ment of what claimed to be a purer religion and a freer thought.
In considering this England alone has been uppermost in our
view, and neither Ireland nor Scotland has been brought in to
streno-then the case.

H THE CATHOLIC ELEMENT IN- [Nov.,

Lecky, in his History of England in the Eighteenth Centitry, is
inclined to tone down the atheism of the period and polish it off
into deism. He confesses that "there was undoubtedly a large
amount of complete and formal scepticism," though he says this
" was not the direction which the highest intellects usually
took." " There was manifested a strong sense of the incredi-
bility of miracles and a profound disbelief in the clergy, which
was largely due to their political conduct since the Restora-
tion " largely also to the reasons already given. The Eng-
lish deists, he says, had by the middle of the eighteenth cen-
tury already fallen into neglect ; but " the arguments so feebly
urged in England were reproduced in France with brilliant
genius " and " contributed very largely to the triumph of the
Revolution." But notwithstanding that in England " a bril-
liant school of divines " [the " school " was not a very large
one] " maintained the orthodox opinions with extraordinary
ability," nevertheless " a latent scepticism and a wide-spread
indifference might be everywhere traced among the educated
classes " which is just what has been maintained in this
article. The invasion had fully established itself; the alien
was now at home; and the intellect of England was desecrated,
while the morals of England were corrupt. Both go hand-in-
hand, and the one is a natural complement of the other. There
was no longer a church or a creed that the English people
could in their hearts respect. " There was a common opin-
ion," says Lecky, who writes with none of the scorn or as-
sumed passion of Macaulay, " that Christianity was untrue but
essential to society, and that on this ground alone it should be
retained. . . . The old religion " [that of the Establishment]
"seemed everywhere loosening around the minds of men, and it
had often no great influence even on its defenders." Butler
from an independent point agrees with Bossuet as to " the
general decay of religion in this nation, which is now observed
by every one, and has been for some time the complaint of all
serious persons." This calls up a speech of John Bright's in the
English House of Commons last year, wherein he declared that
the English working-classes no longer believed in a religion that
the English higher classes professed to believe in but did not
practise. The common charge of the Anglican episcopate to-
day is to strive and bring the masses of the people back to the
church. Lecky quotes Bishop Butler to show that "the deplor-
able distinction of our age [the eighteenth century] is an avowed
scorn of religion in some and a growing disregard of it in the

1 882.] ENGLISH LIFE AND LETTERS. 263

generality " ; while Addison pronounces it an unquestionable
truth that there was " less appearance of religion in England
than in any neighboring state or kingdom " ; and Montesquieu,
in English Notes, states with truth, probably that not more than
four or five members of the House of Commons were regular
attendants at church.

Lecky traces all the defects in English society, clerical and
lay, to " the popular theology," which he describes as " cold and
colorless." In other words, there was no longer blood or life in
it. " The universities, which were the seed-plots of English di-
vinity, had fallen into a condition of great moral and intellectual
decrepitude." It is well to insist upon the point that from the
time of the " Reformation " the intellectual life of England was, in
a Christian sense, poisoned at the very source, and the poison
only spread with the centuries. " The spell of tradition and of
church authority was broken, and, in an age wedded to inductive
reasoning and peculiarly intolerant of absurdity, writers who were
once the objects of unbounded reverence lost all their charm.
For many years after the ' Reformation ' the patristic writings
continued to be regarded in the English Church with a deference
little less than that which was paid to the Bible ; but after the reign
of Queen Anne they were rarely read." " Evidence was every-
where," says Mr. Morley, " of the sickness of mind due to an un-
wholesome condition of society. . . . There is more evidence of
hypochondria and actual insanity among writers in the eight-
eenth century than at any other time. . . . Healthy men were
touched with the gloom of bondage."

Such evidence might be multipled beyond bounds. The
country, after two centuries of Protestantism, lay under a darker
gloom and spiritual bondage than ever the temporary interdict
of a pope impelled. As for Catholics, they no longer entered
into calculation. The appearance of a Catholic poet like Pope
was simply a matter for wonder that such things could still be.
Catholics could hold no office of importance under the crown.
They could not sit on the bench ; they could not enter Parlia-
ment. They could only receive a Catholic education by stealth
and by cheating the law. Practically in England, as actually in
Ireland, a papist was not presumed to exist in the eyes of the
law. Catholicity was to all intents dead in England ; and Pro-
testantism, which had enjoyed an uninterrupted reign of two
centuries, was not only dead but deadening. Its corruption
was spreading to the mass of the English people.

264 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.,

PUY-EN-VELAY.

THE town of Le Puy has long been celebrated in the Chris-
tian world for its Eglise Angelique one of those churches that,
like Westminster Abbey, were, according to tradition, consecrat-
ed by the ministry of angels but still more celebrated, perhaps,
for its miraculous Vierge Noire carved out of setim-wood, says
the poetic legend, by Jeremias of old in a season of prophetic
enthusiasm during his exile in the land of Egypt, and sent, some
say, from the East by Haroun-al-Raschid to the mighty Emperor
Charlemagne. And the town itself is as strange and wonderful
as the legendary history of the church and its Madonna. It is
built over the extinct fires of a volcanic mountain, and in every
direction are basaltic rocks and tall, isolated peaks that give the
place a physiognomy apart. The approaches, too, are singularly
beautiful. The railway from Brioude comes sweeping around
a mountain bordered by columnar rocks into a large basin formed
by the union of three beautiful valleys watered by the Loire, the
Borne, and the Dolaison. This basin is encircled by bold hills
riven into varied fantastic shapes by some awful force. At the east
is Mount Anis, on the side of which stands " Puy Notre Dame,"*
the favored city of Our Lady, rising from the fresh green valley,
tier above tier, like an amphitheatre, with successive stages of
convents, churches, donjons, and private dwellings, its streets
leading up in converging lines to the Angelic Church, which
stands on a truncated cone at the foot of the Rocher Corneille
an enormous cliff of volcanic breccia that towers directly
above, bearing on its summit the colossal statue of Notre Dame
de France, cast out of the ordnance taken at Sebastopol. On
all sides are the sharp volcanic cliffs that make Puy one of the
most striking and singular towns in Europe.

On the right bank of the Borne as you approach the city is
the Rocher d'Espally a huge basaltic cliff that stands isolated
in the valley, its foot bathed by the river. On the top once stood
a fortress erected for defence by the bishops of Puy and famous
in the history of the province. Here Charles VI. received notice
of his father's death, and, though the greater part of his kingdom
was in the hands of foreigners, was proclaimed king of France

* Puy is derived from a Celtic word signifying a height or isolated peak.

1882.] PUY-EN-VELAY. 265

by a few faithful vassals of Languedoc come to take their oath of
allegiance. This historic castle, where more than one king had
been a guest, was in the sixteenth century besieged by the Rou-
tiers, the Huguenots, and the Leaguers one after the other, and
totally ruined. Only a few crumbling walls remain of the ancient
halls once made brilliant by knights in armor and courtly array,
and graced by ladies of the train of Mary of Anjou. The view
from these ruins is exceedingly picturesque. At the west is the
charming valley of Bernarde between the dark, prismatic rocks
so appropriately called the Orgues d'Espally and another cliff,
on which stands the Chateau de Ceyssac. At the south are the
heights of Rouzon. At the north are rich uplands where you
see Paradis, the establishment of the Brothers of the Christian
Doctrine. But the finest view is at the east, where rises the
mountain of holy Anis, ascended by popes, emperors, kings,
nobles, and saint after saint, to pay homage to Our Lady of Puy
enthroned above the town that sprang into existence solely to
do her honor. At the foot winds the Borne through orchards
and meadows, past the walls of St. Laurent, where Du Guesclin
first found a tomb, and then around the tall, sharp Rocher de
St. Michel, otherwise called the Aiguille, or Needle, that rises
nearly three hundred feet from the valley, looking like a jet of
lava suddenly thrown up by some subterranean force and at
once congealed. This lofty, precipitous rock stands in the sub-
urbs of Puy and is one of the most striking features of the
landscape. It seems to close the valley at the northeast, and
hides from view another basaltic cliff crowned by the ancient
castle of Polignac. Perched as by enchantment on the very top
of the Needle is the seemingly inaccessible chapel of St. Mi-
chael, built in the tenth century on the ruins of an old pagan
temple hewn out of the rock, where once were worshipped
strange gods

"Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train."

You ascend to it by means of steps hewn zigzag up the per-
pendicular side of the cliff, with a broader shelf here and there
on which once stood oratories to St. Gabriel, St. Raphael, and
St. Guinefort an ancient martyr said to be the son of a Scottish
king. The chapel on the top stands on a small esplanade sur-
rounded by a parapet. It is much injured, but is interesting on
account of the mosaic work and curious sculptures of both
pagan and Christian times. And there are mysterious recesses
and passages in the walls that formed part of the ancient temple

266 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.,

of Osiris. The old statue of St. Michael the Archangel that once
stood like a Stylite on his column was hurled down the precipice
by the Huguenots when they sacked the chapel. They left the
building in a ruinous condition, but the general effect has not
been impaired, and its graceful outline against the pure sky, in
perfect harmony with the richly-colored cliff on which it stands,
is the admiration of every traveller. From the esplanade there
is a fine view of Espally on one side, the city of Mary at the
south, beautiful villas in every direction, and on the horizon the
mountains of Pertuis and Mezenc and the crater of Bar.

When we arrived at Puy the afternoon sun had already dis-
appeared from the valley, but it still lit up peak after peak of the
surrounding heights ; and as the train swept in a broad curve
around the foot of Mount Anis, affording a magnificent view of
the whole town and its environs, we were startled, as by a sud-
den vision, at the sight of the gigantic statue of Notre Dame de
France on the top of the Rocher Corneille, the culminating
point of the landscape, holding up her Child, as it were, to the
adoration of the whole world. Standing against the dark blue
evening sky bathed in the golden glory of the setting sun, she
looked, crowned with twelve stars as she is, like the woman in
the Apocalypse clothed with the sun a great wonder indeed in
the heavens. The spire of St. Michael, too, on its lofty cliff was
tipped with the same celestial fire. And seated majestically in
mid-air at the foot of the Rocher Corneille, but in a graver light,
was the angel-consecrated cathedral of Notre Dame du Puy,
where the Salve Regina was first sung vast and imposing, its
fagade, with arch rising above arch, decorated with the curious
black-and-white mosaic peculiar to Auvergne ; its swelling domes
giving it a Byzantine appearance ; its Clocher Angelique, from
which the Angelus was first rung, rising above the altar of Mary ;
and its huge tower of the eleventh century, built of volcanic
rocks, each story diminishing in size, dark, heavy, and ungrace-
ful, but, towering from the immense edifice twenty-four hundred
feet above the level of the sea, a truly striking and picturesque
object at a distance. One's first impulse is to visit this venerable
sanctuary ; but as it was too late an hour we established our-
selves in pleasant rooms overlooking the Place du Breuil, a
handsome square with a large fountain in the centre, surround-
ed by public buildings of modern style, with a spacious prome-
nade on one side embowered by plane-trees.

Early the next morning we started for the cathedral. We
soon found ourselves in narrow, gloomy streets of mediasval

1 882.] - PUY-EN-VELAY. 267

character, lined with dark, lava-built houses and shops with
broad, unglazed Roman arches. Before the doors sat women in
queer caps rattling their bobbins as they swiftly wove their beau-
tiful lace, and chattering as fast as they wove. At the corners
of the streets, and before many of the houses, was a Madonna,
with a lamp generally lighted on Saturdays and the vigils of
Our Lady's festivals, or when some one of the neighborhood has
a special grace to implore. Funerals and the annual processions
stop before these niches to sing by way of salutation the f
verse :

" Maria, Mater gratiae,

' t." t~y^
Mater misericocdiae,

^ T^yTf *J

Tu nos ab hoste protege, ' - ti

Et hora mortis suscipe."

At length we came to the immense staircase of one hundred
and thirty-four steps leading up to the cathedral that excites
the astonishment of every one who sees it for the first time. It
is constructed of great blocks of lava, with platforms at certain
intervals where booths are erected on high festivals for the sale
of objects of devotion. Ascending one of these flights after an-
other, we came to a great cavernous archway over sixty feet in
length leading up to the Porte Doree, the grand entrance to the
church, which is supported by columns of red porphyry. Here
we found ourselves in a pillared portico resting on three great
arches directly beneath the nave ; for the church, not having
room on the narrow mountain shelf, projects over the side of the
precipice, upheld by immense arches resting on enormous pillars.
On the sill of the Porte Doree is graven a Latin distich running
thus : " If thou keepest not thyself from heinous offences beware
of crossing this threshold, for the Queen of Heaven wishes to be
honored by hearts pure from all stain."

In former times the staircase continued to ascend beyond the
Porte Doree, and led to an entrance in the church above be-
tween the nave and the high altar. This enabled the ministering
priest on great festivals to give his benediction not only to the
worshippers actually in the church, but to the multitude that
covered the immense flight of steps extending down into the
very heart of the city. This must have been an admirable spec-
tacle. Unfortunately this curious entrance has been closed, and
two side rampes now lead up from the porch into the aisles.

The church, which is of the Romanesque style, is vast, solemn,
and cavern-like, with an air of venerable antiquity in keeping

268 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.

with its history. It contains seven altars with the 'same privi-
leges attached to them as to the seven stations at Rome. Here

we found priests absorbed in the holy mysteries, and groups of
worshippers everywhere, particularly before the high altar, over
which stands the black Madonna copied from the ancient statue.
Directly above rises the Clocher Angelique at the junction of
the nave and transepts. The apsis of the church, which is square,
is called the Angelic Chamber, being the original edifice at
whose consecration " angels officed all." It is of the sixth cen-
tury, if not older, and is simple and severe in style, without any
decoration. The transepts are of the ninth century, and the
greater, part of the nave is of the eleventh. Each part retains
the stamp of the period in which it was built, growing richer in
ornamentation as it approaches modern times. There is an in-
teresting series of frescoes, quaint and in some respects admira-
ble, saved from ruin through Prosper Merimee, and attributed
by some to Benedetto Ghirlandajo, who is known to have work-
ed this side the Alps.

In one of the chapels are the relics of St. George not him of
Cappadocia, but the first apostle of Velay, commissioned, accord-
ing to tradition, by St. Peter himself. It was he who set apart
the summit of Mount Anis, planting around it a hedge of
thorns to keep it from profanation, in fulfilment of a divine in-
dication very similar to that which led to the foundation of
Santa Maria Maggiore at Rome. Here St. Martial, the great
apostle of Aquitaine, set up an altar in honor of Our Lady
and deposited precious relics he had brought from the East.
But it was St. Evode, or Vosi, who erected the church that
became celebrated as the Eglise Angelique. The old legend says
that when he approached for the purpose of consecrating it the
bells began to ring out untouched by human hands, and the
doors opened of themselves, showing thousands of torches burn-
ing in the sanctuary and the altar still flowing with the oil angels
had poured on the stone of sacrifice, the rich odor of which per-
fumed the whole building. It was the renown of this Angelic
Church and its altar to Mary that drew settlers to Mount Anis,
forming a town that finally grew into the capital of Velay and
the see of a bishop. The church was, from the first, considered
a place of such special sanctity that no one was allowed to be
buried within its walls a rule so strictly observed that the
canons refused to allow John of Bourbon, one of the greatest
bishops of Puy, to be buried therein, though a large sum was
offered for the privilege. Its greatest treasure was the statue

1 8 82.] Pu Y-EN- VELA Y.

that became renowned as Notre Dame du Puy. This has been
attributed to various kings, such as Charlemagne and good King
Dagobert, but most writers of modern times think it was brought
from the East by St. Louis, though there seems to be no proof
of this whatever. It is certain that Our Lady of Puy was in
great repute long before the time of St. Louis. Most of the
Capetian kings came here to pay her homage. Centuries before
the Crusades the old Counts of Bigorre in the Pyrenees conse-
crated their domains to St. Mary of Puy out of devotion, and
paid her an annual tribute as her vassal. In 1062 Count Bernard
of Bigorre fixed this sum as sixty sols morlaas. At all events the
statue honored here from time immemorial was no doubt brought
from the East, for it was curiously carved out of some oriental
wood cedar, ebony, or setim-wood that had grown quite black
with the smoke from lamps and censers. It was of singular but
noble aspect. The Virgin was seated on a kind of stool, with the
Child on her knee. Both were closely swathed after the manner
of Egyptian mummies, and covered, all but the faces, with papy-
rus, a portion of which is to be seen in the museum at Puy.
Every Christmas eve and Good Friday they were washed with
wine and water, and clothed with rich robes, and adorned with
jewels and crowns. Thirty-six lamps of silver were kept burn-
ing night and day before this statue by the foundation of special
votaries. Only certain dignitaries besides the bishops and
canons of the church could celebrate the holy mysteries at the
altar beneath, and even they could not say the Mass for the Dead
a rule so rigidly maintained that a general of the Capuchins in
the seventeenth century, noted for his sanctity, sought in vain
for the permission. Suspended above this altar was a silver
dove holding the vase containing the Holy Eucharist, thus in-
scribed : " In this tomb is the Body of the Lord, whose love gave
life to the world through his death."

The statue of Notre Dame du Puy was brought forth in pro-
cession on great occasions, as in time of famine, pestilence, and
war, to propitiate the divine wrath. At such times it was at-
tended by the Four Barons of Our Lady chosen from the high-
est nobility of the province, who considered it an honor to belong
to the Garde noble de la Vierge. They bore the canopy over the
sacred image or walked beside it with drawn swords. In the
time of Joan of Arc, and in all great wars, it was thus brought
forth into the city. An old author relates how the people on
one of these occasions " shed scalding tears before the devout
image, lovingly beseeching the Virgin Mary to obtain peace and

270 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.,

concord for the kingdom of France." Louis XI. had this holy
image brought out twice in solemn procession. On one of these
occasions Bishop John of Bourbon had all the tapestries be-
longing to his family brought to Puy to line the streets and
decorate the reposoirs, and a hundred servants of his family
opened the procession, carrying torches on which were pictured
the arms of Bourbon. Then came all the guilds and confraterni-
ties with their banners and ensigns, followed by the citizens and
people of quality. The lords of Polignac and Allegre aided
in bearing the statue. All sorts of demonstrations of joy were
made, and representations from the Old and New Testament
were acted in the streets. But the long procession of suppliants
sprinkled the way with hot tears and uttered loud cries, begging
the mercy of God. This statue was also brought out during the
captivity of Francis I., when all seemed lost save honor, and like-
wise when Puy was besieged by ten thousand Huguenots, on
which occasion the signal protection of Our Lady was acknow-
ledged by an inscription graven on one of the pillars of the
church :

" Civitas nunquam vincitur,
Nee vincetur : sic igitur
Per Mariam protegitur
Haec privilegiata."

Five popes and fifteen kings of France have, one after another,
come to pay homage to Our Lady of Puy. Charlemagne came
twice, and in his honor a commemorative picture was placed in
the church, known as the " Tableau des Neuf Preux." Louis le
Debonnaire, when only seventeen years of age, came here to
pray at the altar of Mary. Louis le Jeune and Philip Augustus
came before going to the Holy Wars. St. Louis came twice,
and gave the church a portion of the holy crown of thorns.
His wife, Marguerite of Provence, brought her diadem of pearls
as an offering. Philip III. and Philip IV. came and made rich
gifts. Charles VII. resided at different times at the Chateau of
Espally, which the bishop of Puy had placed at his disposal, and
used to assist at the office at the cathedral in the garb of a canon,
the kings of France being ex officio members of the chapter.
Spending the greater part of one winter here, he and the queen
used to ascend the holy mountain every day, notwithstanding
the severity of the weather in this elevated region, and he gave
the church two flags taken from the English. Louis XL came
here three times. On one of these occasions he came, like a true
pilgrim, on foot from the village of Fix to the church, a distance

1 882.] Pu Y-EN- VELA Y.

of three leagues. The dean and canons went out to meet him
and were presented to the king by Charles de Lafayette, the
grand chamberlain. They offered him the keys of the church,
which he refused to take. And instead of a grand reception he
asked that the Salve Regina alone should be sung at his ap-
proach. He remained three days, and heard three Masses every
morning, wearing the dress of a canon. He had a new niche
constructed for the statue of Our Lady, and gave abundant alms
to the poor.

Francis I. came here after his release from captivity, in fulfil-
ment of a vow, and with him Queen Eleonoreof Austria, the three
princes, Francis, Henry, and Charles, a large part of his court,
and Leo de' Medici, the papal nuncio. The bishop met them
at the portal of the church and presented holy water to the
king. The dean and provost clothed his majesty with the garb
of a canon and led him to a prie-dieu covered with cloth of gold
before the altar of Mary. Then the Te Deum was sung. He
afterwards sent the church two silver candlesticks weighing
more than a hundred marks, with the request that they should
be placed before the venerated statue. The chapter presented
him with a beautiful sapphire that had been given by King Rene
of Anjou when he made a pilgrimage here accompanied by a
great number of Moors converted to the faith.

Among the old lords and knights who came devoutly to Puy
were several of the Montmorencies, the Counts of Toulouse, the
two Marshals de Lafayette, who were benefactors of the church,
and Bertrand du Guesclin, who died in the service of Notre
Dame du Puy beneath the walls of her castle of Chateauneuf-
Randon, the keys of which were placed on his tomb. Raymond
de St. Gilles made a foundation for a perpetual lamp before the
sacred image. The Duke of Guienne, son of Charles VIII., came
here with four hundred cavaliers and made a novena in the
church, spending one whole night in vigil before the altar of Our
Lady, and the next morning after Holy Communion he gave her
a rich mantle and a wax candle weighing two hundred livres.
John Stuart, Duke of Albany, having been miraculously cured
through the intervention of Notre Dame du Puy, came here in
1516 and offered a wax candle, one hundred and twenty pounds
in weight, together with the crown he had worn as regent of
Scotland.

Here we come, too, upon the traces of a long line of saints
one of the most delightful of experiences to a Catholic of the
New World. Without speaking of the ten saints who have oc-

272 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.,

cupied the see of Puy, we find visiting this favored sanctuary
three from Cluny Peter the Venerable, St. Odo, and St. May-
eul, who bathed the pavement with his tears. Hither came St.
Robert, founder of La Chaise Dieu ; St. Stephen, founder of the
order of Grammont ; and St. Hugo, Bishop of Grenoble. St.
Dominic is said to have been inspired here to establish the devo-
tion of the Rosary. St. Anthony preached here. And St. Co-
lette, who established a house of her order at Puy, often came
here to pray. St. Vincent Ferrer, one of the greatest preach-
ers of the middle ages, arrived at Puy October 3, 1416, riding on
a mule on account of his age and many infirmities. Before him
with bare feet walked nearly a hundred penitents clothed in sack-
cloth and bearing a cross. He lodged at St. Laurent, the con-
vent of the Dominicans, and for two weeks preached daily in the
open air no church being able to contain the multitudes that
flocked to hear him in a meadow now converted into the Place
du Breuil and the public promenade. Every day while he was
robing for the service of the altar his band of penitents scourged-
themselves, in honor of the flagellation of our Saviour, to excite
sinners to penitence.

St. Francis Regis, " the apostle of Velay," frequented the sanc-
tuary of Mary while a resident of Puy. He is still greatly hon-
ored in this region, particularly by workmen and lace-weavers,
he having done much to encourage various industries, especially
lace-making, which he introduced here, thereby contributing
greatly to the prosperity of the country.

Sometimes the tribunals of the middle ages imposed on crim-
inals a pilgrimage to Puy in expiation of their offences an ad-
mirable way of effecting their moral improvement. Sorrows
and miseries of all kinds seemed to seek alleviation here. Our
Lady of Puy was like one of those old Madonnas one sees in the
galleries of Italy, wearing a huge mantle beneath which have
taken refuge a throng of the needy and the distressed. Cities
sent deputies here in time of public calamity. Bordeaux during
a pestilence sent two, enjoining on them to go with bare feet,
merely clothed in a tunic, from their lodgings at Puy to the altar
of the Virgin, where, at the Offertory of the Mass, they should
present a torch two quintals in weight. Deputies from Toulouse
in a similar season of distress had High Mass celebrated at the
altar of Our Lady, at which they presented twenty quintals of
wax graven with the arms of that city. Lyons, in the time of
the mal-chaud, made a vow to keep four lamps burning m'ght and
day before the sacred image of Mary.

1 882] PUY-EN-VELAY. 273

For ages every child at Puy, after being baptized in the cha-
pel of St. John, was borne to the altar of Our Lady to be conse-
crated to her, and as it was carried down the grand staircase
made to place its first offering in the box for the poor at the door
of the Hotel-Dieu, a house founded by St. Benigne in the sixth
century.

In 1793 the statue of Notre Dame du Puy, venerated for so
man}' ages, was torn by the revolutionists from the niche of
Louis XI., shamefully dragged through the streets, and, to the
utter consternation of the pious inhabitants, burned on the Place
du Martouret the very square where, in 1512, the Vicomte de
Turenne and other great barons of Puy held guard around the
Virgin, while the people shed burning tears and uttered lament-
able cries, praying for the mercy of God. But happily the
Chambre Angelique was respected, and an exact copy of the an-
cient statue has been made, which draws nearly as many pilgrims
as in the middle ages.

The church of Notre Dame du Puy was formerly under the
immediate protection of the Holy See, to which it was so devot-
ed that the town was made the chief centre in France for the
collection of Peter-pence, to which it contributed itself the an-
nual sum of twelve hundred livres. Immense indulgences were
conferred on the church, especially when Good Friday coincided
with the Annunciation, its patronal festival. This was called the
Jubilee, which seems to have been celebrated here from time im-
memorial. It used to be announced months beforehand by the
canons going in procession to the church of St. George, where
at the door the deacon thrice loudly intoned, " Magnum Jubi-
laeum," to which the response, " Deo gratias," was made a like
number of times with a loud peal of the trumpet. Immense
numbers came from all parts of the kingdom, and even from
Spain, to gain the indulgences. The churches were so crowded
that confessions had to be heard in the cemeteries and around
the ramparts, where two thousand priests on one occasion were
stationed for the purpose. The streets were so densely throng-
ed that families had special colors and ensigns, which they held
aloft that the members might not lose sight of each other, and-
on more than one occasion many were crushed to death in the
crowd. A squad of soldiers was required to open a passage to
the altar for communicants. The Four Barons of Our Lady
kept guard, sword in hand, at the corners of her high altar. The
canons in full costume, with mitres on their heads which they
had the right to wear on solemn functions descended from their
VOL. xxxvi. 18

274 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.,

carved stalls to kneel on the pavement around. And the bishop
in pontificals, attended by the chief dignitaries of the diocese, of-
ficiated. The religious orders and all the guilds were in atten-
dance, the advocates and civil authorities were there in their
robes, taper in hand, and crowd after crowd poured into the
church to pay their devotions.

The bishops of Puy from remote times have had the right of
wearing the pallium, " out of respect," says the papal brief, " to
the blessed and ever-glorious Virgin Mary, whose memory is
loved and honored more in this church than in the other sanctu-
aries dedicated to her." Among the noted bishops of this see is
Adh6mar de Monteil, the author of the Salve Regina, and the
first to take the cross at Clermont for the first Crusade, of which
he was made the spiritual chief, being appointed legate of the
Holy See. He went to the East at the head of four or five hun-
dred warriors from Puy, whose valor Tasso has celebrated :

" Two pastor-chieftains then,

William * and Adhemar, bring up their marshalled men.
These held of late authority divine,
The hallow'd priests of piety and prayer,
Who fearless now in horrid conflict shine,
And press beneath the helm their long black hair :
That from the city and dominions fair
Of ancient Orange to the fierce alarms
Leads full five hundred : this beneath his care
From whence high Puy the trav'ler's notice charms
An equal number brings, not less renowned in arms."t

It Vas Adh6mar de Monteil who, on the occasion of Pope
Urban II. 's visit to Puy, constructed the door in the south tran-
sept of the cathedral for his entrance, curious for its sculptured
lions and heads of tigers. It was afterwards walled up out of
respect, and from that time only opened at the visit of some
Sovereign Pontiff. The door in the north transept was the one
through which entered kings, princes, cardinals, and governors
of the province.

Adh6mar de Monteil died of some epidemic at Antioch Au-
gust i, 1098, and was buried on the spot where the sacred lance
had been found, amid the lamentations of the entire army. Ac-
cording to Tasso, however, he was slain by the Amazon Clo-
rinda :

* William, Bishop of Orange, "an upright man and one who feared God," according to the
expression of an old writer of Auvergne, took the cross with Adhemar de Monteil and was ap-
pointed sub-legate by Pope Urban II.

^Jerusalem Delivered, canto i. 38, 39 ; Wiffen's translation.

1 882.] PUY-EN-VELAY.

" As too rash Adhemar, the grave and good,
Watch'd the assault far off, the fatal cane,
Charged with hot wrath, came whizzing where he stood,
And grazed his brow ; impatient of the pain,
He clapp'd his hand upon the wounded vein,
When lo ! a second nail'd it to his head,
And quiv'ring fix'd in his bewilder'd brain !
He falls his holy blood, by woman shed,
Floats o'er his priestly robes and dyes the sable red." *

In 1826 the collateral descendants of Adhemar de Monteil
presented the church of Notre Dame du Puy with a silver Vir-
gin on which was an inscription testifying their respect for the
memory of their illustrious ancestor. .

Antoine de St. Nectaire, another bishop of Puy, of one of
the leading families of Auvergne, took an active part in the re-
ligious wars of the sixteenth century. He descended from a
knightly race, and was a man of martial propensities and hercu-
lean strength. He was remarkable, too, for his manly beauty and
gracefulness of deportment, but was grave of aspect and as
much beloved for his good qualities as admired for his person.
He is described as going forth to battle on a richly-caparisoned
mule, wearing sable armor with a cross of gold on his breast, an
azure mantle with his family arms depicted thereon, a scarlet
plume in his helmet, and a formidable club on his shoulder. It
was in his time the Huguenots, hearing that most of the churches
and convents of Velay had sent their treasures to Notre Dame
du Puy, determined to capture the place. They ravaged the sub-
urbs, got possession of the Aiguille, sacked the church and con-
vent of St. Laurent, and desecrated the tomb of Du Guesclin,
but were repulsed from the town itself. The bishop took Chris-
tian revenge. Though courageous and intrepid, he was mild of
disposition and had a horror of shedding blood. At the mas-
sacre of St. Bartholomew, with the heart of a father and a pastor
he sheltered the Huguenots of Puy in his own castle, and, after
making known to them their critical condition, said : " The or-
ders I have received only refer to seditious Calvinists, of whom
there are none here. We are children of the same Father : let
us live as brethren. Love of God and our neighbor is our first
obligation as Christians. I feel sure there is not a citizen here
who deserves death." The result was, they all embraced the
Catholic religion.

A steep, winding way behind the cathedral leads up to the

* Jerusalem Delivered, canto xi. 44.

2/6 PUY-EN-VELAY. [Nov.,

top of the Rocher Corneille. Here are two terraces, one above
the other, planted with shrubs and flowers, with fountains diffus-
ing freshness with their spray, amid which plays a constant rain-
bow. At the corners of the octagonal pedestal on which stands
Notre Dame de France are placed eight cannons from the
Crimea.

The idea of erecting a statue of the Blessed Virgin on
the summit of this lofty cliff was first suggested by the Pere
de Ravignan in 1846, but its accomplishment in the year 1860
is due to the pious energy of Mgr. de Morlhon, then bishop
of Puy, who sprang from one of the noblest families of Rou-
ergue, but who took more pride in the title of the " Eveque
de la Grande Madone " pleasantly given him by Pope Pius IX.
on this occasion. Cardinal then Abbe Bonaparte became a
member of the commission for its erection. Another mem-
ber was one of the Lafayettes of Auvergne. Napoleon III. and
the Empress Eugenie were the first to subscribe to the work.
All France aided, especially the clergy and the religious
institutions. The pedestal was given by the three hundred
thousand pupils of the Brothers of the Christian Doctrine.
When Marshal Pelissier, then in the Crimea, heard of the under-
taking he wrote Mgr. de Morlhon : " Ask the emperor for can-
non. He will tell us to take them, and we will." The bishop
made the request, and the emperor promised all that should be
taken from the Russians. Three days later Sebastopol was cap-
tured, and two hundred and thirteen cannon, weighing one hun-
dred and fifty thousand kilogrammes, were soon placed at the
bishop's disposal. The statue was modelled by M. Bonassieux,
the artist who, under Louis Philippe, refused to make a statue
of Voltaire, and was afterwards decorated by Napoleon III. for
his " Meditation." It was cast in one hundred pieces and brought
to Puy in five vans. The bells rang at its approach, and the in-
habitants went out to meet it with a peal of trumpets, singing the
Salve Regina, The students of the seminary aided in drawing
it up to its destined place. The statue is said to be the largest
ever cast, being, of course, of a size proportionate to the cliff and
its height from the valley. The Virgin is fifty feet tall and rises
twenty-five hundred feet above the level of the sea. The globe
an which she stands is sixteen feet in circumference. Beneath
her foot is an enormous serpent fifty-four feet long. But the
sizje of the statue does not detract from the beauty and religious
character of the subject. The figure of Mary is full of dignity,
grace, and harmony. She has her hand placed caressingly under

1 882.] PUY-EN-VELAY. 2/7

the foot of the Child, whose arm rests on his Mother's neck, ex-
pressive of mutual love. A crown of stars is woven in her flow-
ing- locks, and her graceful mantle is sown with flowers and pre-
cious stones. Her attitude, with one foot on the head of the
serpent, is noble and firm, but light and full of grace. On the
base is graven the Salve Regina in huge letters.

At the unveiling of Notre Dame de France there was an
immense multitude. The streets were in festive array. Pro-
cession after procession came in from the country with banners
of all colors, singing their favorite hymns. An altar was erect-
ed on the Place du Breuil, where St. Vincent Ferrer once
preached, and here Pontifical Mass was celebrated. Around the
altar were gathered fifteen hundred priests, seven hundred
freres, about a thousand sisters of different orders, five hun-
dred penitents in their costume, with bishops, archbishops, and
cardinals. The weather had been wild and stormy, but hard-
ly was the statue unveiled before the sun burst forth from
the clouds, lighting it up with golden splendor, at which there
rose the cry of " Vive Notre Dame de France ! " from the vast
throng. The Salve Regina was then intoned and caught up
by a hundred thousand voices. At night the town was illumi-
nated and there were fireworks on all the neighboring heights.
The cliffs of Espally, Polignac, the Aiguille, and the Rocher
Corneille itself, looked as if their volcanic fires were once more
in action, sending- forth flame after flame till the whole heavens
were illuminated.

After the death of Mgr. de Morlhon the town of Puy had a
kneeling statue of him in bronze placed at the foot of Notre Dame
de France. It was the intention of this pious bishop to erect a
colossal statue of St. Joseph on the cliff of Espally a happy idea,
to transform the place where kings had lived and bishops en-
trenched themselves, that had been besieged by Huguenots and
insurgents of all kinds, and witnessed the horrors of civil war,
into a place of pilgrimage and devotion but he died before the
plan could be put into execution.

278 THE LETTER-BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY. [Nov.,

THE LETTER-BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY.

OF the pages which record the story of Ireland's fate none
are more full of interest than those which contain the story of
her condition during the reign of James II. If this be true of
those pages of history which recount the acts of the men of the
period to which we refer, how much more true is it of those
others which almost seem to show us the very thoughts and
motives of those whose words and deeds swayed their fellows !

Henry Hyde he who was to be the second Earl of Claren-
don was born in A.D. 1638. Of him Bishop Burnet wrote:

" He was very early engaged in great secrets ; for his father, apprehending
of what fatal consequence it would have been to the king's * affairs if his cor-
respondence had been discovered by unfaithful secretaries, engaged him,
when very young, to write all his letters to England in cipher; so that he
was generally half the day writing in cipher or deciphering, and was so
discreet as well as faithful that nothing was ever discovered [z>. disclosed]
by him."

The whilom discreet young secretary was, it is no doubt need-
less to inform our readers, the eldest son of that Edward Hyde
who, himself the son of a simple squire of Wiltshire, lived to
be chancellor of England and died one of her belted earls ;
who, schooled by a poor village vicar, lived to rule the destinies
and lives of millions, to see all bend in sycophancy and subjec-
tion before him, and to in the end find the gains of high place
and power but veritable Dead-Sea fruit ; who tasted the bitter-
ness of exile and disgrace ere the tomb closed upon him, and
who found that a life spent and a conscience seared in the ser-
vice of a worthless king was no guarantee of royal favor.

Henry Hyde became Earl of Clarendon in 1674. The bro-
ther-in-law of the Duke of York, not all the errors of his father
would seem sufficient to close against Hyde the portals of a
great career, and men could hardly fail to note that the very
facts which appeared to cloud his present as surely seemed to
promise a brilliant future ; f and therefore it was no matter for

* Those of King Charles II. before the Restoration.

t It was owing to his attachment to the Duke of York and his consequent opposition to the
bill for his exclusion from the throne that the House of Commons voted an address to King
Charles, on the yth of January, 1681, praying him to remove from " his presence and councils "
Henry, Earl of Clarendon. In this address were likewise included the names of George, Earl
of Halifax, Henry, Marquis of Worcester, Lewis, Earl of Feversham, and that of Clarendon's
brother, Lawrence Hyde, the future Earl of Rochester.

1 882.] THE LETTER-BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY. 279

wonder that in 1685, when James ascended the throne, Claren-
don was made Lord Privy Seal, and in December of the same
year Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. It is with his career, or, to
speak more correctly, with his correspondence, during his tenure
of this post that in these pages we now wish to deal.* This
correspondence casts much light upon the character of Claren-
don light which, to the unprejudiced reader, will certainly seem
not entirely unfavorable, and which will not show aught to jus-
tify the bitter words of Burnet, who asserted that

" His judgment was not much to be depended upon, being carried by
vulgar prejudices and false notions, and the king (Charles II.) always spoke
of him with great sharpness and much scorn."

Nor, indeed, will any part of Clarendon's career, any of his
acts or words, go far towards substantiating the partisan pre-
late's estimate of his character. It would be almost impossible
for any one, after a perusal of the earl's letters and diary, to
doubt that his actions were those of a man often honestly, even
if hopelessly, striving to act aright. Attached beyond question
to the creed of which he found himself a follower, his heart was
sorely wrung when he found that monarch to whom he was at
least fully as warmly attached determined to make violent and
inopportune assaults upon it. He was hardly a hypocrite who,
when his son joined the Prince of Orange, wrote in his private
diary :

" O God ! that my son should be a rebel ! The Lord in his mercy look
upon me and enable me to support myself under this most grievous cala-
mity ! "

not a man likely to make a course for himself, one better
fitted to follow than to lead, but assuredly one anxious to be
guided and to act correctly in troublous and distracting times,
one clinging to standards which, however false, he did not set
up himself.

On the Qth of January, 1686, Clarendon arrived in Dublin as
viceroy, and on the following day wrote as follows to Lord
Sunderland : f

* It is a curious fact that, though Lord Clarendon's correspoadence is remarkably interesting
and of great historical value, it has only been published twice once, in the last century, by the
Clarendon Press,. Oxford, and again in 1828 by Colburn, of London, under the editorship of one
Samuel Singer, F S.A.

t Robert Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, of whom Macaulay writes : " In this man the politi-
cal immorality of his age was personified in the most lively manner. Nature had given him a
keen understanding, a restless and mischievous temper, a cold heart, and an abject spirit."
A description apparently not as unjustifiable as, unfortunately, too many of Macaulay's are.

280 THE LETTER- BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY. [Nov.,

" MY LORD : After a long journey and tedious stay at Holyhead for a
wind I arrived safe here, God be praised, yesterday in the forenoon. I
went immediately, according to the usual form, to the council-chamber,
where the king's commission was read and the oaths administered to me;
the rest of the day was spent in the necessary formalities of receiving
visits. Your lordship will not expect that I should have anything of the
public affairs to entertain you with at this time. This is only to let you
know that I am where I ought to be, and will immediately fall to the exe-
cution of this great trust which the king has been pleased to honor me
with, whereof I shall have occasion to give your lordship almost a daily
account, which I shall do with all the fidelity imaginable, and shall pay a
punctual observance of all your lordship's commands, as well in what relates
to your own particular, if you please to honor me with any such, as to the
king's service. And I beseech your lordship to look on me, as I am, with
perfect respect, my lord, your, etc."

Two days later Clarendon found time to plead with Sunder-
land for one who, apparently, was an old Catholic veteran for
few but Catholics were arrested during the sway of the infamous
Gates. He wrote :

" Here is one Colonel Lacy, an old Cavalier, who hopes the king will,
when he has an opportunity, put him into employment ; I am sure he de-
serves it. He was an officer in the times of King Charles I., and I believe
his majesty remembers him with himself in France and Flanders, where he
served very bravely. This poor gentleman was settled here in a comforta-
ble way when in Gates' reign he was sent into England, and kept prisoner
in the Gatehouse about two years, besides other severities both to his.
person and small estate. I take the liberty to recommend his enclosed peti-
tion to your lordship."

He wrote on Lacy's behalf also to the king-, concluding his
letter in the following manner :

"God Almighty preserve your majesty and make this a happy year to
you, and grant that you may enjoy many, many more ; which is the daily
prayer of, may it please your majesty, your majesty's most dutiful and
most obedient subject and servant, CLARENDON."

The "Captain Moonlights" and "Rories of the Hills" were
as troublesome to the officials in Dublin Castle then as now, as
hard to deal with, and just as much the outcome of English
crimes and English blunders. We find Clarendon writing on
the igth of January to Sunderland :

" On Sunday I had several accounts brought me of the great insolencies
committed in the county of Cork, and of great robberies in that county
and Limerick ; that many people were set upon in the daytime and dan-
gerously wounded. I immediately sent orders to Captain Boyle and Cap-
tain Carne [Kearney ?], who are quartered in those parts, to send out
parties to suppress such disorders, and have given them all necessary
powers.

1 882.] THE LETTER-BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY. 281

" Flying columns " and " buckshot," then as now, were the
only panaceas for Irish ills favored by Dublin Castle, and there-
fore on the 5th of February the earl had again to report that

" About ten days since there came great complaints of fresh violences
and robberies committed by the Torie5 in Munster; they were headed by
young Tower, brother to the 'late rebel Tower. But I have ordered several
small parties of horse and foot who are quartered thereabouts to watch
them, and have got some intelligence amongst themselves, so that I do not
doubt in a very little to have the country quiet."

The Catholics were beginning to seek to realize those hopes
which the accession of a Catholic king had raised, and had there-
fore held and were holding meetings in various places to select
delegates to proceed to London to plead their cause and assert
their rights before King James. Clarendon, who was undoubt-
edly a narrow-minded and bigoted man, did not at all like this,
and, so far as can be judged from his correspondence, very much
wished for royal authorization to forbid such meetings and dele-
gation alike. He wrote the king on the 8th of February, send-
ing a list of those selected as the Catholic representatives, as
follows :

" I do easily imagine your majesty would not be pleased to see such a
number of persons come over to you as are mentioned in the enclosed list,
which would make a great noise and be a vast expense to the poor ag-
grieved people. ... I might add that the consequence would be the carry-
ing a great deal of money, as well as numbers of people, out of this king-
dom, and the unsettling the minds of men from the callings they are now
engaged in."

The anxiety to save " the poor aggrieved people " expense was
somewhat laughable and no doubt hardly imposed on James,
who was at least master of the arts of courtiers. Castle festivi-
ties then, as in our own times, were seldom interfered with by
political troubles, so that, on the day following that on which he
wrote the king, Clarendon could write his brother Rochester,
the lord-treasurer :

" You may expect an account of my performance on the 6th of Febru-
ary, which I will take care you shall have a relation of. I will only say that
I celebrated the day as well as I could^and as well as the illness of the castle
would give me leave; in a word, I went very decently to church on horse-
back, was attended by all the nobility in town (a great many) of both reli-
gions ; Lord -Clanrickard carried the sword, and as many dined with me as
the house would hold."

On the I4th of February it was necessary that Clarendon
should write Sunderland, Macaulay's " personification of politi-

282 THE LETTER-BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY. [Nov.,

cal immorality," on the affairs of the Irish Protestant Church,
to remind him that

" The archbishopric of Cashell having been some time void by the
death of the late archbishop, I do humbly propose to his majesty that the
now bishop of Ossory and Kilkenny may be removed to Cashell ; that the
now bishop of Cloyne should be removed to Ossory and Kilkenny, and to
hold the archdeaconry of Armagh in commendam, as it is now enjoyed by
the present bishop ; and that the dean of Cloyne should be advanced to
that bishopric of Cloyne ; which being but small, I humbly propose to
have added thereunto, by way of commendam, the vicarage of Clondro-
ghid, in the said diocese of Cloyne, and now in his possession. Though
there be but one see vacant, yet for the enlargement of his majesty's first-fruits,
and to make them as considerable as I can upon this occasion, I have humbly
proposed these removes."

The manner in which men like Clarendon regarded the inte-
rests of their church is admirably illustrated by the sentence
which we have italicized, and it is amusing to see the different
tone pervading the letter written by him on the same subject, on
the self-same day, to the archbishop of Canterbury. He tells
the archbishop that " Dr. Otway, the present bishop of Ossory,
whom I have proposed to be removed to Cashell, is a person of
true primitive piety," and that " Dr. Jones, the present bishop of
Cloyne, whom I propose to be translated to Ossory, is a very
worthy man and has done great good in the diocese he now is
in." Two days later he writes his brother Rochester, express-
ing great anxiety as to the filling of the see of Cashel and that
"one Jones in England" may not get it; he knows he "was
chaplain to my lord of Arran, and by him made dean of Lis-
more ; he has been in England near a year, gaping for prefer-
ment," and, from what he had seen himself, he thought " did not
live as a man of his cloth and calling ought to do." So wrote
his lordship of Clarendon to his brother the lord-treasurer, with
the following addition :

" I tell you this story in hopes that you will take some care that this
man might not be imposed upon me at this time, which he would look
upon as a triumph. I am sure I can have no end in keeping any out, or
bringing any one in, but the good of the church and the king."

By the same mail Clarendon wrote Sunderland that he

"Would beg the favor that Sir Thomas Longuevill might have the
honor to be of the king's learned council here. He is an old Cavalier de-
cayed in his fortune ; he picks up a little livelihood by following the law ;
and the character of being of the king's council will both give him reputa-
tion and bring him out of the crowd within the bar, where he may sit
down, which will be a great ease to his old age."

1 882.] THE LETTER-BOOK OF AN IRISH VICEROY. 283

It were, no doubt, a libel upon a learned profession to insinu-
ate that a silk gown is ever given now for any reason little bet-
ter or worse than this was prayed for, or that it might now be
reported of any Irish judge as Clarendon wrote the English
lord-chancellor of those of his time, that

" They seem by their practice in the courts to be zealously concerned
in supporting the king's prerogative ; and if some of them are not endowed
with all the learning that were to be wished, I think they are all honest
men, which will cover many failings."

What the designation " honest man " meant in 'Clarendon's
mouth, particularly when coupled with praise of the " honest
man's " support of " the king's prerogative, " would of course be
quite inapplicable to any member of the Irish bench or bar just
now ; but nevertheless it is worth while recalling the policy of a
lord-lieutenant of the past, if only to discern the vast difference
which no doubt exists between it and that of a present-day one.
Clarendon wrote Sunderland on the 26th of February, 1686, that

" The judges are some of them gone, and the rest are going their cir-
cuits. / have given them particular directions smerally in all things relating
to the king's service, and doubt not to have a good return."

Which " good return " most probably he had in sundry
" charges " to sundry juries in denunciations of " Tories " and
other evil-doers of various kinds. On the day following the de-
spatch of this letter the viceroy could write his brother, Roches-
ter, of Dublin what we fear might be written of it to-day : " This
is a very tattling town." The following letter addressed to the
king shows that James was not disposed to allow his legal head-
ship of the English Church in Ireland to become a merely nomi-
nal one ; he was determined to assert his supremacy so far as he
could. This letter, as is stated in it, was in reply to one from his
majesty :

" DUBLIN CASTLE, March 2, 1686.

" I have received the honor your majesty vouchsafed to do me on the
i8th of the last month, and am very glad your majesty has my lord Clan-
rickard in your thoughts, which I shall send him word of, and I know it
will be a great comfort to him. As to what your majesty is pleased to tell
me of the bishop of Meath's sermon before me it was, as I remember, the
third Sunday after my being here he is a very dull preacher, which may
make me, as well as others, not to have minded him so much, as we ought
to do what' is said in that place. But I confess I minded enough to think
that he said more than he ought to do, and therefore as soon as I came
home, that very day I took notice of it to my lord primate and the arch-
bishop of Dublin, who both assured me that they did, upon your first com-
ing to the crown, exhort all their clergy not to meddle with controversy

284 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Nov.,

nor politics. . . . The next day I sent for the bishop of Meath to me. I told
him my mind, which he promised to observe for the future. I have like-
wise given the same charge to the rest of the bishops as I seem them, and
to all other clergymen as they come in my way, and done so ever since my
being here. And as I shall always do so when any indiscreet sermons are
made before me, so I shall likewise take notice very severely of any of the
clergy who preach such sermons in other places, if I have any notice of it.
. . . But after all this I cannot answer but some impertinent things will
be said sometimes even before me ; in all such cases I do assure your
majesty those men shall never pass unreproved by me. . . . And I beseech
your majesty to believe that no man shall commit these follies twice before
me, nor anywhere else which I have information of ; and though the in-
ferior clergy in most places are unruly, and not so apt to take advice as to
give it, yet I dare undertake to keep ours here within the bounds of duty
and good manners."

Verily the paths of a state clergy, never rose-strewn, were no-
wise pleasant in the reign of the second James of England.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

CONSTITUTION AND PROCEEDINGS OF THE CATHOLIC TOTAL ABSTINENCE
UNION OF AMERICA, issued from the Twelfth Annual Convention, held

. , at St. Paul, Minnesota, August 2 and 3, 1882. Published by Catholic
Total Abstinence Union of America. 1882.

To persons not members of the organizations represented such a report
as this is usually very dry reading. An address or two of welcome, a sum-
mary of rolls of membership, a financial statement, an address reviewing
the year's work and another of encouragement, and that is all. But just
let the reader begin this pamphlet at the end ; let him attentively peruse
Bishop Ireland's address to the convention, printed in the last pages of
these Proceedings, and we venture to say that the rest of it will secure
his very special attention. In that address there is as complete a state-
ment of the ravages of intemperance as we remember to have seen any-
where. Therein, too, the reader discovers that the business of the mem-
bers of the Catholic Total Abstinence Union of America is not simply to
practise a Christian virtue ; that is one object, indeed, but the chief aim is
to make war on a vice which is continually devouring a spoil of spiritual
and temporal welfare simply appalling. The great remedy, and in the
main the only successful remedy, for drunkenness is total abstinence. To
induce inebriates to take the pledge is the commonest means of reforming
them. To hold meetings for that end, to give public as well as private en-
couragement, to engage capable and authorized temperance advocates, to
make good example conspicuous, and to preserve all in the quickening
and yet moderating spirit of the Catholic religion these are the objects of
the Union. As to the purely interior side of the Catholic temperance
movement, the reader may learn it from Bishop Grace's prayer in opening
the convention a beautiful and undoubtedly heartfelt address of sympathy

1 882.] NE W FUBLICA TIONS. 285

to our blessed Lord, atoning for the sins of the drunkard by His thirst and
His drink of gall and vinegar on the cross.

To make extracts from such an address as Bishop Ireland's is a puz-
zling task, so admirably condensed are the statistics, so well chosen the
arguments, so equally inspiriting the exhortations. The whole address
should be in the hands of every priest and every intelligent layman in the
country. We cannot forbear making the following selections :

" The comparative poverty of the Irish people in America is a matter of public notoriety.
It is a lamentable fact. They are the hewers of wood and drawers of water. Go where the
hardest work is to be done, you find Irishmen burrowing in the mines of Pennsylvania, wast-
ing away their life-blood amid the never-ceasing din of industrial machinery in New England,
strewing with their corpses lines of railroads or canals. In large cities the tenement quarters are
thronged with them, a family striving to breathe in each room of a building five stories high,
crammed with human beings from cellar to roof. This condition of things is deplorable.
Forced poverty is hurtful to soul and body. Mortality attains fearful proportions. In the tene-
ment-houses of New York 75 per cent, of all children born die within a few years after their
birth. The report of a Boston medical association shows that while Irish families are far
more numerous than those of native New-Englanders, yet, on account of greater mortality among
Irish children, the New England population would keep pace with the Irish were not the latter
constantly receiving new accessions from emigration. Bad ventilation and alcoholism, adds the
report, are impairing fearfully the general sanitary status of the Irish people. No influence for
good, social or political, can they have amid this poverty. What room for evils of all sorts,
physical and moral ! Well, what is it that keeps the Irish people in these low social conditions ?
The saloon. Thither goes the money earned at the sweat of their brow ; thence do men issue,
broken down in health and strength, to swell the lists of idlers and paupers. Our disgrace and
our misfortune in America is the number of Irish saloon-keepers. I blush for the old race when-
ever I walk along the streets of our cities and read over doorways Irish names prefacing, so
seldom the words 'Bank,' 'Commission House,' 'Dry-Goods Store,' so often the words
'Saloon,' 'Wines and Liquors, 1 'Imported Liquors.' To what base uses noble names have
come ! "

It is in view of all this, and of much further information imparted by
the bishop in his address, that we can take a deep interest in the dry tables
and catalogues contained in the report of the convention. They are the
muster-rolls of a body of men who form part of the corps d'ttite of the
Catholic Church in America. They give us an insight into the active
public efforts of upwards of thirty-four thousand men who appreciate the
evils of intoxication and have set to work in a most Catholic spirit to do
everything in their power to exterminate that vice. Privately and for its
own sake they love the virtue of temperance as practised in the form of
total abstinence from intoxicating drink. But what has gathered them
into societies is the fact that they are public-spirited men, whose hatred of
drunkenness is full of zeal for the rescuing of its victims. The cohesive
force among them is an intelligent conviction that a vice necessarily public
and notoriously rooted in a traffic which poisons the fountains of public
well-being can be fought successfully only by compact, wide-spread organi-
zation. That such an organization should meet with the warm commen-
dation expressed in the published communications from bishops and others
high in authority in the church is naturally to be expected. But it is
amazing to think that there are men blind enough to have the heart to
sneer at such noble and disinterested zeal. It is not to be expected that
everybody will take the pledge, but no one, in our opinion, can read Bishop
Ireland's address and give it credence and refuse to say, " God bless the
Catholic temperance cause ! "

286 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Nov.,

Whether one be for or against the attempts now being made in various
parts of the country to treat intemperance and its occasions as the law does
yellow fever or the cholera, this much is certain : all public-spirited Catho-
lics should give a hearty support to authorized Catholic temperance socie-
ties, should seek to enlarge their membership, subscribe to their publica-
tions, and heartily, and if possible publicly, approve their principles and
aims. The church has every reason to be proud of the bishops, priests, and
laymen who are such determined foes of a vice which in any one decade
of this century has slain more men than the century's biggest war, and
does more harm to religion than any other of its enemies.

THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ANNUAL FOR 1883. New York: The
Catholic Publication Society Co.

" Oh ! it's only an almanac," says some one. Nay, it is much more than
that, but if it were " only an almanac " it might be well worth preserving.
What collector of the bric-a-brac of literature would not chuckle over the
acquisition, say, of a black-letter chapbook or a copy of Poor Richard's Al-
manac ? Let us take a hasty glance at the history of almanacs and see
something of the part they have filled as mental pabulum for several
nations. Copies of MS. almanacs of the fourteenth century exist in the
British Museum. The earliest known printed almanac was that of Regio-
montanus, published from 1475 to 1506, and which received pecuniary sup-
port from Mathias Corvinus, King of Hungary. During the same period
almanacs were published in Barcelona by Granolachs, in Vienna by Engel,
and in Tiibingen by Stoffler. Gradually such publications appeared in all
parts of Europe. Rabelais published an almanac at Lyons in 1533. The
success of the astrologer Nostradamus, who, in a collection of prophecies
called " Centuries," prophesied the death of Henry II. of France, the exe-
cution of Charles I. of England, the great fire of London, etc., gave such
an impulse to the publication of political prophecies in almanacs as to
cause their prohibition by Henry III. of France, in 1579. In the reign of
Charles IX. a royal edict required almanacs to receive the approval of dio-
cesan bishops. The circulation of almanacs and chapbooks among the
illiterate grew to enormous proportions, and their influence was very dele-
terious that of the chapbooks especially. In 1852, on the recommendation
of a commission which examined several thousand of these publications, the
French government forcibly checked their circulation. Almanacs, how-
ever, still largely circulate in the rural districts, the favorite being the
Almanack Lidgeois, first published at Liege in 1636. For the convenience
of those who cannot read this almanac conjoins certain symbols to certain
dates ; thus, a vial designates that phase of the moon under which a draught
of medicine should be taken ; a pill-box signifies the planet most propi-
tious for pills ; a pair of scissors points out the proper period for cutting
hair, a lancet for letting blood. There are, however, several first-class year-
books published on the Continent, filled with statistical, political, and other
instructive and useful matter. Among the most important of these are the
Almanack de France, the Belgian and Prussian Royal Almanacs, and the
Almanack de Gotka. The latter has a cosmopolitan character and within a
small compass contains a vast mass of political and statistical information.
As an illustration of the importance sometimes attaching even to almanacs
we may adduce the following, apropos of the Almanack de Gotha :\

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 287

" During the Empire Napoleon I. considered this little publication so important that he
exercised over it a rigid supervision, and in i8oS an entire edition, which had just been worked
off, was seized by French gendarmes. The editor hurried to Paris, and found that his error
was in his alphabetical arrangement, by which Anhalt, of the Ernestinian line of Saxon princes,
took precedence of Napoleon, who claimed the right to be placed at the head of the nobility of
the Rhine."

In Great Britain, and in our own country also, almanacs formerly com-
posed a large part of the mental diet of the illiterate. In England their
publication was a valuable monopoly enjoyed for many years by the two
universities and the Stationers' Company, and, under the imprimatur of the
Archbishop of Canterbury, such publications as Moore s Almanac and Poor
Robin's Almanac had vast circulations, although, says a writer, "it would be
difficult to find, in so small a compass, an equal quantity of ignorance, pro-
fligacy, and imposture as was condensed in these publications." Partridge,
a London cobbler and the prophet of the Stationers' Company, has been
immortalized by Swift in the " Bickerstaff " papers, where he is embalmed
as " an eminent practitioner in leather, physic, and astrology." So valu-
able was the Stationers' monopoly that when by a judicial decision it was
abolished Lord North brought into Parliament a bill for its renewal, which
was defeated only after a speech by Erskine in which he exposed the per-
nicious influence of their publications. The establishment of the British
Almanac in 1828 wrought a wholesome change in the character of these
productions, and they have continued to improve until now there are
several of great utility published in Great Britain, such as the one just
named and Whittaker's, the New Edinburgh Almanac, Thorn's Irish Alma-
nac, etc.

One of the earliest almanacs published in this country was Franklin's
Poor Richard's Almanac. Elderly people will recall how universally, fifty
years ago, almanacs hung over country fireplaces, how confidently their
weather predictions were consulted, and how faithfully their wit and wisdom
were pondered over. With the spread of education almanacs lost their popu-
larity, and gradually became known chiefly as vehicles for advertising the
nostrums of " patent medicine " venders. During our civil war there arose a
new class of annual publications under the name of almanacs, some of
them very meritorious, but they have about all died out, one of the few re-
maining being the Catholic Family Annual. This survival, with its large
circulation, speaks well for its value. We have said that the Annual \
much more than an " almanac," for, besides calendars, there is matter to
interest the scholar, the antiquary, the statistician, the book-illustrator, and
especially the Catholic. A glance through its pages reveals extended bio-
graphical sketches, with portraits, of Archbishops MacHale and Henni, of
Bishops Bossuet and Lynch, of Mgr. Segur and Fathers Fitton, McCloskey,
McMurdie, McCaffrey, and O'Brien, the four last named being professors of
Mount St. Mary's, Emmittsburg. There are also sketches and portraits of
eminent Catholic laymen, with a mass of other instructive and entertaining
matter and illustrations which our space will not permit us to particularize.
To the futute historian of American Catholicity these Annuals will prove
invaluable, as they contain a mass of facts to be found nowhere else.
Typographically even Charles Lamb, with all his prejudices against alma-
nacs, would acknowledge this to be a book.

288 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Nov., 1882.

UNCLE NED'S STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. Thirty-four illustrations.
New York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

Within a few weeks the Christmas season will be at hand and the book-
stores will be ransacked for handsome and entertaining books for the
small folks. What Catholic is there who has not often been disheartened
after a long search among the attractive-looking volumes piled up on the
counters? Stories well told, full of marvels, as well as of the startling
humor that first puzzles and then amuses the youngsters, were there,
arrayed in bright, shining covers and illustrated by tasteful yet striking
pictures. All that the publisher's judgment and good taste, aided by skil-
ful engravers, printers, and binders, could do was there to be found. But
most often the man or woman of true Catholic instincts hesitated to make
a choice, and finally either took a book with a misgiving or went off else-
where to buy a toy instead. For even if the book were pleasing to the eye
and diverting to the mind of a child, and contained nothing positively anti-
Catholic, it most likely bore somehow the assumption that its young read-
ers were anything but Catholics. Even the few translations of beautiful
French and German stories for the young that were published were, as a
rule, expurgated in the Protestant interest.

" Uncle Ned " is therefore deserving of a warm welcome ; for though he
appears in all the glory a publisher could give him, he is unmistakably a
Catholic, yet with so thorough a knowledge of juvenile human nature
that he does not " preach." The little ones will be delighted to sit around
him and listen with their small ears and big eyes to his funny tales, taking
a peep between whiles at the pictures, so as to gather up the coil of his
narrative. The older children will, of course, be able to get through the
thirty-two stories for themselves. Some of these stories are pathetic, some
funny, some startling, and all are interesting as well as instructive. " The
Cat and the Pitcher," " How a Good-natured Bear learned to walk Alone,"
" Bunker's Hill," " How Uncle Rufus Long became a Catholic," " Dream-
land," and " Clotilde and Coletta " are particularly entertaining.

It is a well-proportioned quarto volume. The illustrations are excellent
wood-engravings and will no doubt be pored over with wonder and plea-
sure by many a sleepy codger at its mother's knee. The binding is hand-
some cloth stamped with a tasteful design and set off with enough color
and gilt to brighten it for children's eyes. The paper is as white, firm, and
smooth as bristol-board ; while the type, ink, and press-work are a credit to
the printers as well as the publishers. Altogether so beautiful and so good
a book for little children we have never before seen in the English language
from a Catholic publisher.

PEARLS FROM THE CASKET OF THE SACRED HEART OF JESUS. New

York : Benziger Bros. 1882.
A THOUGHT OF ST. TERESA'S FOR EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR. New

York : Benziger Bros. 1882.

These two very small and very pretty books of devotion contain some
precious gems of thought and sentiment gathered from the writings of two
saints. The first one, edited by Miss Ella McMahon, is compiled from the
writings of the Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque ; the second, prepared by
Miss E. C. Donnelly, from those of St. Teresa. Either of them will make a
very pleasant and profitable pocket-companion for any one who has a
relish for the holy maxims of the saints.

THE

VOL. XXXVI. DECEMBER, 1882. No. 213..

A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY.

THE Independent of September 28, 1882, remarks concerning
two councils of Congregationalist ministers and laymen which
were held on the 2oth of September, " that not for Congrega-
tionalists alone were the two councils of great interest and im-
portance which decided once more, by votes nearly or quite
unanimous, that in the Congregational churches, at least, the
evangelical faith is still at liberty to adapt itself to the intelligent
reason of the age." The general interest manifested by the
public at large in certain events which preceded these councils,
and in their issue, justifies this remark, and furnishes a sufficient
reason for the notice we take of them in this article, as well as
for the title we have given it. We derive our information re-
specting the councils from the reports of the two newspapers,
the Christian Union and the Independent.

One of these councils was held at New Haven for the instal-
lation of the Rev. Dr. Smyth, the other at Quincy, 111., for the
installation of the Rev. Mr. Thayer, and, as the Independent ob-
serves, the cases considered and decided were so much alike
" that their stories could be told almost in the same words."
We may confine our attention, therefore, to the New Haven
council, merely premising that its decision, which may be taken
as representing the present theological attitude of Congrega-
tionalism in New England, is made by the action of the council
of Quincy to fairly represent, also, the attitude of the same de-
nomination in the Western States.

290 A Crisis IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. [Dec.,

The case of the gentleman who was approved and installed
as pastor of the Centre Church at New Haven has awakened an
unusual interest from the fact that he had been selected by the
faculty and trustees of the Andover Seminary to fill the chair of
theology in that institution, but rejected by the Board of Visi-
tors as unsound in doctrine. His own statement of his belief
and his theological opinions, and the judgment of such a respec-
table body as the New Haven council upon them, are therefore
of importance to all who are desirous of knowing what the new
departure really is and whither it tends, whatever may be the
motive of their curiosity.

There is a very general notion or impression that a large
body of Protestant clergymen and teachers have floated away
from what is called the ancient orthodoxy towards universal
doubt and negation of any form of positive and objective Chris-
tianity, and that the most intelligent and learned among them,
the best scholars and the most original thinkers, are generally
found to take a part, often a leading and bold part, in this move-
ment. This is partially, but only partially, correct. Some per-
sons who sympathize with, and others who detest, the sceptical
and destructive movement which, undoubtedly, is working and
threatening great mischief at the present, in our opinion exag-
gerate its extent and power, and forebode a devastation and
ruin in the age which is drawing near which we cannot see any
certain reason for apprehending. On the contrary, there seem
to be signs that, within the bounds of Christendom, the ten-
dency toward the negation of natural religion and the principles
of sound rational philosophy, and, among those who hold by
natural religion, the tendency toward the negation of superna-
tural religion, are diminishing in force. There is reason to hope
that the current of events in human history is, on the whole,
moving toward a regeneration of society within the bounds of
external Christendom, and a general triumph of Christianity
beyond its present external limits. Holding this opinion, we
must consequently rejoice in allefforts made to resist doubt and
negation of either natural or supernatural religion, and deplore
any lessening of religious belief and conviction in respect to
what we hold to be sound and true philosophy or theology.
This is especially the case in regard to the great centres of in-
struction and influence where the studious youth are educated.
In this view, if we regarded the action at Andover and New
Haven in the case of Dr. Smyth as signifying a new departure in
the direction of anti-supernatural and rationalistic philosophy,

1 882.] A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY, 291

tending to aid the powers at work to weaken and undermine
Christianity, we should look on it as deplorable. That it indi-
cates a departure, not indeed now first begun, yet nevertheless
receiving a new impulse and moral force from what has taken
place in this case and in the similar one of Mr. Thayer, is unde-
niable. The departure is, however, from the old theology of the
Calvinistic confessions, which is not necessarily the same thing
as a departure from the more ancient theology of the creeds of
universal Christendom. Whether it really is so or not must be
determined by examining what the novelty actually is, since it
may be that it is a novelty only relatively to something which
is old in the sense of being antiquated though not very ancient.
The Independent considers that " the positions taken are tho-
roughly evangelical and in a large view are healthily conserva-
tive. There is nothing anti-evangelical in them, nothing but is in
profound harmony with evangelical faith." It says also of the
decision of the New Haven council that "it is only one more
declaration that faith may think " an expression perhaps bor-
rowed from St. Anselm's famous phrase, Fides qucerens intellectum.
The New York Times, a conservative sort of journal, in its issue
of October I looks on the views of Messrs. Smyth and Thayer
as being substantially a return from some hasty positions taken
up by the Reformers, towards historical Christianity, accom-
panied by an effort at rational explanation of doctrines and a
conciliation of the same with modern science, throwing out a
caveat against any supposed aid or comfort to be derived there-
from by " mere ecclesiasticism."

The aspect in which the whole case seems to be generally
viewed is, then, that the two councils and their concurrents
wish to be regarded as adhering to that which is commonly un-
derstood to be Protestant orthodoxy, also called evangelical
doctrine, as differing from Unitarianism, rationalism, and all
that kind, and also from so-called ecclesiasticism. Yet they do
not allow that liberty of thought can be subjected to the formulas
and confessions which churches have adopted, as to a final and
absolute authority.

This is vague enough, certainly. Still, it is not so totally
indefinite but that we can use it for a definite result. We leave
aside " ecclesiasticism " as irrelevant to our purpose, which is
to draw a dividing line between rationalists and supernaturalists,
for the purpose of seeing to which class Dr. Smyth and his
supporters must be assigned. It is not easy to do this with
mathematical accuracy, and we do not wish to enter into any

292 A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. [Dec.,

long and nice discussion. Let it suffice to say that one who
believes in Christianity as a supernatural religion must at least
acknowledge that Jesus Christ possessed a superhuman wisdom,
holiness, and power; that he revealed with divine authority sav-
ing truth to mankind, and opened a more sure and perfect way
than any which men could discover by their unaided natural
powers for the attainment of the highest good. One who is
not convinced of at least as much as this may call himself a
Christian, but only in the sense in which a philosopher may call
himself a Platonist or an Aristotelian. For him Jesus Christ
stands on the same level with Zoroaster, Gautama, and other
sages ; the Jewish and Christian Scriptures are only documents
of ancient literature ; historic Christianity is an object of
curious interest, like the religion of Egypt or India. And al-
though he may venerate Jesus Christ as the best and greatest
of men, and regard Christianity as the highest development in
the intellectual and moral order which human nature has yet
put forth, he must, nevertheless, assert the liberty and power
of reason to transcend any or all of the doctrinal and ethical
teachings of Christ or the apostles, of any or all forms of theo-
logy and philosophy which profess to be based on or subordi-
nated to these teachings.

On the other hand, one who does hold the elementary prin-
ciple of Christian supernaturalism must regard the Christian
religion as something objectively and positively true, obligatory,
and permanent. He must look to Jesus Christ as a divine
teacher, and to divine revelation as giving the law of belief and
morals. The rationalist examines Christianity merely to find
out what it is, without any intention of subjecting his mind and
will to its authority, except so far as his own individual reason is
convinced that it proposes what is true and prescribes what is
good. The supernaturalist inquires what is the genuine and pure
Christianity as a religion revealed by God, that he may believe
what it teaches on faith in the divine omniscience and veracity,
and obey what it prescribes as the commandment or counsel of
the Sovereign Creator and Lord of the world.

Plainly enough, the position that God has chosen to instruct
and direct the human race in the way of salvation by a super-
natural providence and a supernatural revelation, Jesus Christ
being the Mediator, demands the recognition of some inchoate
and preparatory religion preceding the final and complete pro-
mulgation of Christianity through Christ in person, and coeval
with the creation of man. It is equally plain that the promul-

1 882.] A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. 293

gation of the revealed religion of God by Jesus Christ must be
manifested as a clear and intelligible fact, standing in a plain,
consecutive relation to all foregoing facts in the history of God's
dealings with men, and with all the following course of religious
history to the end of time. A believer in the supernatural cha-
racter of the Christian religion is, therefore, necessarily directed
by his dominant idea to look into the authentic historical records
of revealed religion as an original and permanent fact, whether
they belong to the period before or to the one after the advent
of Christ. The revelation in itself must be, as given by God, an
intelligible fact ; and, as received by men, it must manifest itself
as something truly understood and practised in such a way as
to exhibit an effect corresponding to God's intention in giving it.
In a word, God, giving a revelation, must have adopted some
method of making it certainly and permanently knowable, that
it may be believed ; and it must have been known and believed
by some portion of mankind from the beginning of the world
until the present time. The Faith, as truth revealed, must have
its authentic records, documents, monuments, media of tradition,
increase so long as revelation is incomplete, preservation after
being completed ; and, as truth believed, it must have also its
verifiable and credible history. An intelligent and instructed
believer in Christianity as a supernatural religion must, there-
fore, look to the authentic source of knowledge concerning the
truth really revealed, and to the history of his spiritual ancestry
for information concerning what has been, from time immemo-
rial, actually believed as this revealed truth ; in order that he
may learn what Christianity really is in its genuine essence and
nature, what are its doctrinal teachings and moral precepts,
whether such as were already promulgated before Christ came
or first proclaimed by him and his apostles.

It would be absurd to suppose that no common consent
whatever respecting the truths revealed, or in respect to the
actual belief of those who originally received the revelation,
should be produced among those who believe that such a revela-
tion was really made through Moses and the prophets ; by Jesus
Christ and through the apostles ; and actually believed by a
great number of those who received it. There are documents
universally acknowledged by believers in supernatural Chris-
tianity as authentically teaching the word of God and containing
genuine historical records ; and besides the books of sacred and
canonical Scripture, there are numerous documents and monu-
ments universally acknowledged to be trustworthy testimonies

294 A Cxi sis IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. [Dec.,

of the history of religion. The possibility of honestly misunder-
standing these documents in a manner even apparently reasonable
cannot be one which is unlimited. Even the possibility of disin-
genuous misrepresentation which is at all plausible must have its
limits. What Moses and the prophets actually taught and the
Jews believed, what Christ and the apostles actually taught and
what was believed on their authority by the genuine apostolic
church in the earliest age of the historical Christian religion,
are facts, in reality, and in sufficient historical records. These
facts, being cognizable, cannot wholly fail of general recognition.
And, consequently, we must expect to find an agreement in
some things respecting revealed truths among all those who in
any reasonable way believe in supernatural Christianity ; and also
a strong corroborating judgment, on the part of those who do not
so believe, that those who do are logically bound either to assent
to certain doctrines or to come over to the side of rationalism.

As the doctrine of Monotheism and the doctrine of the Mes-
siah were two primary, undeniable parts of the Mosaic revela-
tion, the doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation were the
grand primary truths of the Christian creed, promulgated and
professed in the beginning of Christianity. That the Son of
God became man is the grand, supernatural fact which is the
one object of Christian belief next to the belief of the One God
in Three Persons. This is confessed by an overwhelming majo-
rity of professed Christians ; it is in all the ancient creeds and
in the symbols of the great Protestant ecclesiastical societies.
Those who reject it, if not avowed rationalists at first, generally
become such in time by an imperative logical necessity. More-
over, those Protestants who are commonly known as orthodox,
and specifically such as appropriate the distinctive name of
Evangelical, generally profess a belief in some sort of a state of
original sin in which all men are so placed in relation to God
and their final destiny that they need to be regenerated by di-
vine grace, to be reconciled to God as well as forgiven their
actual sins through the redemption wrought by the Incarnate
Son of God on the cross, and that in this way alone they can
attain everlasting salvation. Hence the great need of a divine
revelation, making known the truths and the way of salvation,
and hence it is that faith in Jesus Christ, the Saviour of men,
either explicit or implicit, is set forth as the root and ground of
all justification, the initial principle of all sanctification. It is
needless to say that all this is in perfect agreement with Catho-
lic doctrine.

1 882.] A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. 295

Without attempting to define exactly how much of this one
must hold in order to be classed among believers in Christianity
as a supernatural religion, it is plain that those who substantially
confess it as their religious belief must be so classed. And this
settles the question regarding Dr. Smyth and Mr. Thayer, and
the position taken by the councils of New Haven and Quincy.
Whether they have departed more or less from the original
Protestant confessions, and whether they have receded further
than their ancestors from the standard of ancient Christian or-
thodoxy or have drawn nearer to it, they have not crossed the
line into anti-supernatural rationalism.

The Divinity College of Yale University, it is well known,
was the first and is now one of the chief seats of a New School of
theology which has been looked down upon by Andover and
Princeton and the Old School as heterodox. As a bulwark of
the old system of doctrines the seminary now established at
Hartford was founded, and first located at East Windsor, Conn.
The New School has, within the last forty years, so far pre-
vailed among Congregationalists and Presbyterians, and the Old
School has moderated so much its former warmth of opposition,
that New Haven may be considered as now enjoying the reputa-
tion of orthodoxy, and there are none who are more esteemed
in America and Europe by the numerous body represented in the
" Evangelical Alliance " than some of the gentlemen of Yale
College who were members of the New Haven council. The
great doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation were not
points of dispute in this controversy between the two schools.
And as the council manifested no anxiety about Dr. Smyth's
belief in these doctrines, it is fair to conclude that there is no
new departure here. Indeed, Dr. Smyth explicitly states his
belief " in one God, existing in three eternal distinctions of be-
ing," by which we understand him to mean the Three Equal
Persons ; and in " Jesus the Christ, who is himself God's real and
final self-revelation, the Word made flesh," which we understand
to mean that the Word, who is the Son of God and truly God,
became truly man by assuming human nature into a union with
the divine nature in his own person. He believes that God
" graciously selected one nation, and trained it by a particular
superintendence, in order that it might be the bearer of a spe-
cial divine revelation to the world ; that this progressive work of
divine revelation through the history of the chosen people from
the first looked forward toward, and at last culminated in, Jesus
the Christ ; that Jesus Christ himself is the final and infallible

296 A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. [Dec.,

authority of faith and practice. I believe (he says) that the Sa-
cred Scriptures are in part the record and interpretation, in
part the contents, of the revelation which is fulfilled in Christ.
The Bible as a whole, and as the Scriptures are fulfilled in
Christ, I accept as a supreme and authoritative .written rule or
canon of faith and practice." In the course of his examination
Dr. Smyth said: "There is an element in the Bible that I am
utterly unable to explain, except as I assign it to a supernatural
cause and a special divine superintendence of it and of the in-
dividuals who made the history. I distinguish the Scriptures
from other writings in the fact that they contain, in my judg-
ment and rational conviction, a special revelation from God."

" Do you place any greater reliance in the evangelical records
than in the testimonies of other witnesses ? " " Certainly."

"On what ground?" "On the ground of being specially
chosen by Jesus, and that the records, as contained in the Gos-
pels, are trustworthy reports of that revelation." " You speak
of revelation as being complete in Christ. Do we understand
you to say that the disciples added nothing? " " They added no-
thing to what God in his personal revelation gave them. They
may have added, and did add, to what he said." " And these
additions are authoritative?" "Yes, sir. Christ himself is the
revelation, God being the supreme and final authority." " Do
you hold the Scriptures as they are given to us as a certain and
infallible rule and guide of faith in life?" "The Scriptures as a
whole I do, and as fulfilled in Jesus Christ." " The Scriptures
are not the Scriptures except as a whole ? " "I should wish
carefully to make that distinction." " What of the inspiration
of a Paul or a John? Do you make a distinction between that
and the inspiration of Baxter or Bunyan ? " " In the first place,
the difference in their historical positions, their relation to Je-
sus, the inspiration they have, in a special manner, arising from
their historical relation to Jesus himself, a special position and a
special commission, gave them an authority which no other man
has."

Dr. Smyth further professes: "I believe that, besides the
written canon of faith, we have as a secondary source and aid
the Christian tradition, or the continuity and progressive devel-
opment of the faith in the mind of the church through the Spirit
of Christ."

" Finally, and in general, I accept as marking my spiritual
ancestry the historic creeds of the Church (and of this church, of
course), and in that line of descent I am not ashamed to stand.

1 882.] A Crisis IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. 297

Holding-, however, my inherited beliefs in the responsibilities of
Christian liberty, subject always to correction and expansion,
praying ever for the teachable spirit, and hoping that in the true
spirit of theological science I may keep the faith of the Christian
ages, and in the love of whatsoever things are true, in the unity of
the Spirit with all honest thinkers, I would press forward toward
the final orthodoxy of the kingdom of God."

Dr. Smyth distinctly expresses his belief that all men are sin-
ners, needing divine redemption and renewal, and in the vica-
rious satisfaction and atonement made by Jesus Christ. He de-
fines the church to be " the continuous manifestation of the life
of Jesus Christ in the world as a reorganizing God." " Bap-
tism is the sign and seal of the fact that we are God's, not only
in the world of sin, but in the world which belongs to the Lord
and his Christ." " I think it might be well if we had some im-
proved methods of getting the children put into more vital rela-
tions to the church." Of the Holy Eucharist Dr. Smyth says:
" With regard to this I should be dissatisfied with the general
view taken of this subject. It seems to me it is more than a
memorial service, and that there is some real sense in which it is
the Lord's Supper. In it Christ has offered himself to us more
fully and generously than in any other way, and the Lord's Sup-
per to me is not only a memorial of the sufferings and the death
of Christ, but it is also the means of that spiritual communion
and friendship of which Christ spoke in his last words to his dis-
ciples."

The crucial test of Dr. Smyth's Congregational orthodoxy
lay in his statement of his doctrine concerning probation after
death, and the final results of probation, especially in reference
to its ending for a portion of mankind in a state of irretrievable
impenitence and reprobation. Here lies the point of the new
departure in the New School to which their line of movement
from the position of the Old School has led up by a logical and
moral necessity.

It was not so much a speculative as a moral and practical
motive which initiated and determined the departure from Cal-
vinism among the Congregationalists of New England. The
Puritans aimed at founding a community of the elect, in which
the kingdom of Christ should be really established and after-
wards be extended over the whole earth. They expected their
children to be born and grow up under the covenant of grace,
and their descendants, as they increased and multiplied, to be-
come indeed a chosen people of God. When the lapse of time

298 A Crisis IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. [Dec.,

proved that a large and increasing- number of them grew up and
remained indifferent or hostile to the religion they were taught,
disappointment and anxiety for the spiritual welfare of their own
children and of the people around them, as well as their own
spiritual uneasiness and their metaphysical habit of mind, set
them upon analyzing their doctrines and seeking for some flaw
to which their want of success could be attributed. The turning-
point in their anxious and earnest theological discussions was
precisely the very question of moral probation and the decisive
moment determining fixity of character and condition for good
or evil through an endless existence in the future life, which is
now a subject of new and paramount interest.

According to strict and logical Calvinism the ultimate fixity
of character and condition for good or evil is eternally prede-
termined. The rational creature is purely passive, has no self-
determining power of will, and therefore, we must logically infer,
no real probation. Since the fall all men are naturally deter-
mined to evil and unable to turn themselves to good, and are
doomed to suffer everlasting torments on account of their sinful
character, unless they belong to that class of the elect whom God
has predetermined to be made holy and happy for ever by an act
of his sovereign power. These elected men are freed from their
natural liability to the doom of irretrievable evil by the redemp-
tion of Jesus Christ, who suffered death as a substitute for them ;
and are treated by God as if they had always been perfectly
holy, in view of the perfect righteousness of Christ which is
made over to them and reckoned to their account. At some par-
ticular moment during their earthly life God makes them pass
into the state of actual justification, and begins to sanctify them
as a preparation for a state of perfect holiness and happiness in
the future life. The apprehension of Jesus Christ by each indi-
vidual among them as his Saviour is faith, the medium of justifi-
cation, which can never be gained by any one without an irre-
sistible grace, and, once gained, can never be lost.

When some of the zealous and pious men who were endeavor-
ing to preach the Gospel, as they understood it, awoke to the
fearful condition of a great number of their own children and
friends and fellow-men, as viewed in such a light as this, it was
quite natural that they should inquire on what authority such an
interpretation of the Gospel was resting. Finding that it was
only a scheme of human invention, and remembering that they
also claimed the right of private interpretation of the Scriptures,
they naturally began to exercise it. One result of this exercise

i882.] A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. 299

of the liberty of inquiry and opinion concerning the doctrines of
the Christian revelation was the theology of the New School.
The practical effort of the preachers and writers of this school
was, so to present the idea of Christ as the Redeemer and Sa-
viour of all men that every hearer might be convinced that the
way of salvation lay open before him, that he might receive suffi-
cient grace to fulfil its conditions if he earnestly desired and
strove obtain it. The universality of redemption, the univer-
sality of grace, the responsibility of each individual for his own
acts based on the power of free choice between good and evil,
a real probation in this life in which the final issue is self-deter-
mined such and similar ideas were necessarily substituted by
the impulse of the new movement in lieu of those which had for-
merly prevailed. The introduction of the doctrine of free-will
began a revolution in theology which had to go on, and the pre-
sent discussion about probation after death springs directly from
the view which the New School have adopted concerning the
self-determining power of choice between good and evil.

For as they have been preaching that the sinner to whom the
Gospel is presented can turn to God and be saved, and if he be
not saved in the end must ascribe his perdition to his own free
choice of evil, it is unavoidable that the further question should
come up : What becomes of those to whom the Gospel was never
presented ? It is not so difficult to show a probable way by
which even these may have an opportunity of securing salvation
through the grace of Christ, if they are capable of an implicit
faith and are the subjects of a sufficient moral probation in which
they can choose between good and evil. But then is it credible
that all the offspring of Adam without exception have had and
do have what is requisite to enable them to exercise even an im-
plicit faith, and to make such an intelligent, deliberate choice of
good or evil as to determine their character and destiny in an
unchangeable manner for all eternity ? Suppose there are some
who cannot be imagined to have had such a probation in this
life? If they live for ever they must be either good or bad,
either happy or miserable. If they are good and happy whence
comes their immovable fixity of goodness and happiness? If
they are bad and miserable whence comes their irretrievable de-
termination to a moral state which involves in it the loss of that
happiness which makes perpetual existence desirable ?

Dr. Smyth is very modest and reserved, we might say even
timid and hesitating, in proposing his personal views upon this
question. He does not dogmatize, either as one who professes

300 A CRISIS IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. [Dec.,

to explain in a positive manner what is taught in the Scriptures
or as a metaphysician claiming- certainty for rational deductions,
drawn from premises of pure reason, concerning matters which
he does not believe to be made clear by the light of revelation.
He does seem to hold firmly that a moral probation is a ne-
cessity in the nature of things for all created rational beings,
and that unchangeable fixity in good or evil character and state
cannot result from any cause except a voluntary and free self-de-
termination of each individual subject. He is obliged, therefore,
to conclude that every human person must have a fair probation,
either in this life or after death. Yet he does not affirm posi-
tively that there are any who, not having had a fair and decisive
probation in this life, actually do have one after death. As a
probable opinion or conjectural hypothesis, which he thinks has
some countenance from Scripture, he does hold that some souls
pass into Hades without having as yet made any irrevocable
choice of good or evil, and are therefore in such a condition that
they may still secure their eternal salvation before the day of
final judgment and the end of the present world.

Holding this opinion, and having also a great deference for
the belief and practice of the ancient church, it is not surprising
that he approves of praying for the dead.

" The privilege of prayer for the dead (he says) is a privilege
that was exercised by the early church, and is still dear to those
who wish to confer with the Lord Jesus Christ in behalf of their
departed friends."

Dr. Smyth's opinion concerning the possibility of probation
after death does not, by any means, imply that it must have an
indefinite continuance, leaving for ever open for each individual
a way of reconciliation to God by turning from evil to good.
Much less does it imply a certainty or hope of the final salvation
of all men. He says : " I cannot find either in Scripture or
Christian reason sufficient reason to warrant teaching as a dogma
the hope of a final reconciliation of all evil to the good-will of
God." The general course of his examination seems to show
that he holds the conception which he ascribes to St. Augustine
as true viz., that for each one moral probation becomes at last
decisive, either in this life or after death, ending in fixity of cha-
racter and state, either for good or evil, " a real determination be-
yond moral probability of recall." He does not, however, express
any clear and firm belief in the irrevocable doom of those who
are found in a state of impenitence, after a fair probation here or
hereafter, by the day of judgment, as a truth certainly revealed.
The strongest affirmation he makes is no more than this : " I can-

i882.] A Crisis IN CONGREGATIONAL THEOLOGY. 301

not deny the possibility, inherent in moral freedom, of eternal sin ;
and I think that Jesus leaves open, as a real danger to be feared,
the possibility of a final rejection of the Holy Spirit."

The councils of New Haven and Quincy gave no positive
sanction to the peculiar opinions of Dr. Smyth and Mr. Thayer,
and the latter assembly expressed their dissent from the proposi-
tion that there is a probation after death. They have decided,
however, that these opinions are tenable, and have thus opened
a door to the free discussion of all questions involved in the idea
of moral responsibility and probation.

We have no intention of making any formal criticism of Dr.
Smyth's statements of his belief and opinions in theology, or of
comparing them with the Catholic standard of orthodox doctrine.
One statement, however, seems needful for guarding certain
minds from perplexity. The affirmation that no rational being
can become irrevocably bad and miserable except by his own
free, self-determining act when in a state of probation, is in per-
fect accordance with Catholic theology.

In this respect, and in several others of no less importance,
the New School in the Congregational and Presbyterian denomi-
nations has improved on the theology of the Old School. The
Calvinistic theology, as a whole and in respect to several of its
distinct tenets, is altogether diverse from that of the Catholic
Fathers and. Doctors. It has waned already very much, and is fast
waning toward total disappearance, in the great Protestant com-
munions where it has formerly more or less, in its harsher or
milder forms, prevailed. Not only so, but the dominion of the
purely human ecclesiastical authority which has held sway over
the minds of the professed members of the Protestant churches
has very much diminished, to the great advantage of liberty in
thought and inquiry. We think that Dr. Smyth and Mr. Thay-
er have acted reasonably in claiming, and the two councils in
conceding, this liberty. Some may abuse this liberty to wander
in all directions away from the truth and recede more and more
from Christ, the great luminary of the world. But it does not
follow that all will do so. On the contrary, we may hope that
those who acknowledge his divinity and recognize the supreme
authority of his revealed word will profit by a good use of liber-
ty, and that true, genuine Christianity will show itself in its real
character as a divine system which is above reason, yet in accord-
ance with all sound human philosophy and knowledge, more and
more, the more it is examined with sincerity and intelligence by
those who desire to know it and to make it known as it really is,
the masterpiece of its divine Author.

302 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

OUT OF THE WEST.

EDMOND BRENNER, a young student of a university town of
North Prussia, was suspended and very nearly expelled from
his college for being found in the companionship of other stu-
dents who richly deserved what he and they had to suffer. So
much for being " a capital fellow," a " good fellow," your good-
humored man who don't know how to say " No " on the one
needful occasion. There had been half a dozen grievous trou-
bles winked at or condoned by the faculty with which he had
nothing to do ; nor had he in this matter disgraced himself, but
to have cleared himself fully would have been to double the
blame of another student, to whom expulsion meant ruin. And
it did not mean ruin to Edmond. To be sure it was giving
pain to his family, but that was the worst of it, and the very
worst he could spare them by telling them the truth that he had
withheld from the college dons.

And his family knew that he would not speak a false word
even to save them pain, and so forgave him. But their for-
giveness he could not bear. Reproach would have left him
where it found him sorry for his scrape and making futile
resolutions as to its repetition. But the sweet " I'm sorry "
that began and ended 'his sister's regret, the single " It's hard
on the old people " that came from his brother the priest, and
above all the unshed tear that gathered without falling from his
mother's eye, went deeper than the sharpest rebuke could have
done.

War-clouds were gathering on the French horizon, and the
young man was wise enough to see that the youth of twenty-
three years would soon be called to the field. Had the contest
been one of patriotism or faith none would have responded
more promptly than Edmond ; but looking at it as a mere quarrel
of French provocation, the old battledoring of Teuton and Celt
to punish ancient wrongs or for new self-aggrandizement, it
seemed to him as worse than wasted time, that would spoil for
him some of the best years of his life and retard every new-
formed plan.

For he had been thinking, and now, like the prodigal, hasten-

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST.

ing to his father, begged him to divide to him the little por-
tion of his goods that would fall to him, or such a part of it as
could be taken without injury to the others, and send him to the
great American West to invest it with the health, energy, and
hope which so many other men are equally pouring into the
great crucible. But for the threatening, now nearly assured,
war the paternal Brenner would not readily have yielded to the
well-argued entreaties of his son ; but, as usual when a subject is
under discussion, especially a course of action, motives pro and
con. are wont to accumulate.

The week after Edmond's return from college a letter ar-
rived from a young Illinois settler who had gone out from a
neighboring town six years before, and, after the difficulties at-
tending the first cutting into of wilderness, and cabin-building,
and planting a few acres of land, had broken down in health, and,
receiving a legacy in Prussia, determined to return there as soon
as he could sell his Western purchase. " I will sell for three
hundred dollars," wrote he, " that which is well worth five, be-
sides the six years' labor I have given." News of this was
brought into town and it was talked of on Sunday. On Mon-
day Edmond, with the consent of his parents, wrote to Ameriea,
and was a single mail in advance of two fellow-townsmen who
had hastened to secure the chance.

We will not dwell upon the intervening details of negotia-
tion. Brenner the elder sold a little property that would have
been Edmond's share, and gave it to him with the full under-
standing that nothing farther could be his, except in a final
division of household furniture, without wronging his brother
and sister. Altogether it amounted, after paying his passage
money to New York and buying some clothing and other need-
ful things, to six hundred and fifty dollars and some cents.

The last preparations had been hurried a little, rumors hav-
ing been made that, in the interest of recruiting, a check would
be placed on emigration, for Prussia had begun to mobilize her
troops even before the declaration of war.

The pain of parting between Edmond and his parents was
lessened by the suspicions, that later events developed to almost
certainty, that he would have been one of the early conscripts
whose ranks were so swiftly thinned at Saarbriick and Grave-
lotte and their deadlier attendant hospitals. Early in July Ed-
mond sailed for New York.

In New York the payment and transfer was made of the land
at Gruenwald, as the settlement was called ; but there was a

304 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

registration to be made in Chicago, and the returning Hans
Werber strongly advised, if possible, the purchase of fifty adja-
cent acres, now valued by government at two dollars an acre, by
reason of the improvements made by Werber and twenty other
German immigrants, and for the very desirable location that
this tract afforded for the building of a saw-mill.

" I do not know what you can afford to do," said Werber, " but the man
who gets this land and builds the mill will be the first to become rich, for
there is not such another site near Gruenwald, and the nearest existing
saw-mill is thirty miles away. You will find that one of my mistakes was
trying to do too much in the first place," said he furthermore. " I cleared
three acres where I should have cleared and planted one and waited, and
I built a far larger house than one man needed, always thinking that I
might marry some day ; and with all my toil the house cost three times
what I ought to have spent on it, and when I was sick and lost a part of
the planting season I should have been in evil case but for this windfall
from home. You will find an old woman on the place," said Werber at
another moment, " not very strong or bright, but she can milk cows, if you
keep any, make coarse bread and do a little other rude cooking, and could
wait upon me when I was sick. I have told rjer that I thought you would
let her stay on with you, for she earns the little cost of her living and
looks for no other pay; besides, she is friendless and old."

With other instructions in detail about tools, stock, etc., Hans
Werber concluded his advice with the comment that he " would
do well to marry whenever he could afford to, as the married
farmers, for some reason, always seemed to thrive better than the
bachelors."

With his trunk of clothes and music, and a well-beloved
violin that had stolen many hours at college that should have
gone to study, Edmond Brenner joined a large party of Swedes
and Germans Westward bound, in order to save from the little
fortune remaining all possible by cheap transport, and in doing
this showed a trait hitherto foreign to his nature or undevel-
oped. He was beginning to economize.

Werber had given him the address of the land office in
Chicago, and also that of a humble but respectable boarding-
house frequented by Germans, though the landlady was a New-
England woman. Arriving in the evening at this house just late
enough to find all the boarders out for the evening, Edmond
took his tea silently in a dining-room, and then turned to a small
public room adjacent, much more like a private " sitting-room "
than a boarding-house parlor. There sat the landlady puzzling
over some market bills, now and then aided in some vexed com-
putation by a young lady who was knitting and at the same

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 305

time reading a German book with occasional aid from a diction-
ary beside her. The reading fared better than the knitting, how-
ever, for this was always sacrificed at the call of an unknown
word or the demand of the landlady. It was through the inter-
pretation, imperfect as it was, of this young girl that Edmond
had been able to establish an understanding with the landlady
after presenting Werber's introduction.

Had the room been full of people the excitement and con-
tinuous mental exertion that had occupied Edmond ever since
the leave-taking would have remained and occupied him still ;
but this transition to stillness gave him his first thinking-time
since he had left home. Farther still, the homelike picture of
these two women working quietly Under the glow of the evening
lamp so recalled his home, with mother and sister, that a heavy
sigh escaped him, and he lifted his head from a long reverie with
a moisture about the eyes that he struggled with and prevented
from becoming tears.

The young lady saw it, but was too delicate to notice it,
and plunged more deeply than ever into the reading ; but the
landlady, whose tangle of figures was uncoiled, folding up her
bills, heard the sigh, and, safe in her English speaking, observed :
" Poor fellow ! something's gone wrong with him." Edmond,
thinking himself addressed, controlled his emotions and turned
towards her. An impulse moved the young lady to say : " It is
nothing ; she was only speaking kindly of you."

There are times when slight causes are productive of appa-
rently inordinate results. Another form of speech or tone of
utterance would have shut Edmond in to a reserve common to
men ; but this evening quiet, this suggestion of home, and the
kindly manner of the women, coming at the moment of his first
genuine homesickness, told strongly on his young heart, and it
did not require a long conversation between the younger pair to
draw out the youth's story.

His words, " It is so homelike here," were confidential, and
confidence given wins its return. Sitting with this young stran-
ger, now almost a friend, the girl, Margaret Chester, told more of
her own story than she had ever had occasion to reveal before,
being usually reticent in the houseful of changing guests.

" I am a young girl of New England," said she. " Growing
up in one of the large manufacturing cities, and educated in the
public schools, I came out of the high-school at the age of eight-
een ; that was four years ago. My mother is a widow with
other children ; one is married. I was not obliged to leave her,

VOL. XXXVI. 20

306 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

but her income was so small that I found that I must never ask
for more than the necessaries of life, or it would deprive her of
her own few little luxuries and those which my sister, an inva-
lid, enjoys."

Here Margaret thought a few moments, then added :

" My brother, who is almost rich, is kind to them, to us all,
but has a large and expensive family to support. I thought that
I should do well to teach, that I might always know exactly what
I could do and have, without the pain of asking or the uncer-
tainty of its being best to do so." Here Margaret was unself-
ishly placing her family in a little better light, possibly, than
they deserved with reference to herself, but her only fear was
of doing them injustice, and she concluded :

" As my family felt a little annoyance about my being known
as a teacher at home, I accepted a situation in the public schools
here, where I have remained ever since, not having revisited the
East for nearly four years. I found so many German children
in the schools, so many German people here and during the last
two years visiting this house, that I have studied the language
as well as I was able, with very little aid, by listening and occa-
sionally trying to speak."

"Then," said Edmond, "you must be a very quick stu-
dent as well as a successful teacher, which I do not doubt you
are."

To which Margaret modestly answered that she had been
twice promoted, but that promotions were much more rapid
here than in the Eastern schools, where to have taught three
of the upper schools would have been a matter of many years.

Here the active eye of Mrs. Barbour, the landlady, rested on
the violin-case, which Edmond had been unwilling to risk with
his trunk in the baggage-room at the station, and she begged for
some music. Of this accomplishment Edmond had real reason
to be proud, even in his German home, where he played first vio-
lin in an amateur club, and to the ears of these delighted women
he poured out such music as one had rarely, the other had never,
heard. Impassioned memories from Beethoven and Mozart
trembled under the quivering bow, and movements from Men-
delssohn were varied by the simple pathos of old German ballads.
Then for a few moments, forgetting everything in the utter, as-
tonished silence of the women, he improvised, led by the feelings
of the evening.

The picture in his mind was at first the sea, its early discom-
fort and restlessness, then its space, its vastness, and its ending

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 307

at the beginning of another world, a new one. The rapid rail-
way transit, the noise and confusion of a strange tongue, his
loneliness and isolation, followed ; finally the moments of kind-
ness and confidence at this hearthstone. All this, from long
habit, he expressed in a fashion all his own, in tones strange to
his listeners but wonderfully beautiful, and ending with a grace-
ful little measure which he told them in explanation meant " I
am grateful, and I thank you for your kindness to a stranger."

By this time some of the boarders had returned, and with the
incoming world Edmond hastily restored his violin to its case,
and would have gone to his room had he been shown it. This
Mrs. Barbour prepared to do. As he was bidding Margaret
good-night the thought occurred : " This is the pleasantest hour
I have known since leaving home, and it has ended. I am going
to say good-night, and to-morrow it will be good-by ; so many
pleasures end for ever."

Perhaps a similar feeling possessed Margaret, for she said, with
a pleasure that she could not have understood if recognized :
" You will not be able to find the land office to-morrow unaided.
It will be Saturday, a school holiday ; shall I show you the
way ? "

" If the fraulein would be so kind, so very kind ! " And " good-
night " now seemed easier for the anticipation.

Margaret Chester, with as lively an imagination as that of the
young man who had told her his story, had twice his practical
ability by nature, and the experiences of the last four years had
gone far to develop it. Turning over his case in her mind seve-
ral times before they met next morning, she had prepared a cate-
chism of inquiry and suggestion that she trusted to his good
sense and faith in her to receive as pertinent.

The point in his own mind that he was most tried to deter-
mine was whether to purchase the other fifty acres or not. It
was very tempting. Margaret, taken into counsel, thought
deeply. "I ought to know," she said, "exactly the condition of
your land and what it will cost you to keep such part of it as is
cultivated in fertility for the next two years at least." But of
this he was ignorant more ignorant than herself, for she had
listened to much discussion of such subjects at the boarding-
house table. " Six acres actually cleared, and five of them under
cultivation, as you estimate," said Margaret, " ought to supply
your wants, provide you with seed for the new planting, replace
tools, and feed the stock, now reduced, you say, to a yoke of oxen
and a horse. But you do not know much about housekeeping, I

308 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

fear, and if the old woman is not prudent and 'good to contrive,'
as we say, you can easily want on a farm like that."

They attended to the registration of the deed, and then ex-
amined a map of the whole country about Gruenwald. Margaret
tried to delineate the section of it belonging to Edmond, seeing
which, and the very neat method that she was pursuing, one of
the clerks gave her a piece of tracing-linen, with which she made
a very fair copy of the land. After considerable discussion she
contrived to draw the clerk into conversation about the fifty
acres, and obtained from him much useful information. It was
clear that it was a most desirable addition, and seemed so much
a part of the first purchase that no one who could have afforded
to buy it would have let it go. But it had proved too large an
item for Hans Werber's purse.

In counting up the costs Edmond and Margaret had figured
as nearly as possible with allowance for his unpaid board and
price of car-fare to the station next Gruenwald, and added thereto
a list of stores that Werber had said would save half their cost
if Edmond would buy in and carry from Chicago himself. This,
deducted from the money left after paying registration fees,
would still leave, as they computed, three hundred and fifty
dollars. Edmond's eagerness would at this moment have risked
the needful hundred, but Margaret's sober second thought, now
uttered, was:

" The whole matter is still an experiment. Perhaps you will
fail altogether, in which case a whole hundred, and a most im-
portant hundred, will be lost."

" What are the probabilities of the land being sold ? " asked
Edmond of the clerk. " Of that," was the reply, " I cannot say,
but I should not think such a place would lie over two years
longer. Your chief security for purchasing probably lies in the
fact that the settlement is new, and that those already there are
having all that they can manage in such tracts as they have
bought." This led to a study of Edmond's neighbors, which
showed about twenty families, nearly all of South German origin,
and each similarly situated on nearly equal divisions of land.
" There is one thing that I will do," said the good-natured clerk,
taken into confidence and fancying something about the pair
which did not exist at all. " I will engage to inform you of any
application made for the land within six months, and count yours
as first, and probably during that time you will be able to deter-
mine whether you are going to want it or not."

This was most satisfactory ; but on going out from the land

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 309

office they found that so much time had been occupied that
it would be impossible for Edmond to purchase his stores and
leave on the train for Gruenwald. It was Saturday. " A bad be-
ginning," said Margaret gravely ; " staying over Sunday will add
another day to your board-bill ; and it was my fault, delaying to
draw your map and talking so long with the clerk."

Edmond, who had been struck with her intelligence, skill, and
clear reasoning, would not allow of this, and replied that but for
her judgment he should doubtless have been led to commit an
error in his eagerness to own the whole land, and that it was
certainly to her that he owed the clerk's favor in delaying the
decision for six months.

Margaret had somewhat recovered herself, and, with an un-
selfishness that was habitual, now tried to think in what way she
could best serve him, on whom she felt that she had tirought an
unnecessary expense.

" I can at least show you the way to the stores you seek,"
she said, asking for the directions given by Werber, " but I ought
to say to you that I am going far out of my habits of life in what
I am doing. Girls in America are allowed very great freedom,
but in my family it was not so, and I have never taken such lib-
erties with a stranger in my life." This she said with convincing
blushes from a sense of modesty that was a part of her nature.

" I understand perfectly," said Edmond. " You wish only to
be kind to some one who is a stranger and friendless. I think
that my mother or sister would do just as you have done, were
either in your place. And I shall be in real trouble if you leave
me, since I cannot speak the tongue, and of the real value of the
stores I have no knowledge."

Here Margaret took thought again. The father of one of her
pupils was a large grain-dealer, in business near the address of
one of the provision-stores. They would go to him and ask
prices. It was well that they did so. Of the sum allowed in
their estimate a third was saved by the merchant, who struck
from their list one or two items that had largely advanced in
price, and, substituting cheaper articles that would serve as well,
furthermore extended to them his own privilege of purchasing at
low rates from a dealer of his acquaintance.

" See, you have saved me more than the difference in the cost
of board,'"said Edmond gaily, as the last pa)' men t was made; and
Margaret, cheered by the thought, fell into a bright, sunny humor
that not even the drudgery of teaching had ever dimmed.

In the afternoon, remembering a paper to be examined for a

310 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

pupil, left in her desk at school, she was about to leave the house
to seek it when she saw Edmond sitting alone in the little parlor
with the prospect of some solitary hours before him. This time
inviting a girl friend to join them, she quite freely asked Edmond
if he would like to visit the scene of her daily labors and form an
idea of the average school-buildings of Chicago.

The presence of the companion, so far from -proving a re-
straint, removed the chief cause of Margaret's shyness, and in
explaining the routine of her work and the methods of study
and discipline in the school, comparing them with the Prussian
system, these two young people spent some innocent and profita-
ble hours, especially when, drifting into the subject of reading,
Edmond advised a course in German that would gradually re-
move present difficulties.

In the "evening, directly after tea, the landlady begged for
music from the violin, and, once complaisant, Edmond was not
allowed to rest for an hour and a half. Only she was regretful
because he did not play his last strange improvisation.

" Such things do not always come for asking," said Edmond
in an undertone ; but Margaret heard and answered, " Nor suit
every mood." Clearly, these two people had similar habits of
thought.

A young man who played in one of the leading bands of the
city, calling for a friend at the boarding-house, had while waiting
listened to Edmond's music. " It's a great pity to send such
talent as that into the wilderness," said he. " I wish Zelter could
hear him." Zelter was the band-leader. . On this apparent trifle
hinged a fair portion of destiny for Edmond.

The next morning at breakfast Margaret asked Edmond if
he had intended going to church. She thought, that a look of
surprise crossed his face, but it disappeared as he vouchsafed ex-
planation.

" Ah ! I see," said he. " The fraulein is doubtless Protestant.
I am Catholic, and Catholics always go to church."

At the same time she observed that he had taken no food, not
even having unfolded his napkin.

" I had hoped that the fraulein could show me to a German
church," said he, rising from the table, to which it was evident
he had come for no other purpose than to ask this favor.

An inexpressible feeling of disappointment shadowed Mar-
garet's enjoyment at this moment. This talented, frank young
man, who had not hesitated to blame himself in a manly way in
his confidence the evening of his arrival; this very engaging

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 311

young Prussian, who ought before this to have been credited as a
handsome man, was an alien in faith to her own belief if belief
she had any. Margaret's Protestantism having ever failed her in
the most important crises of her life, she had been gradually
abandoning herself to the influences of so-called " liberal " read-
ing, and, wearied of doctrines that seemed to her theoretical, but
most imperfectly practised and never enforced, she tried to sat-
isfy her own mind with that which professed to be more ad-
vanced and untrammelled.

But she was not satisfied with her freedom. Like a child
surfeited with over-much leisure, and falling into difficulties from
too much liberty and its own indiscretions, she fairly longed fora
home of the soul, and the last place that she had thought of seek-
ing it was in the Catholic faith, misrepresented and held up to
her contempt as it had been from childhood. She had known no
Catholics in New England except the working-girls serving in
families and day-laborers, and at the West only a few of higher
social position, and they were to her a mystery.

The happiness and satisfaction of Catholics in their faith, and
the tenacity with which they clung to it, were problems that she
could not solve by the ideas of ignorance and fear, or a blind fol-
lowing of tradition, as in the case (as she argued) of some of the
immigrant peasantry, and she began dimly to suspect underlying
causes deeper than she had hitherto supposed. At .this time
there was lying in her room unread a book giving an epitome of
history and explanations of the faith, but she had deferred its
examination. And this educated young man, whose knowledge of
books was so critical, whose brain-power was so clear that she
had been obliged to exert all her own mental faculties to follow
some of his arguments in the discussion of government and dis-
cipline yesterday this young man was a Catholic ! She experi-
enced a mental blow.

Under ordinary circumstances Margaret would have directed
him to a church, and, if she had walked thither would certainly
have abandoned him at the door ; but to-day a new interest in-
spired her. She had once been to Mass with some acquain-
tances, the Davisons, and with some surprise observed the de-
vout manner of the Davison young men beside her.

A young Episcopalian, she had said to herself, would perhaps
bury his head in his hat on entering or rest it on the back of the
seat before him, but it was exceptional to hear their responses and
all their devotion had an air of shyness. And in other denomi-
nations there was less still ; they stood up as a mark ot respect

312 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

during prayer, or rendered some other chary observance of the
exercise, but nothing- that marked the action as their own. But
the Davisons were really praying praying themselves, one of
them with his beads in hand ; and when she blushed to have
observed him so closely she observed a little closer still, and
saw that she might have spared her blushes, for his own occupa-
tion was too entire to admit of his considering what the thought
of others might be, and on looking around the congregation she
saw that this was general. In fact, she began to be ashamed of
having looked around.

Now, something better than curiosity, but not unmingled
with it, stirred in her a desire to know if this young man would
do likewise a wish to know how much his faith was to him ; if he
would pray, as the Davisons prayed, before her, a stranger. As
these thoughts passed quickly through her mind she named to
him two Catholic churches, one of which was larger and at-
tended by more fashionable people than the other, and asked him
to which he would prefer to go.

" I have no choice," he answered quietly ; " the sacrifice of
the Mass is the same everywhere " a reply which Margaret, fail-
ing to comprehend, put aside for future thought, recalling as she
did so a puzzling sentence of Anna Davison's when Margaret
had spoken of the Catholic service : " Our Mass is not a service
but a sacrifice."

With an interest keener in the experiment as to the faith than
the man, Margaret resolved to put him to the fullest test and
see how a young Catholic at the most sensitive age would deport
himself in the full church of St. . So, making its finer mu-
sic an excuse, she conducted him thither, and felt a momentary
embarrassment herself at being conducted by the sexton very far
forward. But seeing that she was nearly unobserved by those
of the congregation already present, who were engaged in vari-
ous devotions, she resumed her coolness and observation of Ed-
mond.

Gratified she must have been. Reared in a community where
young and old alike were trained to devout expression, utterly ig-
norant of the feeling of the American young man, whose shyness
of emotional exhibition is excessive, and who often ignores devo-
tion as a shame, Edmond kneeling blessed himself fervently and
proceeded with his prayers quite as earnestly as either of the
Davisons had done. There was nearly half an hour before Mass,
and Margaret, wondering why so large a number of persons had
come thus early, was treated to a newer surprise still as she

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 313

found herself deserted by her companion, who went to the lower
end of the church and placed himself beside a few people who
were waiting on a bench or kneeling. He had remembered that
it would be long before his privileges of confession and commu-
nion would return, and had come fasting to church.

Margaret, who had felt that what she said as prayers had
been concluded in her room that morning, was alert and watch-
ful now. One after another of the group beside Edmond would
disappear behind the loose swinging curtains of what seemed to
her a box or incomplete room, divided in three compartments,
and from the slightly varied change in the position of the feet of
some one behind the middle curtain, who remained there, Mar-
garet guessed at the priest's manner of hearing confessions alter-
nately to right and left.

Not really knowing, but suspecting that for the first time she
was looking at a confessional, this thought surprised her : ".Why
do people go to confession before others, and these others look-
ing on and knowing that it is confession ? " Where was the se-
crecy, then, and dangerous seclusion attributed to the whole
matter ? At a later date she said that the first strong conviction
of the falsehoods she had been taught was this knowledge that
any person able to walk to church might invariably go to confes-
sion in the presence of others, and learning that by far the larger
number of penitents habitually do so.

When Edmond came out from the curtained alcove he did
not return directly to his seat, but went, as others whom she saw,
to pray before one of the altars. He had visited and made his
devotions before two of these when the priest and altar-boys
came in and he returned to the pew. It was a day of surprises to
Margaret. She had expected a " prayer-book " offered her and
a place found, and then vaguely recalled the same absence of at-
tention on her former visit to church. Soon this total want of
notice on the part of every one produced a feeling of isolation,
and she felt nearly as secluded as in her own room. A question
now rose in her heart :

" While every one around me is entreating or thanking God
why am I only silent?" then quickly following the suggestion,
" But for what shall I pray ? "

Now began the Canon of the Mass. The added lights upon
the altar, the stiller, nearly hushed voice of the priest, the deeper
attitude of devotion of the people awaiting the act of consecra-
tion, communicated a feeling of awe to her, and at the solemn
instant her head bowed as if involuntarily with those kneel-

314 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

ing beside her ; then with a glance at the uplifted Host she
prayed :

" If there be a true faith, give me that faith."

After the priest's communion Edmond went forward with
others to the rails. Margaret's deep feeling seemed now to re-
move any element of surprise, and she had lost the idea with
which she came curiosity about his conduct. She watched him
no more than the others, and, respecting the soul's isolation with
God, she turned even her thoughts as far as possible from him
as he knelt beside her on his return. But a deep impression had
been made on her, and she feared to enter into ordinary conver-
sation with him as they walked home. She had never seen any-
thing so solemn in her life ; she thought it more solemn than
death.

On reaching home he asked only for a glass of water ; then
Margaret, remembering the fast, asked if he were ill, and while
explaining to her the total abstinence from the previous mid-
night that precedes Holy Communion he grew suddenly pale
and faint. He had not learned the treachery that our climate
plays an unaccustomed stomach, or what the fasting penitent
undergoes in its new conditions.

A little food relieved him, though headache followed for the
rest of the day, and on this Margaret took occasion to comment
gently. Again she was astonished at the youth's simple frank-
ness of speech.

" One may well bear a slight pain of the head," said he, " to
honor the One that was thorn-crowned " ; and spoke without the
least affectation.

Margaret was perplexed, but thinking, " To morrow he will
go away and I shall not see him again ; I, too, will be fearless,"
broke out into confidential questions concerning the faith that
roused him to eager explanation. Finding her untaught in the
very alphabet of religion, he spoke as he would have spoken to
a child at times, alternately appealing to her strongest logical
powers ; but finally, with a despairing gesture, he said : " I can
tell you so little. Ah! if you could converse with my brother
the priest."

" Which," thought Margaret, " is precisely the last thing that
I would do. Of course it's his business to teach and think so, but
this man is free to live it or put it aside, and he is honest or he
never would have told against himself what he did the evening
he came, making nothing better or worse than it was."

For more than two hours did these young people converse on

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 315

subjects of the deepest interest life can hold, as nearly uncon-
scious as possible of elements that draw youth to youth, yet
strongly, unconsciously interesting and binding each other as
they spoke, teaching and listening.

Then, noting the swiftly-passing time, Margaret asked Ed-
mond if he could think of anything farther that she could do for
him, as she would have to go early to her school duties in the
morning ; and this recalled the fact that they would not meet
again. To Edmond it seemed like a second uprooting, so plea-
sant had this hour of rest become, and he had to recall his pur-
pose, his regrets for the past, his penitence of the morning for
the sins of his whole lifetime, and thus quicken resolution.

There was but one thing more* that Margaret could do for
him. Arriving after dark on Friday, he was afraid that he could
not recall his route to the station ; and now she went out with
him and walked to it, taking on their way the stores where Ed-
mond had made his purchases and left them to be called for
on Monday. In this way the morning's course was clear to
him.

In the evening there were some suggestions that occurred to
Margaret about details already discussed for the farm, and, Mrs.
Barbour sitting by, Margaret translated from time to time.
This recalled to the landlady a pile of German Agriculturists
left behind by a last year's boarder, and, thinking that they might
aid a tyro, if not of latest date, hunted them up.

Still another idea crossed Margaret's mind, accustomed as she
was to exercise it on so many practical details, and she inquired:
" What are you going to do with your money balance ? "

Judging from home rates of interest, the amount had seemed
too small to signify what he did, except preserve it from loss
or theft ; but learning from Margaret what it could gain, he re-
solved to deposit three hundred dollars in a savings-bank on
the morrow where she knew a German clerk to be always in
attendance.

" That is where my own little earnings are placed," she said,
as if to give the best proof of her own confidence in the measure.
It seemed to strike him as a strange thing that this girl should be
earning anything beyond her living, so unused was he to this type
of character in any corresponding class at home ; but such an
uttered comment was impossible.

Monday morning and its stern realities followed the poetry
and rest of Sunday, and the good-by between Edmond and
Margaret was of necessity brief. Had he indulged an inclination

316 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

he would have walked to school with her, but a doubt crossed
his mind. " I have seen this girl but three days," reasoned he,
"and am better acquainted with her than I ever became in
months of companionship with others ; but how far is this the
happening of circumstance and how far the result of my need-
ing and receiving a great kindness ? I could easily imagine, I do
think, that I could become very fond of her ; but would I not do
wrong to suffer myself to form any attachment in my poverty or
tempt another person to form one for me ? I shall go away and
there will be no harm done now, but for my own peace of mind
I had better rest satisfied with gratitude." And he was not con-
ceited enough to think that hers had been disturbed.

So he bade her farewell at the house a farewell really expres-
sive of his indebtedness to her, but delicately told, and only be-
trayed any impressions that he had received by saying : " In my
lonely life in the woods I shall have much time to recall the aid
and pleasure that you have given me."

And she, modestly hiding the fact that it was perhaps the
strangest, pleasantest happening of her uneventful life, only sug-
gested that should occasion offer in the future he would prove
his satisfaction by relying again on whatever she could do for
him. He might have orders to give for seed or tools before he
could have learned the language, or perhaps reach some decision
about the land that he would like to communicate through her.
" I should really like to know what becomes of it," said she,
" since I have so carefully mapped it." He would have liked to
ask for this map as a souvenir, but the stern self-repression that
he was now beginning to exercise stayed him. At such moments
he had found of late that he recalled those unshed tears in his
mother's eyes on the day that she forbore rebuke. So he has-
tened his good-by, saying: " Take my gratitude with you, frau-
lein, into your little school-world."

And she answered, with more gayety than she felt : " Take
courage, Herr Brenner, with you into yours," for she detected
his need of it, and she turned to work and made herself active in
the most engrossing duties, with time, in spite of her closest la-
bor, to miss and want something that had come and gone.

Edmond, in a very similar mood, found his way to the savings-
bank, experiencing a certain pleasure in following the advice of
this young girl ; then gathering his stores, which he was obliged
to make two journeys to transport to the railway station, re-
turned to the boarding-house, paid his bill, which Mrs. Barbour
made very moderate, took the agricultural papers that she had

i882.] * OUT OF THE WEST. 317

given him and his violin, and left her with a mutual pantomime
of gestures which meant good wishes on both sides.

It would be somewhat dreary to follow Edmond into first ex-
ile and enter with him into details of drudgery out doors and in.
, Neighbors he had none, or only at distances so great that after
the day's hard toil, to which he was not used, he was only too
glad to sleep and regain strength for the labor of the coming
day. By and by this state of things improved a little, the people
gathering on Sundays striving to make him welcome in their
limited way, and Edmond's good-humor aiding the process.

He made a friend in these days of whom he later stood in
need. This was a German physician who, for reasons not then
explained, had left home and friends and an assured position of
comfort, and with his well-born wife, whose name held a Von,
had made a home a little outside the wilderness settlement of
Gruenwald. Childless, an eager student and enthusiastic natural-
ist, he found in Edmond's society a pleasure that he had missed
for the five years of his residence among them, and availed him-
self of as far as their busy lives permitted. To his counsel Ed-
mond owed much, and that his first errors were not greater was
owing to Dr. Klein's sagacity and practical knowledge. At the
end of November Edmond found himself in finances about where
he was on reaching Gruenwald, and out of the half-planted, half-
neglected land, uncared for during Hans Werber's sickness and
the sale, Edmond had gathered up enough to keep the old
woman, Beta, and himself from starvation during the coming win-
ter, with food for the yoke of oxen and horse more abundant
Hans Werber's provision for beast exceeding his care for the
human portion of his charge.

As frost and coming winter gloom settled down upon him he
found it necessary to occupy his mind fully to drive off home-
sickness and discontent, especially in view of his uncertain pros-
pects in future. The papers had been a mine of interest and of
real value, but he knew them all, even to the advertisements,
and still his active mind craved more. Then it was that his
violin served him well. Day and night the log-house rang with
its skilful tones, and as the season progressed he was urged to
play for the few merry-makings that the simple folk indulged in.
For pay he found little presents of food coming in, which were
as acceptable as money in the variety they afforded, and much
more agreeable to accept.

Most of the people were below him socially and in educa-

318 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

tion, and, though there was evident good feeling among them all,
there was no intimate for him, of either sex, except the doctor.
Little wonder if his memory often treated him to the days in
Chicago, as well as home souvenirs, and made Margaret and her
intelligent conversation and good judgment prominent.

One day he found himself asking how much worse it would
be for her up here than in the unchanging school-room round ;
but he quickly banished the suggestion and all that it implied
with the answer, " There is a certainty in that, at least, while
here everything is doubtful still for a man alone."

To only one temptation had he yielded. Hans Werber,
having little mechanical skill, had thrown aside a number of
tools from inability to repair them or from finding the cost of
sending them to Chicago too great. Several of these Edmond
had quite restored during the early winter days, but one, a
plough, threatened to baffle him. There was a casting needed,
without which nothing could be done, and, like Werber, he was
tempted to abandon it. It would cost far too much to send it
to the city. " If I had any one there who could understand
what. I want from measurements and drawings ! " he sighed, and
as he sighed Margaret's request to be made useful passed idly
across his mind. It was most improbable that she knew any-
thing of mechanics. Still, he really wished to restore his plough.
It would be worth far more than the inferior one that Werber
made shift of replacing it with, and it seemed so very reasonable
an excuse for communicating with Margaret, of whom he had no
knowledge of any kind since their summer parting.

He had yielded to the temptation and sent the drawings and
measurements, and even a paper model of the casting, hoping that
through his pains and her intelligence, and the skill of some
machinist, the piece could be obtained. But oh ! how earnestly
this young man argued to himself to conceal from his own
heart the knowledge that there was something that he wished
to receive quite as eagerly as the morsel of steel and iron.

After he had sent the letter he became wholly unsettled, and
for a week, receiving no answer, had recourse to a great deal of
violin practice. For the last two days of the time he had quite
renounced hearing from her. " After all," thought he, " I might
have remembered that it was not her home, that she was liable
to change her position at any time ; perhaps she has returned to
her New-England home perhaps she is married."

As this last idea possessed his mind a quick pain revealed to
him something that he had before been unwilling to admit to

i382.] OUT OF THE WEST. 319

himself: that beyond the judgment, and intelligence, and kindli-
ness of the girl there was something that had captivated his imagi-
nation also ; that there was a charm and grace of manner that had
never appeared to him in any other woman ; that, in fact, were he
at liberty to speak, assured that he were not offering her misery
instead of a home, he would ask her to grace his dwelling. He
loved her, and he shrank with true pain at the thought that
another had been able to do so. He even recalled the thought
that she was not a Catholic, and the impossibility that he had
always felt heretofore of marrying out of his faith, without now
experiencing the abhorrence he had previously experienced.

" That would have given all at home such pain, and God is
good, who has not wished it thus ; I must trust him better than
this." And poor Edmond sent up a fervent prayer. He had now
been in his rude home between four and five months, " where,'"'
as he wrote his brother in a moment of frankness, " I live more
like a bear than a human being."

On the evening of the ninth day Dr. Klein came past and
held out to Edmond a letter. For two days, there having been
snow and heavy drifts, Edmond had given over both hoping and
seeking for letters. Margaret had written thus :

" Herr Brenner will surely believe that I have not been inattentive to
his wishes when I say so. A good machinist to whom I confided the
model, and who seemed to' comprehend it, has become ill, and I have await-
ed his recovery to see if it can be done. Meantime there is something im-
portant to tell you. This evening Herr Bensen, the young musician of
the orchestra who was so pleased with your playing, came in to make
bitter complaints of another sickness which deprives the band of a first
violin just as an engagement at the theatre was made and a Christmas
concert fully advertised. ' Our leader, whom I have just left, is in despair,'
said he. At the words ' first violin ' I thought of what you told me of hold-
ing that place in your Prussian club, so I asked Herr Bensen if he thought
that you could fill the place at this moment. A great light shone in his
eyes as he recalled your playing, and he cried : ' If indeed he had time to
practise with us he would do well,' and was off like a flash to see Zelter.
He came back at ten o'clock, and, to shorten a story, they have asked me
to write to you and bid you come without delay, and, without promising to
make an engagement, they send you herein the money needed for your
journey. And if you will come you can attend to the little piece of ma-
chinery better than I."

As Margaret had re-read her hasty composition she had
smiled at her transition from the third to the second person in
addressing Edmond ; but she was shy of saying more than " Mr.
Brenner, Dear Sir," and that seemed a long way off from the

320 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

tone of friendliness in which they had parted, so she left it as
written.

Edmond performed a rather extravagant antic as he read this
letter ; yet as he re-read it, and found no expression of personal
interest other than the whole action indicated, he was disap-
pointed, not reflecting that he had never given her any reason to
express herself in any warm manner toward him, and in his cau-
tious reserve toward her in parting any such expression would
have been forward on her part. But " Mr. Brenner, Dear Sir "
was a happy omission ; young hearts chill easily.

' A day had been lost already in the transmission of her letter,
and Edmond, to make up for lost time, walked two difficult miles
at early morning, encumbered by violin and a large roll of music,
with a change of clothing, to catch an early express-train that
made the difference of his arrival at noon instead of nightfall.
On his arrival at Mrs. Barbour's he found that Margaret had re-
turned to school, but had thoughtfully left a note with Herr
Zelter's address, and instructing him to go there without delay
in case of his arrival in her absence.

On her return from school in the rapidly-fading daylight she
stumbled before, and nearly fell against, a tall young man who
was about to ascend the boarding-house steps. Such greeting as
quick, glad hearts in youth can give passed between them, and
before Margaret even attempted the steps again she quickly in-
quired :

" You have seen Zelter ? " " Yes." " Is it arranged? "

" Yes. I found him alone and gloomy. His reception of me
was a little cool ; he clearly did not hope for much. He looked at
me, opened my violin-case, placed some music before me, and
gave me the orchestral signal to prepare. Before I had played a
dozen bars he took away the piece, replacing it by another which
was easier still, and he grunted a queer ' that's well enough '
to himself rather than to me. Something seemed to inspire me
then, and this winter's practice has not been lost, I find. The
third trial was on a lovely ' sinfonie ' of Beethoven's whose
every note is written on my heart, and on which I had long drill
at our ' Akademie.' Clearly, this gave him pleasure. He stop-
ped me on the third page and said : ' Come to-morrow to the
hall at nine for rehearsal ; there are nine rehearsals to make in
five days, young bear of the woods ' ; and my heart laughed when
he called me this, for I knew that I had pleased him. Then I
hurried here, impatient to tell you the result."

At the table they met Herr Bensen, who had left Zelter a

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 321

few moments later than Edmond, and who sprang up to welcome
the latter, telling him that he believed the old man had grown
five years younger from the relief already obtained. This start-
ed a flow of good-humor, and after tea, when the English-speak-
ing portion of the boarders had left the room, Bensen, and Bren-
ner, and Margaret sat long, the former explaining what Edmond
would have to do in detail the work for theatre week, and two
concert programmes, one advertised at Christmas time, the
other prepared for but not yet in the journals.

" You will have to work hard for the time that remains," said
he " early and late ; but you can do it, and who would not work
for old Zelter? " Clearly, Bensen was an enthusiastic disciple.

And Edmond lent himself to his work with a will. From the
early breakfast until noon there was no leisure, private practice
and rehearsal filling the morning. Three rehearsals in the after-
noons and two in the evenings were made during the same five
days, and as much private practice as he dared besides. There
was little leisure for Margaret or the machine, which was, how-
ever, in process of moulding, the workman having so far recov-
ered as to give Edmond one interview and fully understanding
his design at last.

On the second day after his arrival Edmond observed that
Margaret came in to breakfast with her hat on and her cheeks
rosy, as if with outdoor exercise, and found, with reluctance to
tell on her part, that she attended Low Mass daily at a near
church.

" Do not make more of this than it means," she hastened to
add. " I am not a Catholic ; I do not know that I ever shall be,
but I like to do what I am doing, without fairly understanding
myself in it." That Edmond was in season to join heron the fol-
lowing morning was not surprising; and now that he knew what
was still a secret from her respecting his own feelings, warmly
did he pray for her conversion.

For this matter of Edmond's affection, which he no longer at-
tempted to conceal from himself, he hid from her unselfishly, and
as a reward for so doing allowed himself a little more enjoyment
of the brief moments they were together. But her six school-
hours and his eight, and even ten, of practice separated them
pretty effectually, and it was in the short walk to and from
church that they held any conversation.

One restful, beautiful Sunday brought them close again. In
it they went to church together and discussed the now near
time of Edmond's appearance in public. They also found time
VOL. xxxvi. 21

322 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

for quite an extended consideration of his farming plans for the
spring.

" It was that plough that was Werber's wealth for two
years," said Edmond ; " since that was laid by the earth was
never properly broken, and I look for a great deal from the re-
newed use of it."

On two topics they were nearly silent. It was evident that
nothing was likely to occur to influence a decision about the
land purchase, so both retreated tacitly from that subject, and
Edmond found Margaret strangely unapproachable on the reli-
gious matters upon which she had treated so freely with him
before. " I am thinking and praying," was the sum of her re-
sponses to him, and he respected her silence.

On Monday night came the first trial of the orchestra at the
theatre. There were several new members besides Edmond, but
of longer standing, and, thanks to the drill and admirable leader-
ship of Zelter, all went well. On Tuesday there was real pro-
gress, the men working together not only in strict time but
with excellent mutual perception of parts and expression, and
the whole week's work was such as to bring reputation.

"How well you sustain yourselves, professor ! " said a connois-
seur to Zelter, without even suspecting the presence of recruits.
Could the manager of the theatre have afforded it he would
have continued this orchestra through the month. Now the
great trial was nearing. Christmas day fell this year on Sun-
day the most perfect day for its celebration, and to Edmond
and Margaret it brought fresh and deep emotion. By habit still,
or tacit agreement, they met before breakfast in the parlor and
went out together to one of the early Masses.

Never had the sacrifice been invested with deeper meaning
to Margaret ; never had the poverty of other so-called " faiths "
come to her heart in such barren contrast. Had it been at High
Mass she would have been self-distrustful of the music and
pageantry with which the church loves to honor her Blessed
Lord with her. But at this early hour, the simplicity of Low
Mass without music, but two candles burning on the altar, the
plainly dressed, humble crowd, in which, as usual, she felt quite
alone from being unnoticed, caused something like this train of
thought:

" Christ came to this earth to establish a church ; where do
we find it? Surely not in Protestantism, that waited until a few
centuries ago to exist, unless the Protestant Church is a branch,
an outgrowth of the other. But it protests against what would

i882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 323

be its parent in that case, and repudiates its Author a farce
indeed as a claim, and to the real Protestant this miracle about
to occur must be but another. Now, this miracle happens or it
does not happen. A Catholic not only believes, but oh ! how a
Catholic believes this truth ! " And here Margaret glanced at
the few near her on whom she could look without a movement
of her head. What she read in their faces brought quick tears
to her eyes. Then the thoughts continued :

" There is nothing here that could grow into Protestantism ;
and which is right ? Could God have allowed the early Fathers
who sat at the feet of the very apostles and continued their tra-
ditions to accept in mistake for ages, and transmit down the
grand roll of centuries as his own act, a vital error, to sustain
which the army of martyrs bled, and on which the lustre of the
saints has shone, when Deity Incarnate stooped to the most
minute explanation and hedged belief with the tenderest care ?
And is it left to modern Protestantism to detect the solemn
farce ? A greater and better man than Martin Luther is needed
to make me believe that."

At this moment the " Sanctus " was sung, and with the pre-
paration for consecration Margaret's habitual reverence con-
centrated every wandering thought. At the Elevation her heart,
almost her lips, whispered : " Lord, if it is thou, I too adore ! I
believe ; help thou mine unbelief ! " And in this action some-
thing sprang into existence within her that maintained the feel-
ing of adoration to the exclusion of every other, so that, still
adoring, she did not know when Edmond left her to make his
communion.

Had Margaret known of Edmond's love for her, or even
acknowledged to herself a possible response, there would have
been an argument more with which to dally, for Margaret could
torment herself on a question of truth. She would have said ::
" It is the interest I feel in this young man that is causing all
this feeling." Happily, she was unsuspicious of Edmond's senti-
ment, nor could she think that she entertained anything more
toward him than the strong interest arising from the circum-
stances of their acquaintance.

The coming Tuesday would witness Edmond's first concert
trial ; on the following Thursday the great Philharmonic, that
was to put him, if possible, to the strongest test, for the most
difficult music was reserved for that occasion. The " sinfonie "
so familiar by long practice was the one that singularly had been
chosen by Zelter before the failure of his other first violin; yet

324 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

who will wonder after all that knows the yearly catalogue of
concert work in a music-loving, classic-choosing nation? At the
last rehearsal Zelter had seemed rather to lean on Edmond than
to watch him.

No tickets had been offered Edmond for the theatre, but for
the concert Zelter held out a handful. Edmond modestly took
one for each night, which he gave to Margaret, and poor Mrs.
Barbour, her needful escort, would have been forgotten but for
Margaret's suggestion.

On Tuesday night behold a well-iilled hall, an orchestra
promptly in place, and in advance a quiet of expectation that
denotes a true musical audience. Who, awaiting the expan-
sion of musical joy, can profane it by trivialities or noise in
advance ?

The opening overture was an entire success, the people now
properly demonstrative, the orchestra stirred by this apprecia-
tion, and the magnetism of musical sympathy was acting and
reacting between them. At the close of a brilliant cornet solo
Mr. Schirmer, the performer, who had come to the hall ill with
severe bronchitis, finished his performance with difficulty and
fainted in the ante-room. He had also a solo assigned for the
second division of the concert; picture, therefore, Zelter's renew-
ed despair. " This wretched, unbearable climate," he cried, " in
which men die so many times before the last ! Never again will
I drill so many musicians together in winter and multiply every
chance of failure. This audience, too, who will hold itself cheat-
ed ah ! what misery."

Touched by Zelter's genuine distress and a thought of hope
simultaneously, Edmond stepped forward and offered modestly
to supply a violin solo. " I shall be obliged," said he, blushing
at the exhibition of his poverty, " to borrow the cost of a cab-
fare and ask five minutes of time now."

" You will save me ! " cried Zelter. still trembling as he put
his purse into Edmond's hand, who, calling a young man in at-
tendance, re-entered the hall and walked quietly to the seat
occupied by^ Margaret Smiling, Edmond- said to Margaret, as
calmly as if they were at the boarding-house : " I have yet an-
other sacrifice to demand, Miss Chester. Schirmer has become
too ill to play his second solo, as advertised, and I have engaged
to fill his place, if you will forego a part of the concert and
bring my music. You understand that I could not send a stran-
ger to the house. W ill you get for me the ' Adagio ' lying on
the top of the pile -next my window? It is the Mendelssohn that

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 325

I have practised so much lately. This young man will secure a
cab and accompany you."

In five minutes Margaret was driving home and Edmond
with the orchestra, fully occupied with the "Overture to William
Tell." This Rossini had been changed from another part of the
programme to gain time for Edmond. So quietly and swiftly
had all this occurred by the coolness of the actors that the little
drama had been unsuspected by the majority of the audience,
only those sitting well forward observing anything but a trivial
delay and the change in programme.

When, however, Zelter came out and announced Schirmer's
failure, and presented Edmond with apologies for his impromptu
substitution, a murmur of approval ran through the audience,
and curiosity on the part of those who had seen and understood
the whole.

Quite at his ease still, which surprised Margaret greatly, the
young German glanced over the hall, pushed away a handsome
wave of brown hair which had fallen a little over his forehead as
he bowed to the audience, raised his bow as a signal to Zelter,
who would suffer no one else to touch the piano in accompani-
ment, and began.

From beginning to end he knew his theme ; he had played it
fifty times in his solitude at Gruenwald, and whenever attacked
by homesickness he had fallen into the habit of recalling, and
following with, the improvisation first made at Mrs. Barbour's
fireside on the evening of his meeting with Margaret, written in
the same key as the " Adagio." He had named it to himself
" The Wanderer," and the "Adagio " seemed latterly to him but
half finished without his own composition.

Once only had he been interrupted the beginning of an ap-
plause at a rest in the music, which was suppressed as he con-
tinued. But at the end it burst forth. He had played his best,
and it was beautiful, and, offered as it had been so unexpectedly,
the audience applauded as they had not done during the evening.
It was in vain to appear and bow ; the interested world would
and must have more of this momentary hero, who, stimulated by
the success, was in his happiest mood.

Zelter would have made a suggestion, but Edmond failed to
see his movement, and, boldly standing free of the music-stands,
brought his violin again to position and drew the opening notes
of " The Wanderer." Concentrated as he must needs be in this
unwritten composition, he sought no eye until his approach to
the pathetic fireside welcome.

326 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.,

He had carried his audience, without their knowledge of its
meaning, over sea, over land, the still and stormy waves, through
the bustle of great cities, along with hurrying trains out to the
expansive West ; and here he paused a moment, turning a glance
for an instant toward the two women, who sat together as they
had sat when they extended to him the sorely needed welcome.
Then, recalling it all with full feeling, he subdued his touch to the
tenderness of his theme, and left his listening world so moved,
so hushed that for a moment they forbore to applaud. This
was the finest tribute. Then it came from all the people, and
ceased only when the gathering of the orchestra among the
stands showed that it was hopeless to expect it again. Murmurs
of enthusiastic admiration went around. There was moisture in
some eyes, drawn there by the closing sweetness, and tears had
forced their way into Margaret's, as, recognizing the music and
meeting his glance, she read that which he had honorably with-
held from speech, and knew that she was loved.

" Come to me to-morrow, man," said Zelter, wringing his hand
at the close of the concert ; "the people have spoken for me to-
night."

At home there was but an instant of meeting between Ed-
mond and Margaret, who had to hasten to rest in view of her
school labor in the so near morning. Ah ! how dearly late nights
cost only those too poor to rest can know. In the brief good-
night she had said, interrupting his gratitude :

" If you thank me I shall think that you distrust me." He
saw that she was pleased at his having so fully understood her
and having relied upon her so far, and that it was in a measure
identifying his interest with hers that gratified. This is sweet in
friendship as in love.

He slept the sleep of youth and of a peaceful conscience, and
early in the forenoon was with Zelter arranging the programme
for Thursday, now changed by Schirmer's illness. During the
day and on Thursday several notes were addressed to Zelter
begging for a repetition of the singular and beautiful morceau
that Edmond had played as a morceau, which they knew not how
to name.

" My son," said Zelter affectionately on one of these days,
"why do you go to the woods? With this violin and these
hands you could win your bread more pleasantly, and of the
public approval you have already tasted. Why will you not re-
main and work with us ? "

In a responsive feeling, but most gravely, Edmond replied:

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 327

" A musical life is usually a solitary life. I have talent, but
not the exceptional great genius that will lead to high prosper-
ity. I know many men at home who play as well, some better
than I, and whose music is their profession. But their lives are
mainly sad ; they are nearly all unmarried or struggling with
families on small pay. Cheered by the public at evening, but
poorly fed at the morning meal, life is a feverish warmth of ap-
probation or chill of want. Is it not true, mein Herr ? I was
never destined to a life like this. I may in the wilderness make
ruin, but I also' see a chance for that moderate happiness that a
man finds in a home and the domestic life free from real want,
that a nature like mine craves, and not even fair fame could re-
place. Am I wrong, Zelter ? "

Such a picture as Edmond had unconsciously drawn of the
man's own life had shadowed the elder face ; age approached, and
the future was so dreary that he did not like to dwell upon it.

" You are right, my son," said he in a changed tone. " Music
is a goddess, but a tyrant ; she takes our best years without other
return than we find in our devotion to her, and accepts that de-
votion thanklessly. What is an old musician of mediocrity? A
wife and children are better for you ; you will live a happier, die
a wiser, man." Yet there followed a brighter, prouder look
which meant, though he did not say it, " For myself I have no
regret."

That the public might more generally appreciate Edmond's
composition it received its name on the programme, " Der Wan-
derer," and a few words in paragraph described the leading
themes ; but the words " welcome home " told imperfectly Ed-
mond's meaning, and nothing at all of the lonely days up at
Gruenwald, where it had been a memory and a consolation.

Edmond's success of the first concert was fully sustained by
his work on Thursday night to a still larger audience, and this
evening, conscious of his ability and coolness, Margaret gave her-
self up to a fuller enjoyment of everything. If it was less exciting
it was no less gratifying, and at intervals Zelter's question recur-
red to her. Edmond had repeated it without giving his own full
reply ; yet to her steadfast, practical mind a work commenced
ought not to be lightly abandoned, and the musical life for Ed-
mond impressed her now as something to fall back on in case of
failure with the farm.

The press notices of Friday were truly gratifying, in two in-
stances enthusiastic if not flattering, and predicting a brilliant
future to our young musician. One of these was lying before

328 OUT OF THE WEST. [Dec.

Zelter when Edmond went to take leave of him, and he took it
home to Margaret, from whom now he had but one apparently
hidden thought. It was near escaping him at one moment on
Friday night.

When Edmond had paid Mrs. Barbour's bill, and the cos-
turner of the theatre who had hired for him the suit in which he
appeared in public, and the price of the moulding for the plough,
now finished to his satisfaction, he found himself still master of
more than fifty-six dollars, and mingled with its possession the
memory of Zelter's regret that he was unable to 'draw for him a
larger check.

" There are things," said Zelter, " that cannot be paid for, and
I must remain largely your debtor ; but whenever my poor friend-
ship can serve you count upon it" words that outweighed the
money tenfold to this man who wanted money.

Edmond and Margaret counted the balance, and, as if divin-
ing the thought in his mind, she said, " It would half pay for the
fifty acres."

" Yes," answered he, " you spoke my thought of the mo-
ment ; but if the land already mine is to bring anything but
barren support I shall have to hire labor in the coming spring
and summer. I long to own the whole, but dare not risk it,
unless, indeed, I am to drag on in the misery that living is at
present."

It was his first hint of the kind to Margaret of what he had
owned to his brother, and she, seeing his look of pain, could not
help asking him how bad it was.

" To tell you the truth," he began, " I have not slept in a pro-
per bed since I left this house ; the bunks are like berths in a
ship six of them in tiers of three at one end of the great room.
They are filled with straw or hay, and rough blankets are the
only other bedding, and these are old and in poor condition.
Old Beta in the roof-place or loft above is about as well arranged
for. Her work is the simplest, her knowledge of cooking con-
fined to the fewest dishes and crude ; she is defective in sight
and untidy." And here he paused, unwilling to continue the pic-
ture.

Then resuming: " I would willingly have done all that I have,
luxurious being that I am, for the simple elements of decency
and civilization afforded by the change. I said yesterday, I
must return to-morrow, but this morning I said, One more day
before a table-cloth, one more night of luxurious sleep ; I have
earned it."

1 882.] OUT OF THE WEST. 329

Then he let escape a sigh, and in a tone she had never heard
in his voice, it was so hopeless, said :

" The worst of it is one never knows when or how it will end.
If one had only something to hope for!"

Looking up, he saw the tears that had welled up to Marga-
ret's eyes unbidden, and then it was that he nearly betrayed him-
self. He arrested a gesture that would have done so without
speech, and, as usual, Margaret was first to recover herself.

" One must always hope," she said gently ; " it is like the
guardian angel beside us," unconsciously speaking as if believing
like himself. " Sometimes," she continued, " I ask myself what
I am hoping for ; and if I can work on without a strong definite
aim like yours, surely all that is marked out tangibly to you will
help you on, and you are a man."

Nothing more than these last words were needed to rouse
him from his momentary dejection, and soon they went on dis-
cussing the possibility of working musically at need and details
of summer work laid out.

" When are we to meet again ? " said he ; and she, forgetting
the world and its ways, replied in her thought of alleviation :
" Your hay-time will be my idle hour vacation. How I should
like to come up and pay you a visit, if I could find cheap board
in one of your German families! I could perhaps show Beta, or
better still yourself, methods of work that would help out the
housekeeping, and at the same time gratify the interest you have
taught me to feel in your enterprise."

Here was something, then, to think of and hope for, and Ed-
mond grasped at the idea. Certainly, if this was her wish, no
other man's interest could be very close at heart. His face was
radiant as they said good-night, and when he bade her good-by
on the morrow he had won a promise of occasional correspon-
dence, there being several books in discussion between them
still.

And Edmond went home with a lighter heart, to say nothing
of his heavier pocket, and went about the clearing and the
woods, planning after Margaret's own fashion how to get the
very best out of what was ready for cultivation, and in what la-
bor to use his money to best advantage.

TO BE CONTINUED.

330 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE.

PART III.

SCENE : Exeter Hall, London. TIME : 18 .
PERSONS REPRESENTED.

AMERICAN DELEGATES. ENGLISH DELEGATES.

Rev. Bishop Latitude, Methodist Rev. Dr. Chosen, Presbyterian.

Episcopal. Rev. Dr. Sophical, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Topheavy, Baptist. Rev. Dr. Ballast, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Flurry, Presbyterian. Rev. Dr. Whistle, Independent.

Rev. Dr. Liberal, Congregationalist. Rev. Washington Dipwell, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Bounce, Lutheran. Rev. Luther Knockpope, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Jocund, Methodist Episco- Rev. Amen Hallelujah, Primitive

pal. Methodist.

Prof. Augustus Synonym, having Prof. Jeremy Ratio, holding the

the chair of Lost Arts and Occult chair of Algebraic Inequalities,

Sciences, College. etc., etc., University.

Together with a large, enthusiastic, and somewhat demonstrative audience.

DR. WHISTLE saw nothing but chaos before Conference if
this line of debate were followed. If he were going to decide
on the arguments thus far presented he should define the right
of the Evangelical Church to unity to be nothing more than the
jus proprietatis, which, according to the law-books, was the right
without either possession or the right of possession. He moved
to amend the pending resolution by striking out all after " Re-
solved," and substituting, "that Conference places evangelical
unity in the category of subjects open to pious conjecture."
(Laughter and applause.)

DR. JOCUND pointed to a want of reason in the amendment.
The whole subject was already conjectural enough in all con-
science (laughter) and needed no resolution to make it more so.
He wanted it understood that there was a limit to even the argu-
mentative powers of this Conference. (Cries of " Question.")

( After vote, the chair having declared the amendment lost, a division
was called for by the Revs. Lovefeast and Knockpope; whereupon, the
division having been ordered, the amendment was still declared lost.)

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE said the Reformers had protested
not only against Rome, but necessarily against the Fathers also.

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 331

(Cheers.) Why discuss the Fathers? Evangelical faith, as all
knew, was founded upon the labors of the Reformers.

DR. WHISTLE deprecated the course pursued by many Pro-
testants in glorying- in men whom they termed the forerunners and
fathers of the Reformation, who, however, held many views even
more reprehensible than those of Rome herself. As long as Pro-
testants relied on these men and appealed to their writings they
might expect to be confronted with difficulties. Thus, Richard
Knapwell, a Dominican friar in the thirteenth century, when
called on by Archbishop Peckham, at the Lambeth Council, to
state his new doctrine, announced as one of his propositions
" that in articles of faith a man is not bound to rest on the autho-
rity of the pope, or of any priest or doctor, but that the Holy
Scriptures and right reason are the only foundation of our
assent." (Cheers.) This was his fifth proposition. Yet this
man actually held two views of transubstantiation which, while
at variance with the Roman article of faith, were each, if pos-
sible, more objectionable to the modern Protestant. The four
other propositions were as follows :

"i. That the body of Christ when dead had not the same substantial
form as it had when living.

"2. That if the eucharistical bread had been consecrated with the
words of consecration during the three days that Christ lay in his grave,
the bread would have been transubstantiated into the new form which the
body of Christ assumed at its separation from the soul.

" 3. That after the resurrection of Christ the eucharistical bread is
transubstantiated, by virtue of the words of consecration, into the whole
living body of Christ ; that is, the matter of the bread is converted into the
matter of his body, and the substantial form of the bread into the substan-
tial form of his body that is, into his intellectual soul, so far as it consti-
tutes the form of his body.

"4. That in man there is bnly one form namely, his rational soul, with-
out any other substantial form." *

" It is almost inconceivable," said the reverend doctor, " to
borrow the comment of Camden, that the same head which en-
gendered the unintelligible nonsense of the first four propositions
could have given birth to the important truth contained in the
fifth." f

A similar criticism would apply, he continued, to Wickliffe,
Huss, Jerome of Prague, Luther, Melancthon, Bucer, and others.
Thus, Wickliffe, in addition to teaching transubstantiation so far
as to assert that " the body is hidden in each morsel and crumb

* Wykes, Spelman, Knighton.

t Camden, Imp. Hist, of England, vol. i. p. 237.

332 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

of bread," consenting to the invocation of saints, and acknow-
ledging purgatory, had taught that " all sins committed in the
world are necessary and inevitable." Wickliffe was, however, a
Protestant, since he had held that tenet of Protestantism which,
singular to say, was the only one upon which reformers of all
ages had agreed antipathy for the pope. John Huss and Jerome
of Prague were Catholic in all respects save that they had held
communion in both kinds to be essential, and repudiated that
bte noire Q{ Protestants the successor of Peter; though their dis-
ciples, the Calixtenes, had offered to return to their allegiance if
communion in both kinds were permitted. The movement inau-
gurated by Huss of giving the cup to the laity had, however,
been checked by Luther, who had threatened with a curse those
who presumed to receive communion under both kinds. On
making a critical examination of the doctrines of Martin Luther
and his coadjutors, the fathers of the respective reformed church-
es, he (the speaker) was forced to conclude that a healthy incon-
sistency on the part of Protestants was required to prove their
pedigree. For example, Luther had once said : " Whoever de-
nies the indulgences of the pope, let him be accursed " an ana-
thema which, with due respect for the great Reformer's opinions,
he cordially hoped would light on all present. (Laughter.)
Luther, Calvin, and Melancthon had each written a book in favor
of punishing heretics. But one of the most notable acts of the
Reformers was the solemn judgment given by Luther, Melanc-
thon, Bucer, and others to the Landgrave of Hesse, approving of
and advising his polygamous marriage* a matter which he (the
speaker) contended demanded his protest even more than the
Augsburg Confession written by Melancthon, which, indignantly
repelling the charge that the Reformers had abolished the Mass,
declared : " It is celebrated among us with due reverence, and in
it are preserved nearly all the usual ceremonies." Indeed,
Luther himself had gone so far in a controversy with some dis-
affected followers as to threaten " to make his recantation and

* The following; occurs in the decision rendered by Luther and his associates : " In fine, if
your highness is fully and finally resolved to marry yet another wife, we judge that this might
be done secretly, as has been said above in speaking of the dispensation, so that it be known
only to your highness, the lady, and to a few faithful friends obliged to silence under the seal
of confession ; hence no attacks or scandal of any moment would ensue. For there is nothing
unusual in princes keeping concubines ; and although the lower orders may not perceive the
excuses of the thing, the more intelligent know how to make allowance." Luther and his coad-
jutors were witnesses to the nuptials. (Edinburgh Review, No. 121, October, 1834.) May not th
example thus set have brought forth the following fruit ? Dr. Henke, former Primarius profes-
sor of theology at Helmstadt, said : " Monogamy and the prohibitions of extra-matrimonial re-
lations are to be viewed as remnants of monachism and an uninquiring faith "'(ibid.)

i8S2.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 333

leave them." " Remember," he had said, " I have said it, and,
after all, what hurt will the popish Mass do you ? " (Sensation.)

DR. FLURRY said Conference was in a peculiar dilemma. It
had willingly allowed the early Christian Fathers to be shown up
as teachers of false doctrine. This it had done in order to estab-
lish the Topheavian theory. He had, however, looked upon the
Reformers as the setters-forth of pure doctrine. In this view he
had found himself painfully mistaken. The Reformers appeared
to be more reprobate than the Fathers. He hoped the sense of
the house would be taken to indicate that the resolution contem-
plated a definition of unity only as expressed in Holy Scripture.
(Hear, hear.)

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE pointed out that the trouble did
not end here. Scripture itself came to them contaminated with
the touch of popery. (Loud expressions of disapproval, inaugu-
rated by a storm of hisses.) He would not question the sacred
canon, but deemed it unfortunate that it was finally settled by a
council which had submitted its decrees to the pope and had re-
cognized the necessity of said pope's confirmation of the same.*

DR. SOPHICAL regretted to hear such an insinuation against
the canonicity of the sacred record. Particularly did it give him
pain as emanating from a brother who had honorably distin-
guished himself in that assembly by his zeal for the tenets of
Protestantism. Did the gentleman realize the dangerous ten-
dency of his innuendo ? Was he not aware that Protestantism
rested solely on the Bible ?

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE defended his course. He argued
that his supposed innuendo was less pernicious in its tendency
than the statement last made.

DR. SOPHICAL begged information. He rested solely on the
rectitude of his intentions.

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE rejoined that the doctor's state-
ment implied that the principles of Protestantism rested exclu-
sively on the canon of Holy Scripture. Now, it was notorious
that this was not definitively adjusted till the early part of the
fifth century, when Pope Innocent I. accomplished the work.
With this fact in view the doctor would be constrained either to
forsake his premises or admit that Protestant teachings were un-
christian as having had their origin in the fifth century after
Christ. Previous to that time so-called gospels of Mathathias,
Nicodemus, of the Hebrews, of the Infancy of our Saviour, of

* Pope Innocent I. (405) " fixed the canon by decree as it now stands " (Johnson's New Univ.
Cycl., vol. i. p. 480).

334 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

the Birth of Mary, and others, had been received by many as
of equal authority with those of the four Evangelists ; and the
epistles 6f St. Barnabas, of St. Paul to the Laodiceans, of Cle-
mens, Poly carp, and Ignatius, as equally authentic with the ac-
cepted Pauline epistles. In addition to these there had been
such spurious Acts as the Martyrdom of Thecla, or the Acts of
Paul ; Abdias' History of the Twelve Apostles, or the Acts of
Pilate ; the Book of Hermas, or the Shepherd ; the Letter of
Jesus Christ to Abgarus ; the Six Letters of St. Paul to Seneca ;
the Revelation of Peter ; the Protevangelion of St. James ; the
Doctrines of the Apostles, and Christ's Letter to Leopas, the
Priest of Eris, the authenticity of all of which had been of great
credit until decided against at different times by the pope and
bishops in council.* The intermeddling of popes with the canon
of Scripture was perhaps a following of the precedent set by
the high-priests of the old law, a part of whose office it was to
preserve the integrity of the Old Testament. St. Austin f had
said " that the canonical books of the Old Testament were pre-
served in the Jewish temple by the carefulness of the priests, who
succeeded one another." The books of the Sibyls and Annals of
the Egyptians and Tyrians had anciently been held apocryphal
under the rule laid down by Vossius, who had observed that all
were deemed spurious which had not been admitted to the syna-
gogue or the church, and thus added to the canon. Luther, the
great Reformer, probably impressed with the leading part which
popes had taken in constructing the Bible, had not scrupled to
cast doubt upon a large portion of that record which now con-
stituted the Protestants' sole rule of faith. He (the speaker) had
before him a number of the Edinburgh Review from which he
would read a few of the comments made by Luther in this rela-
tion:

" The books of the Kings are more worthy of credit than the books of
the Chronicles. Job spake not as it stands written in his book, but hath
had such cogitations. It is a sheer argumentum fabulce. It is probable
that Solomon made and wrote this book. This book (Ecclesiastes) ought
to have been made more full ; there is too much of broken matter in it ; it

* For the fullest account of the rejected books see Fabricii Codex Apocryphus Novi Tes-
tamenti, two vols., Hamb., 1719, 800. See also Chambers' Encycl., vol. ii. p. 75, and Encycl.
Brit, and others under " Apocrypha." A translation of the apocryphal books of the New Tes-
tament, by Hone, is extant. The Rev. Jeremiah Jones says : " It is not so easy a matter as is
commonly imagined rightly to settle the canon of the New Testament. For my own part, I de-
clare, with many learned men, that in the whole compass of learning I know no question in-
volved with more intricacies and perplexing questions than this " (Jones' New and Full Method,
vol. i. p. 15).

t De Civ. Dei, 50, 15.

1 88 2.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 335

hath neither boots nor spurs, but rides in socks, as I myself did when in
the cloister. Solomon hath not, therefore, written this book, which hath
been made in the days of the Machabees by Sirach. It is, like the Talmud,
compiled from many books, perhaps in Egypt at the desire of King Pto-
lemy Euergetes. So also have the Proverbs of Solomon been collected by
others. . . . The book of Esther I toss into the Elbe. I am so an enemy
to the book of Esther that I would it did not exist, for it Judaizes too
much and hath in it a great deal of heathen naughtiness. . . . Isaias hath
borrowed his art and knowledge from the Psalter. The history of Jonas
is so monstrous that it is absolutely incredible. That the Epistle to the
Hebrews is not by St. Paul, nor by any apostle, is shown by chapter ii. 3.
It is by an excellently learned man, a disciple of the apostles. It should be
no stumbling-block if there be found in it a mixture of wood, straw, hay.
The Epistle of James I account an epistle of straw. The Epistle of Jude is
a copy of St. Peter's and allegeth stories-which have no place in Scripture.
In the Revelation of John much is wanting to let me deem it apostolical.
I can discover no trace that it is established by the Spirit." *

(Sensation.) Erasmus also had doubted the authenticity of the
Revelation, while Calvin and Beza had denounced it as unin-
telligible and prohibited the pastors of Geneva from all attempts
at interpretation, for which they were applauded by Joseph
Scaliger and Isaac Casaubon.f Mr. Pearson, the Christian ad-
vocate in the University of Cambridge in 1834, had shown that
these views of the Reformers had extended to later times.

" For instance," he had said, " Rosenmiiller, in the first edition of his
commentary on the Old Testament the most valuable in existence, perhaps,
considered as a critical and philological commentary on the Hebrew text
speaks of the creation, the fall, and the deluge as fables ; he describes the
history of Jonas to be a mere mythus of Hercules swallowed by a sea-ser-
pent, and he says it was not written by Jonas, but by some one contem-
porary with Jeremias ; and he considers the prophecy of Isaias as made up
by one writer out of the minor works of several others. Gesenius, the
professor of theology at Halle, maintains after Paulus, professor at Wartz-
burg, that the Pentateuch was composed after the time of Solomon, out of
different fragments which were collected together. Bauer, in his introduc-
tion to the Old Testament, has a chapter on what he calls the mythi, or
fables, of the Old Testament. Bretschneider rejects the Gospel of St. John
as the work of a Gentile Christian of the second century. Eichhorn pro-
nounces the Revelation to be a drama representing the fall of Judaism and
paganism, while Semler condemned it entirely as the work of a fanatic." \

(Great stir.) Joseph Scaliger, following Luther, had rejected
the Epistle of St. James, denied the Revelation to be by St. John,
and only allowed two of its chapters to be comprehensible ;

* Edinburgh Review, No. 121, October, 1834, article on the admission of Dissenters to the
universities.

t Ibid, d % Ibid.

336 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

while the late Dr. South, in England, had pronounced it a book
that either found a man mad or made him so.* (Profound sen-
sation, which lasted some moments.)

DR. LIBERAL rose to reply. From the eminent authority, he
began, against the canonicity of a large portion of what he con-
ceived all present had been accustomed to regard as the inspired
record, he was free to say that the Romish view of the necessity
of an infallible expositor of the extent and meaning of God's
written word seemed reasonable. " The genuineness of these
books," said the reverend speaker, referring to an authority
lying conveniently near him, " was determined by testimony or
tradition. . . . Upon the whole, we may conclude that the writ-
ings of the apostles and evangelists are received, as the works
of other eminent men of antiquity are, upon the ground of gene-
ral consent and testimony. "f This mode, when applied, as the
faith of Romanists taught them it was, by an infallible tribu-
nal, had at least the merit of accordance with what in law, for
the establishing of a rule of conduct, was deemed necessary by
the highest authority. Blackstone had defined general custom,
which was governed altogether by tradition, as synonymous
with the common law of the realm. This tradition the learned
commentator had declared to be "that law by which proceedings
in the king's ordinary courts of justice are guided and directed,
. . . and it settles the rules of expounding wills." The acts of those
councils, which, as a former speaker had shown, had been sub-
mitted to the pope, had settled the question of the canonicity of
Scripture by this rule, the fathers of those synods having known
it to be the rule of expounding the last will and testament of
God to man. Had there been no tradition of the authenticity of
such books as were ultimately pronounced canonical, the autho-
rities would be seen to have been left entirely without a guide to
direct their judgment, unless Conference was prepared to admit
they had been endowed with infallibility. Thus, although tradi-
tion was at a discount in the Protestant school of theology, all
reformed theologians were violently obligated to accept it as the
witness of the canonicity of their sole rule of faith.

DR. BALLAST regretted that the vagaries into which several
speakers had drifted had drawn the eyes of Conference from the
existing resolution. Scripture, regardless of -the scepticism of
Luther, he took to be still the rule of faith. This being allowed,
he would venture to assert that, in the very nature of things,
Scripture must be interpreted literally. In law the courts were

* Edinburgh Review, No. 121. t Rees' Encycl., vol. vi. See "Canon."

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 337

empowered to construe deeds, wills, and other species of com-
mon assurances. Were no means provided for construing last
wills and testaments a literal interpretation of them would be un-
avoidable; for were private judgment resorted to it would be
easy to see what diversities of construction would be framed by
contending interests. To such excesses the Protestant world, in
its consideration of Christ's last will and testament, had been
driven by the rule of private interpretation, which, if employed
in matters affecting titles to earthly lands and tenements instead
of to "that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,"
would lead to social anarchy and the total dismemberment of
society. He thought Scripture, literally interpreted, a safe rule.
It had been shown that Scripture, when literally construed,
taught the visible unity of the church. As the converse of this
condition was to be exhibited in order to apply the Topheavian
theory to the subject of the present debate, he thought Confer-
ence should vote for the invisibility of evangelical unity with-
out further parley.

DR. SOPHICAL dissented from the opinion advanced. The be-
lief in sacerdotalism, he argued, which had been universal before
the Reformation, and which was even now held by about nine-
teen-twentieths of the Christian world, had possibly originated
in a literal interpretation of St. Paul's statement, " We have an
altar." This was perhaps a lapsus pennce. At any rate, St. Paul
would have expressed himself with a higher regard for ortho-
doxy had he said instead, " We have a communion-table." Had
he said this, sacerdotalism, the main prop of which was its Scrip-
turalness, could not have called this important passage to its aid.
Again, when he said to the Athenians, " I beheld an altar erect-
ed, etc.,", he would have served orthodoxy better had he said, " I
saw a table," etc. For the gravity of the oversight was aggravat-
ed by disclosing to them the Unknown God as one to whom their
altar might with propriety be erected. Had St. Paul carried his
evangelical orthodoxy to the proper limit, instead of saying to
his hearers, " That God whom ye ignorantly worship, him de-
clare I unto you," he would have said, " Him declare I unto you ;
but see that ye at once tear down your impious altar, for my
God hath no use for it."

The doctrine of the Real Presence, continued the learned
doctor, w.as wholly based on a literal interpretation of Scripture.
As to this he did not scruple to say that any other interpretation
was beset with difficulty. The orthodox or evangelical view of
the Sacrament could not, he apprehended, be readily accepted,
VOL. xxxvi. 22

338 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

since nothing but the exercise of a living faith could enable him
to understand how " the grace and heavenly benediction" of the
Lord could be present in, and conveyed to the partakers of, the
Sacrament when the Lord himself was absent. For in the order
of the administration of the Lord's Supper in the Methodist
churches, which was the same as that of the Church of England,
were used these words : " Humbly beseeching thee that we, who
are partakers of this Holy Communion, may be filled with thy
grace and heavenly benediction." Protestants rejected transub-
stantiation (for this was really the only rational consequence of a
Real Presence, if any existed) as incomprehensible and opposed
to the plain teaching of the senses. Yet, where a simple exercise
of faith was concerned, he thought it even harder to believe that
" all the fulness of the Godhead bodily " dwelt in the Babe of
Bethlehem than that that same Babe was present in the sacra-
mental wafer. He thought there was less difficulty in under-
standing how God by his own power could be present under the
sacramental species than in comprehending how that same God
could have been concealed under the form of a dependent infant.
He thought human credulity was less tasked in believing that
the substance of a man could be hidden under the form of a
wafer than that the life and soul of a man could subsist in the
unformed foetus at the first moment of conception in the mater-
nal womb.

Neither would he escape the difficulty by admitting the tena-
bility of a metaphorical theory which, if sustained, would lead,
-liim into a snare regarding this subject. If he would avoid the
difficulties of transubstantiation by converting plain Scripture
into metaphor, because that Scripture, literally taken, was opposed
to finite understanding and the evidence of the senses, he would
be .constrained, for cognate reasons, to interpret all scriptures
teaching the divinity of Christ in a metaphorical sense also. The
same might be said with regard to the appearance of the Holy
Ghost in the form of a dove at the baptism of Christ, and of his
appearance in many distinct tongues of fire on the day of Pente-
cost. As he (Dr. S.) could not, by any exercise of human pene-
tration, understand how the divine Person could appear in the
form and compass of a dove or in a multitude of tongues of fire,
he would be forced, in pursuing the same line of reasoning, to
conclude that all these Scriptural narratives were designed to be
given not a literal but a metaphorical interpretation.

DR. BALLAST thought it unfortunate, since Scripture was given
as the sole rule of faith, that it could not be interpreted accord-

1 882.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 339

ing to its literal and most obvious signification. Yet candor
compelled him to say that, with respect to a large portion of the
Bible, not only the literal but the most perspicuous explanation
was to be avoided as savoring of that corrupt system of theo-
logy the protesting against which was the chief duty of the
Protestant divine.

DR. CHOSEN questioned the accuracy of this statement. If
the position taken were received as true there would soon be a
marked depreciation in the stock-in-trade of the Protestant di-
vine. True, the words of Christ, when instituting the Last
Supper, could not be interpreted literally, although many of his
sayings previous to the institution, and numerous expressions in
other parts of Scripture, pointed to a literal interpretation.
Thus, in the sixth chapter of St. John's Gospel,* when the Jews,
understanding the words of Christ literally, had protested against
transubstantiation, urging the evangelical objection of its impos-
sibility, he had failed to give them the orthodox definition, but
reiterated his words (which, literally understood, inevitably taught
transubstantiation) with singular emphasis. He (Dr. Chosen) was,
however, unaware of any other passage, used either narratively
or doctrinally, a literal interpretation of which was not admissi-
ble under Protestant exegetics.

DR. BALLAST opposed the views of the last speaker. He
would endeavor to refresh his memory. What did his learned,
brother think of the declaration of Christ : " Thou art Peter, and
upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall:
not prevail against it " ? Interpret that passage literally, he ar-
gued, and the Roman doctrine of the papacy would be rendered,
plausible.

DR. JOCUND : " Oh ! we'll vote that aliunde." (Laughter.}

DR. CHOSEN, in the interest of expedition, would gladly assent
to the course proposed by his ingenious friend.

DR. BOUNCE said all would agree that it would never do to
interpret Scripture either literally or in accordance with its most
evident signification, if Romish error were thereby substantiated.
The true rule of interpretation was clearly that which gave a
definition as remote as might be from that held by Rome.
(Cheers.) Therefore, in his view, private interpretation at the
hands of a loyal Protestant was always sure to be safe. (Hear,
hear.) He had derived much comfort from a mystical inter-
pretation, especially with regard to the Revelation, which, thus
understood, showed up the Scarlet Lady to his satisfaction.

* Verse 52.

340 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

(Cheers.) This mode, while possessing a greater degree of tan-
gibility than a mere metaphorical system, was equally as well
calculated to purify Holy Writ from the unhandsome imputation
of being what Romanists claimed it as being a Catholic text-
book.

DR. SOPHICAL was astonished to hear such an announcement.
Was the gentleman not aware that, next to interpretations de-
rived either from the letter or the most obvious sense, the favor-
ite system of interpretation in vogue among Romanists was the
mystical one ? Nay, that it was persistently asserted that the
Romish doctrines of the Mass and the papacy were foresha-
dowed, as to the first, by the mysteries of the manna and Mel-
chisedech's sacrifice, and, as to the second, by the mystery of the
Rock and Stone ?

DR. BOUNCE was not ignorant that such was Roman teaching.
Holding, however, a Protestant's view of the falsity of Romish
doctrine throughout, he was not to be confounded by any con-
nection which might ingeniously be shown to exist between any
so-called types and antitypes. Nevertheless he would join issue
with the learned doctor, and call on him to exhibit any well-
founded mystical connection between the Rock and Stone of
Holy Scripture and the dignity alleged to have been bestowed
upon St. Peter. ( <4 Hear, hear " from the Rev. Luther Knock-
;pope.)

DR. SOPHICAL could refer to numerous allusions to the Rock
and Stone which, by a mystical interpretation, appeared to point
to St. Peter's elevation to the headship of the church.

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE excitedly, and amid considerable
excitement, obtained the floor and was understood to ask
whether this were a Council of the Vatican or, what it purported
to be, an evangelical Conference.

(Much noise and confusion followed this inquiry, during which the voice
of Mr. Knockpope, though elevated to the highest pitch, was not heard ;
and amid shouts of" Louder," calls to order, and raps from the chairman's
gavel he resumed his seat and order was restored.)

DR. SOPHICAL regretted the uproar his words had occa-
sioned. He was far from wishing to intimate that any headship
had been conferred on St. Peter. He had only striven to show
that certain passages could not be interpreted mystically without
fortifying certain Romish dogmas. The terms Rock and Stone,
before they had been applied to St. Peter, had been appropriated
by God exclusively to himself. This fact pointed to the idea

i882.J THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 341

that when the application of these names was changed a new of-
fice or dignity was created (sensation) in other words, that St.
Peter, upon whom alone they were bestowed, was appointed the
representative of Him who had hitherto jealously made them his
own.

(Renewed disorder was here manifested, and expressions of disapproba-
tion, mingled with hisses and calls to order, were met with applause and
counter cries of " Go on." The confusion having abated )

DR. SOPHICAL reiterated that his views were uncompromis-
ingly Protestant.

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE sarcastically retorted that the gen-
tleman's protestations of loyalty were somewhat pertinent, in
view of his late apology for transubstantiation and his present at-
tempt to prove the pope a Scriptural character.

(Slight confusion, during which Dr. Sophical was heard to intimate that
the gentleman's comprehension was defective.)

DR. SOPHICAL, resuming, said, in order to point out the dan-
ger of interpreting Scripture in a mystical sense, he would state
a proposition which a Romanist might well advance in support
of the papacy. (Hisses, cries of " Sit down," and other marked
indications of disapproval.) As the prophecies concerning the
advent of Christ had begun in expressions of obscure meaning and
increased in clearness and perspicuity until the world had been
at length prepared to receive him, so, it might be said, prophe-
cies and figures relating to the appointment of his vicegerent on
earth had been at first clothed in obscurity, developing at length
into such plainness of language as had prepared the church of
God for his reception. Before entering upon the examination
of Scripture it might be well to observe that the office of the
last Jewish high-priest had terminated about the year 70, during
the siege of Jerusalem by Titus, and almost simultaneously with
the accession of Linus, the first bishop of Rome after St. Peter.
Even according to Protestant admission * the first pope who
exercised the powers of the papacy by virtue of succession was
not only the successor of St. Peter, but also of the last repre-
sentative of the historic Jewish Church a fact suggestive of

* " To begin with the Church of Rome, we have already heard Irenaeus and Tertullian declar-
ing that the apostles ordained a bishop there. And the same is asserted by St. Chrysostom, and
Eusebius, and Rufinus, and St. Jerome, and Optatus, and Epiphanius, and St. Austin, who
says : ' If the order of bishops succeeding one another be of any consideration, we take the sur-
est way who begin to number from St. Peter ; for Linus succeeded Peter, and Clemens Linus,
and Anacletus Clemens, etc., etc.'" (Bingham, Antiq. of the Christian Church, book ii. c. 4).

342 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

the idea that the headship of the church of God had been trans-
ferred from the last of a line reaching in succession from the
day of Moses to the first of a succeeding line of pontiffs whose
jurisdiction and powers were ordained to be even more per-
petual.

(A scene of intense excitement and great uproar followed, the Rev. Lu-
ther Knockpope advancing menacingly towards the speaker and the entire
Conference rising. The Rev. L. Knockpope having been forcibly seated
and the deliberations intermitted for some minutes, during which Dr.
Sophical explained the drift of his argument to the chair privately )

THE CHAIR announced his conviction that the views which
the learned doctor wished to present were not, as many appeared
to suppose, of an heretical nature.

DR. SOPHICAL, with some feeling, declared that his ultimate
object was to show the unreliability of a mystical interpretation.

DR. JOCUND thought what Conference needed was less mys-
tery and more fact. (Laughter.)

DR. SOPHICAL was of the same opinion, and hoped to be able
to show that orthodox facts could rarely be deduced from the
Bible by any system of interpretation allied to the mystical. He
would cite some passages of Scripture, which he would divide
into five classes :

First. Those in which the terms Rock and Stone were used as
names of the Deity.

Second. Those in which they were applied prophetically to
some agent, in whom papists might recognize St. Peter.

Third. Those in which the Rock or Stone was mentioned as a
foundation or resting-place for the Ark of the Covenant, in pro-
phetic allusion, as might be pretended, to a future similar resting-
place for the Christian Church.

Fourth. Those in which it might be said the terms were ap-
plied in figure to the church itself.

Fifth. Those which ascribed certain virtues or properties to
the Stone or Rock, which might be said to foreshadow graces to
be bestowed upon the Christian Church to qualify it as the cus-
todian and infallible expositor of God's word.

In beginning his review of Scripture in this connection the
learned doctor said one of the earliest uses of the word Rock in
the Old Testament taught a great truth : " He is the Rock." *
In the song which Moses spake in the ears of all the congrega-
tion of Israel, just prior to his death in Mount Nebo, the words

* Deut. xxxii. 4.

i882.j THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 343

were found, " Ascribe ye greatness unto our God. He is the
Rock," as also the following : " Then he forsook God which
made him, and lightly esteemed the Rock of his salvation " ; * and
again : " Of the Rock that begat thee thou art unmindful, and
hast forgotten God that formed thee." f The Psalms were full
of allusions to the word " Rock " as a name of the Most High, \
and similar references were found in the prophecy of Tsaias.
In order to show that a mystical interpretation of this first divi-
sion of the texts selected would lead to embarrassment, he would
draw attention to the Roman argument that a mystical connec-
tion was apparent between these passages and the following,
written under the new dispensation : " And when Jesus beheld
him, he said, Thou art Simon, the" son of Jona ; thou shalt be
called Cephas, which is, by interpretation, a stone " ; || and also
the following, which was the fulfilment (as the papists taught)
of this promise : " And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter,
and upon this Rock I will build my church ; and the gates of hell
shall not prevail against it."*}" It was argued from this, the doc-
tor continued, that a surrender of 'the name Rock or Stone was
made by Christ to St. Peter, the importance of which transfer
would be realized when it was remembered that God had dis-
tinctly stated ** that his glory he would not give to another.
This solemn announcement implied (it might be alleged) that
Christ did not give this name to Peter as an individual, else had
Christ parted with his glory ; but only as his representative, in
which case, as in that of the ambassador of a sovereign, the
dignity was only delegated. And, indeed, it might be said, no
sooner was this title bestowed upon Peter than he at once began
to exercise the functions of the divine Stone or Rock. At this
point the speaker read the following : " Then Peter said, Silver
and gold have I none, but such as I have give I to thee. In the
name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." ff

(During the learned doctor's illustration of the second and third divi-
sions of his argument he drew attention to Is. xxxii. 2, Dan. ii. 34, 35, and
Zach. iii. 9 as applicable to the second ; and i Kings vi. 14, 15 as pertinent
to the third.)

The fourth class of texts to which he would allude were
those wherein the terms Rock and Stone were mystically (as
the papists might say) applied to the church itself. Several of

* Deut. xxxii. 15. f Verse 18.

\ Ps. xviii. 2, 31 ; xxviii.i; xxxi. 2,3; Ixi. 2; Ixii. 7 ; Ixxi. 3; Ixxxix. 26 ; xcii. 15; xciv.
22 ; xcv i.

Is. xvii. 10, ii. [John i. 42. ; Matt. xvi. 18. ** Is. xlii. 18. ft Acts iii. 6.

344 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Dec.,

the earliest Christian writers* had taught the absolute insepara-
bility of the church from Peter, the Rock of the church ; and it
behooved Protestants to avoid that mode of interpretation which
would give color to their views.

(In elaborating this point the speaker cited Gen. xxviii. 16, 17, 18, 22,
xxxv. 14 ; Num. xxiv. 21 ; Ps. xxvii. 4, 5 ; Cant. ii. 14; Jer. xlviii. 28.)

He would draw attention to but one passage wherein the
Stone might be said to have a mystical reference to the church,
not only as a witness of the truth, but as the sole custodian and
infallible expounder of God's word : " And Joshua wrote these
words in the book of the law of God, and took a great Stone, and
set it up there under an oak that was by the sanctuary of the
Lord. And Joshua said unto all the people, Behold, this Stone
shall be a witness unto us ; for it hath heard all the words of the
Lord which he spake unto us; it shall be therefore a witness unto
you, lest ye deny your God." f

While on the subject of infallibility, continued the learned
doctor, it might be charged that Englishmen who accepted the
legal maxim, "Rex est vicarius et minister Dei in terra" \ and
the ancient and fundamental legend, " The king can do no
wrong," accredited their temporal kingdom with higher immu-
nities than they were willing to accord to the spouse of Christ,
whose claim of infallibility rested, it was said, on no human
parchment or scroll, but on the promise of Christ. The pas-
sages of Scripture to which he had referred, when taken togeth-
er, afforded ample warning to Protestants who affected to derive
profit from a mystical interpretation of Scripture. To give force
to the warning thus conveyed he needed only to call up those
words of Christ, to which also Roman theologians might al-
lude with some degree of exultation when construed mystically :
" Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings and doeth them,
I will liken him to a wise man which built his house upon a
rock ; and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds
blew and beat upon the house ; and it fell not, for it was founded
upon a rock."

PROF. RATIO moved an adjournment. (Lost.)

DR. TOPHEAVY moved that a reply to Dr. Sophical be de-
clared inadmissible at this time. (Carried.)

TO BE CONTINUED.

* " He who holds not this unity of the church, does he think that he holds the faith ? He
who strives against and resists the church, he who abandons the chair of St. Peter, upon whom
the church was founded, does he feel that he is in the church ? " (Cyp., De Unitate, Bened. Edi-
tion).

+ Joshua xxiv. 26, 27. \ Bracton, 1. i, c. 8. Matt. vii. 24, 25 ; Luke. vi. 48.

1 882.] A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY. 345

A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY.

IN the course of an evening conversation with the cheerful
family circle in which our easy-chair is permitted for the present
to fill the privileged place accorded to its invalid occupant, we
fell to relating incidents connected with the early history of our
republic. An aged member of that circle sat diligently plying
her knitting-needles, a silent listener to our chat, instead of sup-
plying the share which we knew full well she could have drawn
from her own knowledge of many interesting events of that
period, at the time of their occurrence or soon after. She was,
therefore, very warmly urged by the younger part of the com-
pany to " tell us a story," even though it might prove, as she
hinted, but a " twice-told tale " to some of her listeners.

It so happened that she had on that day taken up a stray
number of Lossing's Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution, and
while glancing drowsily over its pages her eye was attracted by
his account of the tragical death of Jane McCrea near Fort
Edward, on the Hudson River, in July, 1777. Having frequently
in former years visited an aged relative who lived in Benning-
ton, Vermont, through the war of the Revolution, and who was
well acquainted with the unfortunate girl, and with the Mrs.
McNeil whom Miss McCrea was visiting at the time of the sad
event, she had heard the painful story in all its mournful details
from the lips of that relative, with the shuddering horror and
tearful sympathy which it would naturally awaken in a sensitive
young heart.

At the close of his narration Lossing remarks that there were
various accounts in the vicinity of Fort Edward as to the sub-
sequent fate of Lieutenant Jones, of the British army, to whom
Jane McCrea was engaged ; and that he heard, from a lady at
Glen's Falls who was related to the Jones family, that he lived
with his friends in Canada many years after the terrible event a
melancholy and lonely man.

It is curious to note how some such trivial cause as this re-
newal of her acquaintance with that sad story will often impel
an old person to rake up the dying embers of the past and draw
from them living sparks which had long been smouldering
beneath their dust. It was thus with our serene old friend as
she closed the book that afternoon and settled back in her " old
arm-chair," musing upon the narrative and recalling scenes of

346 A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY. [Dec.,

her early life which she had not thought upon for years. Hence
it followed, of course, when our evening chat dipped into history
and she was urged to bear her part in it, that she should recur to
the subject of her late reading and reverie, and to the fact that
she knew more of the later life of Lieutenant David Jones than
was recorded by Lossing. " For," said she, " all the early years
of my life, with the exception of occasional visits to friends in
Vermont, were passed on the American shore of the St. Law-
rence. It was then a wilderness from Sackett's Harbor to the
' Rapids,' only broken by the little village of Ogdensburg, just
starting into existence, and by small openings made here and
there by such hardy pioneers as dared encroach within its for-
bidding boundaries.

" Schools there were none up or down the river from
Ogdensburg, and the children of the ' settlers ' had no means
for instruction, unless taught at home or sent across the river to
attend schools already established in the older settlements on
the Canadian shore.

" No sooner had my father taken up a large tract of land
and planted our pleasant home in this wilderness indeed, before
we had been there long enough to get it reduced to a tolerable
state of order we were visited by the residents of that shore up
and down the river, and afterwards formed many permanent
friendships with them, among the most highly valued of which
were included numerous branches of the Jones family. So it
befell that when I was old enough to be sent away to school I
was admitted into one of those families more as a household pet
than a boarder, and was cordially invited to range freely through
the whole circle. As every separate family was blessed with
daughters near my own age, I was decidedly ' in clover ' among
them clover the luxury of which for me, who had no sister
or young companions at home, save the little squaws from a
neighboring Indian encampment, cannot possibly be conceived
by any small lassie who lives amidst abounding youthful com-
panionship. I revelled in it. Such parties as were given weekly
at one and another house ! Such multitudes of dolls as went
with us in every variety of costume ; among which my own,
large and small, figured, copper-colored and in full Indian dress,
with hair banged according to the most approved aboriginal
style which has been adopted by our modern fine ladies and
was necessary to the completion of the Indian toilet that I took
pride in arranging for them in honor of my special pets, the
papooses of the wigwams.

1 882.] A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY. 347

" Among the young- girls of the Jones connection was one
to whom I was particularly attracted, as she was to me, by the
similarity of our positions. Her father lived in a remote dis-
trict, and her home was almost as isolated as my own, while she
was with their relatives for the same purpose as myself. At
the close of each term of our school she was, as well as myself,
carried home to pass the short interval between the terms. On
one of these occasions she was so urgent in her entreaties that I
might be permitted to go with her for the vacation that my
father consented, much to my satisfaction, and we set forth in
great glee. Our journey was very delightful, through a wild
and romantic region, and I received a most cordial welcome
from her family at its close.

" The house was more elaborate in style and furniture than
our home so recently founded in the woods. A portion of it was
built by her grandfather many years before, and extensive modern
additions had been made by her father. Her grandfather died
the previous year, and his brother, a very venerable old gentle-
man with hair as white as snow, lived in the family. I was deep-
ly impressed by the countenance and manner of this grand-uncle
of my friend. An expression of unutterable sadness was stamp-
ed upon his noble features, and a gentle dignity benign to the
very verge of pity marked his whole" bearing, even to the soft-
ened tones of his manly voice, especially when addressing the
young in the few slowly-uttered but impressive words which
he seldom exceeded when speaking to them. He was very fond
of his grandniece, and, silent and reserved as he was with others,
he never tired of listening to her sprightly prattle.

" As soon as I found a proper occasion T plied her with ques-
tions as to this interesting relative, whom she had never mention-
ed when telling me about her family. She seemed slightly con-
strained when speaking of him, but told me he was a bachelor,
and that he met with a crushing affliction in his youth from
which he never recovered. With all the eager pertinacity natu-
ral to small daughters of Eve I drew from this reluctant witness
that her grandfather, Captain Jonathan Jones, and this gentle-
man, his brother Lieutenant David Jones were officers in Bur-
goyne's army during the first years of the Revolution ; that the
lieutenant was engaged to a beautiful young lady whose brother
was a stanch supporter of the American cause and opposed to her
union with the Tory officer, and that she was killed and scalped
by the Indians while going with a friend and escort to meet that
officer in the British camp at Sandy Hill not long before the

A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY. [Dec.,

surrender of Burgoyne. He was so crushed by the terrible
blow, and disgusted with the apathy of Burgoyne in refusing to
punish the miscreant who brought her scalp to the camp as a
trophy, claiming the bounty offered for such prizes by the Bri-
tish commanders, that he and his brother asked for a discharge
and were refused, when they deserted he having first rescued
the precious relic of his beloved from the savages and retired
to this Canadian wilderness, which he had never been known to
leave except upon one mysterious occasion many years before.

" She did not know the name of the lady so long and faith-
fully mourned, but when I asked her if this tragedy did not oc-
cur near Fort Edward, on the Hudson, she remembered to have
heard that place mentioned in connection with it. She said they
were all forbidden to speak in his presence of American affairs
or history, but she had once persuaded him to let her see the
mournful relic so precious to him. She described the hair as
the most beautiful she had ever seen, light auburn in color, soft
and glossy as silk, perfectly even, and a yard and a quarter in
length.

" ' Well, my dear A ,' said I, ' it so happens that I know

more about this sad affair than even yourself, who have always
lived in the house with him. When my father and mother used
to visit his oldest sister in Bennington, Vermont, they took me
with them at her special request; for, being the only daughter of
her favorite brother, she always treated me with more tender
affection than she showed towards her other nieces. Her house,
which she had long owned and occupied, was one where the of-
ficers quartered at the time of the battle of Bennington, and I re-
member the speechless awe with which I was wont to con over
and spell out the names of those officers, recorded by themselves,
on the eve of the battle, upon a pane of glass in the window with
the diamond in a ring belonging to one of their number, who
was killed in the conflict of the next day.

" My aunt's memory was a storehouse of the tales of those
times, and I never tired of listening to them. No sooner was
one finished than I teased for another, until I am sure the pa-
tience of the good dame must have been sorely tried. She knew
this young lady, whose name was Jane McCrea, and also Mrs.
McNeil, the Tory friend whom Miss McCrea was visiting at the
time of their capture by the Indians. I little thought when I
cried over the doleful story that the lover was still living, much
less that I should ever see him ! '

"^A did not dare repeat to her venerable relative what I

1 882.] A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY. 349

had told her, but she ventured to beg that I might be allowed to
see the beautiful hair of his lost love. He was deaf to her en-
treaties, assuring her that she was the only one who had or
would see it while he lived, and that he wished to have it buried
with him when he died.

" After our return to school I drew from her some facts in
relation to the mysterious journey she had mentioned his having
once taken. ' I do not know much about it,' she said. ' I heard
it from an old servant-woman of the family, who told me that
many years before I was born a stranger came there one even-
ing who appeared to be a gentleman's valet. He brought a fine-
looking, intelligent young boy with him, and inquired for my
grandfather, Captain Jonathan Jones.'

" The substance of my friend's account was that, after an in-
terview of some length with her grandfather, his brother, the
lieutenant, was called in, and the three were together in the
library during most of the night, discussing some very interest-
ing matter connected with the boy. The butler had been or-
dered to prepare refreshments in the dining-room, and Robert,
one of the waiter-boys an urchin gifted with a larger amount
of mischief and curiosity than his small frame could possibly en-
close, insomuch that they were continually overflowing, to the
annoyance of the whole household was directed to remain with-
in call to serve them when required. It was not in the nature
of this varlet that he should continue idle at his post during the
long hours of the night, and his faculties were too much on the
alert as to the subject engaging his superiors to yield to drowsi-
ness ; so, in perfect submission to his ruling instincts, he plied the
key-hole diligently for such information as it might convey to
his ear when the parties became so excited as to raise their
voices above the low tone to which most of their conversation
was confined. He gathered from these snatches that Captain
Jones was urgently entreated to perform some service for the boy
which he was very reluctant to undertake. He heard him ex-
claim vehemently : ' I will not be persuaded to receive under mv
roof the son of that detestable traitor whose treason, although
to an unrighteous cause, caused my dearest friend,, one of the
bravest and most noble officers in his majesty's service, to be
hung like a dog by the vile rebels. I should be constantly
haunted with the thought that I was nurturing a viper to sting
me when occasion offered.' His brother David said something
in reply, of which Robert heard only enough to infer that there
was a retired officer of the American army across the river who

350 A SCRAP OF UNWRITTEN HISTORY. [Dec.,

might be persuaded to do what was desired. 4 Very well,' said
the captain ; ' you can undertake the task, if you see fit, but I have
no belief that you will succeed in gaining the consent of one
who loathes the father so bitterly to take charge of the son.
Still, as he is a bachelor, he would escape the risk of exposing a
family to injurious consequences, and as sufficient provision will
be made for the support and education of the boy there will be
no pecuniary risk; it will also, no doubt, be easier, as you say, to
keep the secret of his birth in the States than here in the vicinity
of his father's retreat. You may perhaps succeed, and I wish no
harm may come of it if you do.'

"Robert heard no more, and soon after these remarks the
confab broke up and he was called to serve the refreshments in
the library.

" The lieutenant departed with the boy and his attendant the
next day. He was absent some days, and nothing further was
known as to his journey, its object and result, than was gathered
from Robert's story, which was soon circulated through the
neighborhood. It formed the basis of many conjectures and dis-
cussions among the country people and servants. These were
renewed with increased excitement when, after some months, it
was discovered that a stone cottage in the English style had been
built in the midst of a dense wilderness some miles back from a
Canadian village situated on the bank of the St. Lawrence, and
was occupied by an old man, whose sole attendant was a servant
who visited that village occasionally for supplies, but utterly re-
fused to answer the questions of the villagers or give any infor-
mation as to his master's name or history.

" I afterwards learned from other sources the further particu-
lars that at the period to which this account of my young friend
referred a settlement was rapidly forming on the American shore
opposite to this Canadian village, and that the fact that a leading
man in the newly rising community, a bachelor and retired offi-
cer of the American Revolution, had adopted a boy whose origin
was unknown, but who bore the name of a traitor most odious
to all American people, who was evidently not dependent upon
his patron for anything but care and direction, set rumor 'with
its hundred tongues ' busy connecting the youth with the mys-
terious recluse of the ' Forest Lodge ' as the place was named
by the country people and set all eyes to watching him and his
movements for any circumstance that might confirm these suspi-
cions. Hence when it became known that the boy sometimes
crossed the river and disappeared with an Indian hunter in the

1 882.] ST. CECILIA AND THE ORGAN. 351

woods under pretence of hunting the game which abounded
there, remaining upon each occasion for some days, it was taken
as ' confirmation strong as Holy Writ ' of the prevailing conjec-
tures, and he was generally regarded with increased aversion.
Despite these unfavorable influences, however, he lived and
flourished, became an enterprising, respectable citizen, and a dis-
tinguished officer in the volunteer service during the war of 1812,
his zeal and valor in the cause winning for him the public respect
and esteem so long unjustly withheld. He married a niece of
his benefactor, and they were united in their devotion to the
interests and comfort of her uncle in his old age, inheriting a
large portion of his estate at his death.

" The mystery surrounding the recluse, the problem of his
suspected identity with the notorious American traitor, and his
possible relationship with the boy in question were never solved.

" It continued for many years to be the subject of evening
gossip by rural firesides in that region, and strange stories were
told by Indian and white hunters and trappers of the startling
things they had seen and heard in the vicinity of the lonely cot-
tage long since fallen into decay both during the occupancy of
its owner and after his disappearance. Whether he died there
or left for some far-off country before his death was never
known."

ST. CECILIA AND THE ORGAN.

" Cantantibus organis Cascilia Domino decantabat dicens: Fiat cor meum immaculatura, ut non
confundar " * (Antiph. Rom. in vesp. S. Caeciliae).

CECILIA heard the organ's tuneful choir,

And from the chords of her pure heart's sweet lyre

There rose to Heaven's gates so chaste a song

Its harmony seemed not to earth belong.

The listening angels, 'raptured by the art

They knew not yet possessed by human heart,

Descending from their high celestial sphere

Again such wondrous melody to hear,

Stand round about the organ-pipes, unseen,

And with their breath awake the Harmonious Queen,

Who lifts her voice of royalty supreme

In tones of chastest rhythm. Tis thus the theme

The virgin's heart intoned th* Angelic choir prolong

Through other hearts uplifted by the organ's song.

* While the organ was playing Cecilia sang unto the Lord, saying : May my heart be unde-
nted, that I may not be confounded.

352 THE TOMB OF DANTE, AND [Dec.,

THE TOMB OF DANTE, AND HIS PORTRAIT AT

RAVENNA.*

AN ancient print of the effigy of Dante, sculptured in bas-re-
lief in marble by Pietro Lombardo upon the tomb of the poet at
Ravenna, which by chance fell into my hands in Florence, is the
occasion of this article, by which, as well as by the deposit which
I have made of the print itself in the house that was the birth-
place of Dante,f I aim to call public attention to a work which
has always received but slight care from the city to which the
monument belongs.

So as to proceed regularly and make my work more interest-
ing I think it well to state a few facts that will be new to some,
at least, in regard to this monument, from its erection to the dis-
covery of the bones of Alighieri, the date at which its last resto-
ration took place, premising that if I fall into any error, espe-
cially of omission, it will be due to the scarcity and scantiness of
the reports of the festivals and other circumstances connected
with Dante which occurred at Ravenna in June, 1865.

Every one knows how Dante, an exile from Florence and a
wanderer through Italy, finally received friendly hospitality from
Guido and Ostasio da Polenta at Ravenna ; how there, on his re-
turn from his unfortunate embassy to Venice, he suffered such
great grief at his ill-success that it was said both then and after-
wards that the affair shortened his days, so that soon after, on the
I4th of September, 1321, he died, at the age of fifty-six years and
five months. It is also true that he was denied by the Venetians
a passage by sea, and so was compelled to cross a marshy region,
to his great discomfort, contracting a fever an illness which was
aggravated, perhaps, by trouble of mind.

Guido, being particularly attached to the poet and feeling
great sorrow at his loss, like the magnificent gentleman that he
was, caused, says Boccaccio, " the body of Dante, adorned with

* Translated from an article by Eugenic Branchi, in the Rassegna Nazionale of Florence
for December, 1881.

t The house shown as the birth-placte of Dante, situated in Florence in the group of large
buildings bearing the name of Alighieri in the Via S. Martino, No. 2, has upon the architrave of its
small door the inscription, "Here was born' the divine poet." Since June 24, 1881, it has
been open periodically to the public. In September, 1875, the author of this article proposed to
the municipality to found there a Dante Museum, and to that offered to loan the print mentioned
above. Now, though the plan was carried into effect through the influence of others, the pro-
posed loan has been made.

i882.] HIS PORTRAIT AT RAVEXNA. 353

the symbols of a poet, to be laid upon a bier, and thus carried
upon the shoulders of the most respected citizens as far as the
houses of the Franciscans of Ravenna, with that honor which he
considered due to the illustrious dead, and, having followed it
thither with tokens of public mourning, had it placed in a stone
coffer, where it now lies. Then returning to the house which
Dante had previously occupied, according to the custom in Ra-
venna, he delivered a long and elaborate eulogy, expressing the
intention, if his own power and life should last, of honoring him
with so magnificent a tomb as would perpetuate his memory even
should his own merits be forgotten." This continuance of pow-
er and life was, in fact, denied him, but his wishes were carried
into effect, at least in part, by others about the year 1350.

The precise spot where the body of the poet was buried by
order of Guido, and in which in Boccaccio's time the " stone
coffer " mentioned by him was still to be found, is not known
with certainty ; perhaps Guido had it placed in some tomb of his
family in the church or cloisters of St. Francis, for he could not at
the moment, as is known from his eulogy, have a special one de-
dicated to it ; afterwards in 1350, or about that time, in the same
building belonging to the Friars Minor, either over or near the
former place of burial, under a projecting portico situated on the
right side of the church of St. Francis, there was erected, as *ve
learn from Giannozzo Manetti in his life of the poet, " a noble
and conspicuous tomb," upon "a square stone "in which were
cut these fourteen lines of verse quoted by Boccaccio :

" Theologus Dantes, nullius dogmatis expers,

Quod foveat claro philosophia sinu ;
Gloria musarum vulgo gratissimus auctor,

Hie jacet et fama pulsat utrumque polum ;
Qui loca defunctis gelidis regnumque gemellum
Distribuit logicis recthoricisque modis.

Pasqua Pieriis demum resonabat avenis :

Atrops heu ! lectum lurida rupit opus.
Huic ingrata tulit tristem Florentia fructum,

Exilium nato patria cruda suo.
Quern pia Guidonis gremio Ravenna Novelli

Gaudet honorati conticuisse Ducis.
Mille trecentis ter septem Numinis annis

Ad sua septembris idibus astra redit."

They were composed, as he tells us, by " Master Giovanni del
Virgilio, of Bologna, a very distinguished poet, who had formerly

VOL. XXXVI.-~23

354 THE TOMB' OF DANTE, AND [Dec.,

been a most intimate friend of Dante," and, having been writ-
ten by Del Virgilio in competition with others for the epigraph
desired by Guido, Boccaccio considered them the best.

As before observed, it is not known where the body of
Dante was first laid and whether the tomb of which Manetti
speaks was over or only near that spot. It seems certain, how-
ever, that the body was never removed from the stone urn in
which it was at first deposited, and that that urn is the same in
which the newly-discovered bones were recently placed by the
municipality of Ravenna. Even after the inspection of the urn
made in 1865, when it was found to show unquestioned marks
that it had contained a corpse until it became reduced to a
skeleton, as well as fragments of laurel leaves with which Gui-
do would have been certain to adorn the brow of the dead poet,
some doubt has been expressed whether this was the original
urn. In support of the Contrary opinion, besides what has been
already mentioned, there is the absence of all record of a trans-
fer and the constant custom among our ancestors of respecting
the material receptacle of the dead even more than their bones.
But it is certain that after the expulsion of the Polentani from
Ravenna, and when the city had come under the rule of Venice,
the Venetian governor in 1483, Bernardo Bembo, father of Car-
dinal Pietro a man fond of literature, and especially of poetry
finding the tomb of the divine poet so fallen into decay that its
very site was scarcely known, moved either by indignation or
pity for all Italians, repolished the few pieces of marble which
decorated it, and then erected at his own expense a more suita-
ble and honorable monument, which was designed and executed
by Pietro Lombardo.* According to the design of this artist
the urn was covered by a marble arch, and above it was sculp-
tured in mezzo-rilievo the figure of the poet ; still higher up,
under the centre of the arch, was a laurel crown or garland of
laurel around the motto, " Virtuti et Honori," which was per-
haps the honorable emblem chosen at first by Guido and adorn-
ed the remaining fragments of Parian and African marble.
Upon the pedestal supporting the urn Bembo substituted for
the ancient inscription by Del Virgilio the one which may still
be read there, and which is as follows :

* Pietro Lombardo was a Venetian architect and sculptor, and flourished in the fifteenth
century. Many grand works of this artist are still objects of admiration in Venice, among the
principal of which are the church of SS. John and Paul, the church of the Carthusians, and the
clock-tower in the Piazza of St. Mark. He died in 1515.

1 882.] HIS PORTRAIT AT RAVENNA. 355

"S. V. F.

"Jura Monarchiae, Superos, Flegetonta, Lacusque
Lustrando cecini, voluerant fata quousque ;
Sed quia pars cessit milioribus hospita castris,
Auctoremque suum petiit feliciter astris,
Hie claudor Dantes, patriis extorris ab oris,
Quern genuit parvi Florentia mater amoris." *

It has been erroneously supposed that these lines were com-
posed by Dante for himself, the letters S. V. F. denoting " sibi
vivens fecit," but the theory has been completely refuted by an
accurate modern author, a friend of my own.f Finally, at the
right of the urn, to show how ignoble was the place in which
the sacred ashes had so long remained neglected, Bembo in-
scribed the following rhapsody, which still exists :

" Exigua tumuli Dantes hie sorte jacebas,

Squallenti nulli cognite pene situ ;
At nunc marmoreo subnixus conderis area

Omnibus et cultu splendidore nites.
Nimirum Bembus musis incensus etruscis,

Hoc tibi, quern in primis hoc coluere dedit.
Anno salutis MCCCCLXXXIII. VI. Kal. Jun.

Bernardus Bembus Praet. xre suo pos."

Ravenna having become subject to the pontifical govern-
ment, the monument of Dante was more than ever disregarded
and forgotten, as his Divina Commedia was likewise disregard-
ed, to the extreme loss and utter disgrace of Italy. But when,
on their arrival in Ravenna, Cardinal Domenico Corsi, legate
of Emilia, and Giovanni Salviati, prolegate, both Florentines,
saw the walls and also the work of Lombardo in ruins and the
monument left to itself in a wretched neighborhood, as if to
appease the shade of the great poet and reconcile it with his
country, as they expressed themselves, they took measures to
have the monument itself restored at the public expense in 1692,
and in memory of the event placed this inscription upon the
space to the left of the urn :

* The letters S. V. F. have been interpreted " sibi vivens fecit." But, the theory that Dante
wrote this inscription for himself being- excluded, these letters might mean, according to Frati-
celli, "suovixit fato," or perhaps " salve, vive felix," or even "senatus venetus fecit." In the
Commento di Benvenuto da Imola, at the third line, instead of " hospita castris " we read " hos- .
pita terris," and at the fourth " reddit " instead of " petiit " ; but these must be errors not infre-
quent among the copyists of the codices, for in the first case the rhyme would be lost by remov-
ing "castris," and the verb "petiit," if the epitaph were Dante's, would express the mind of the
author much better than " reddit " ever could.

t Pietro Fraticelli, who died in Florence December 18, 1860.

356 THE TOMB OF DANTE, AND [Dec.,

" Exulem a Florentia Danthem
Liberalissime excepit Ravenna,

Vivo fruens, mortuo colons.
Magnis cineribus licet in parvo magnifici parentarunt

Polentani Principes erigendo,

Bembus praetor luculentius extruendo

Pretiosum Musis et Apollini mausoleum,

Quod injuria temporum pene squallens,

Emo. Dominico Maria Cursio legato,

Joanne Salviato prolegato,

Magni civis cineres patriae reconciliare,

Cultus perpetuitate curantibus.

S. P. Q. R.
Jure ac sere suo

Tanquam thesaurum suum munivit instauravit ornavit
Anno Domini MDCXCII."

Cardinal Luigi Valenti-Gonzaga afterwards replaced this, as we
shall see, by another.

Notwithstanding all this, the famous tomb again dropped out
of notice, until long after, in 1780, the above-mentioned Cardinal
Valenti-Gonzaga, a Mantuan, legate a latere of Emilia, and per-
haps one of the very few who then read Dante, horrified to see
the sepulchre of so great a man neglected and falling into ruin,
commissioned Cammillo Morigia, a celebrated Ravennese archi-
tect, to restore it, and to render this sanctuary suitable for its
purpose by a new and much grander design. Morigia, scrupu-
lously preserving the sculpture and ornaments of Lombardo,
and perhaps even his plan, gave the tomb the form of an elegant
shrine supported upon a base 3,496 metres square and covered
by a hemispherical cupola. The fagade is rectangular and ter-
minates in an obtuse-angled remeato. The entrance-door, to
which one ascends by three steps, and which bears upon its
architrave the legend, " Sepulcrum Dantis Poetae," is also rectan-
gular, surmounted by a semicircular opening which admits light
into the tomb. In the door-posts at the sides are two small oval
openings protected by grating, which allow the visitor a view ot
the interior ; within, opposite to the door, rises the monument
such as it was planned by Lombardo.* Tablets of marble are
set in the side-walls ; the one on the right bears the following in-
scription :

* Three years after Morigia had completed his work that is, in 1783 the Florentine engrav-
ers Benedetto Eredi and G. Batista Cocchi published a copper-plate engraving of the plan, the
facade, and a section of the interior of Dante's shrine, with a view of the urn. This is consid-
ered a very valuable work.

1 882.] HIS PORTRAIT AT RAVENNA. 357

" Danti Aligherio
poetae sui temporis primo
Restitutori politioris humanitatis

Guido et Hostasius Polentani
client! et hospiti peregre defuncto

monumentum fecerunt.

Bernardus Bembus prastor venet. Ravenn.

pro mentis ejus ornatu excoluit.

Aloisius Valentius Gonzaga Card.

Leg. Prov. ./Emil.
Superiorum temporum negligentia corruptum

operibus ampliutis
munificentia sua restituendam

curavit,
Anno MDCCLXXX."

This, composed by Morcelli and referring to the last changes in
the monument, was substituted for that of Salviati by Cardinal
Valenti- Gonzaga, so that upon the base of the monument we
have the inscription by Del Virgilio, on one wall that of Bembo,
on the other that of Cardinal Valenti-Gonzaga. The rest of the
shrine is decorated with elegant stuccoes, executed and arrang-
ed in a masterly manner, among which may be noted, in the
radiating work under the cupola, four medallions by Luigi
Gabiani da Lugano representing Virgilio, Brunette Latini, Can
Grande della Scala, and Guido da Polenta, all executed, as I be-
lieve, by direction of Morigia.

This mausoleum, then, by which toward the close of the
fifteenth century the bones of Alighieri were honored, or at least
more suitably distinguished, remained, except at distant intervals,
until our own day disregarded and forgotten.

Finally in the nineteenth century, the study of the vernacular
having revived in Italy and veneration for the divine poet being
thus rekindled when his prophecies of national unity were ful-
filled, Florence first of all, as was fitting, proposed to celebrate a
secular festival in honor of her greatest citizen, and thus com-
memorate the sixth centenary of his birth, occurring November
14, 1863. The generous and honorable suggestion was approved
by all ; and as the principal exercises of the day were to take
place upon the Piazza di San Croce, in front of the Pantheon, in
which are either the tombs or cenotaphs of many of the most
illustrious Italians, where also was to be raised a colossal statue
of the poet, the city government asked once more from Ravenna,
as had been asked several times before, that the ashes of Ali-
ghieri might be given up and placed in this Pantheon, and thus

358 THE TOMB OF DANTE, AND [Dec.,

satisfy the oft-expressed desire of the illustrious exile that he
might at some time return to his beloved Florence. But this
time, too, the attempt was unsuccessful. The urn erected by
Bembo had been empty for about two centuries, so that even if
the Ravennese had entertained different sentiments from those
expressed in their refusal they would not have been able to
comply with the request. It cannot be said, either, that the
emptiness of the urn was unknown. The burial-place of Dante,
in spite of the general indifference, must, in the course of so long
a period, have attracted many from curiosity or veneration, and
to many of these, as I learned in 1859 fro m Pietro Fraticelli, the
absence of Dante's remains from the urn was known. Meanwhile,
as the festival at Florence was much talked of, Ravenna too pre-
pared to receive visitors on the occasion ; and so in removing an
old wall which once belonged to the convent and church of St.
Francis, in order to widen and improve a little street, called
Braccioforte, leading to the square of the same name and to the
shrine where the bones of the bard of the three states were said
to have formerly rested, there were fortunately discovered at
ten o'clock in the morning of May 26, 1865, these very bones,
which, as I have remarked, had disappeared about two centuries
before, leaving no .trace.

Great, as may be supposed, was the exultation of the Raven-
nese at such an announcement, and they manifested it when, the
secular festival at Florence being ended, there came in its turn
that which Ravenna must necessarily celebrate before all Italy,
both for her own honor and his who so well deserved it.

The precious relics were enclosed in a little pine box (seven-
ty-seven centimetres long, twenty-eight centimetres four mil-
limetres wide, thirty centimetres high) roughly put together,
with an inscription written in black ink on the inside of the
cover :

" Dantis ossa

denuper revisa die 3* Junii
1677,"

and with another, similar in appearance, on the outside where it
rested upon the wall :

" Dantis ossa
a me Fre. Antonio Santi

hie posita
ano 1677 die 18 octobris."

The first explanation of the matter that offers seems easy, and
has been made and supported by many. In the seventeenth cen-

1 882.] HIS PORTRAIT AT RAVENNA. 359

tury, especially toward its close, when Ravenna was under the
temporal power of the church, and as the officers of the temporal
power could hardly be expected to approve the principles con-
tained in Delia MonarcJiia, it was to be feared that what had
happened in similar cases might occur again and the bones of
the divine poet would be taken from their resting-place and
publicly burned and scattered to the winds ; and therefore the
good Franciscan friar under the cellar of whose convent the
bones were kept took them out of the urn and assigned them
some new and secret place, countersigning them with a record
by which he flattered himself they would at some time or other
be recovered and recognized as indeed proved true and not,
perhaps, giving us any cause to "blame him for not leaving any
oral or written record for use after his death, or because the re-
cords of the convent were not preserved, or, if preserved, were
not searched with the care demanded by so important a fact as
the emptiness of the tomb. But recently it has been held, with
some reason, that, for the causes just explained or for others, the
Franciscan friars had long before taken out the bones of the poet
from the stone coffer, and had kept the precious treasure jealously
hidden, consigning them to the successive proctors of their con-
vent ; and as it has been discovered that Fra Santi took this office
in 1677,* it is thought that, having become custodian of these
bones, after having required some identification, as may be gath-
ered from the words " denuper revisa " in the first inscription, he
authenticated the deposit by his own declaration signed with his
name in the second both written in his well-known hand and
that, either through some different arrangement of the heads of
chapters or the unexpected death of Santi, they were not after-
wards removed from the spot where he had placed them. How-
ever this may be, the bones immediately upon their discovery
were submitted to the inspection of experts in the structure of
the human body. After arranging them in their natural order
the experts decided that to complete the skeleton, in addition to
the large bones which will be mentioned, some small ones were
wanting, especially a few phalanges (the second and third of one
hand) ; but some little bones found in the urn from which Fra
Santi, or some one before him, had removed the others were be-
lieved by the experts to be the missing portions of the skeleton
they had examined.f

* Researches in regard to Father Santi have shown that he was the son of Leonardo Santi
and Isabella Ingoli ; that he was born in Ravenna August 5, 1644, received the Franciscan
habit before 1672, was made guardian of his convent in 1700, and died in 1703.

t The experts who conducted the anatomico-physiological examination were Profs. Giovanni

360 THE TOMB OF DANTE, AND [Dec.,

The skeleton being- thus reconstructed, the government of
Ravenna appointed the 24th, 25th, and 26th days of June, 1865,
for solemnly displaying these relics of the great poet, and replac-
ing them in the urn and then in the shrine bearing the name of
Dante.

The city was draped after the modern custom, and there is
no need to say that from all parts of Italy, and even from beyond
the Alps, there was a vast concourse.

Opposite the shrine upon the Piazza di Braccioforte had
been raised a mortuary chapel surrounded by balustrades, in the
middle of which was placed a well-arranged sarcophagus of
glass.

At eight o'clock on the morning of June 24 the skeleton of
the poet was placed in this sarcophagus, and covered with a
white veil which was to be removed during the performance of
the solemn ceremony ; at noon the tolling of the great bell an-
nounced that the representatives of the city government, fol-
lowed by the others of the kingdom, the prefect of the province,
the Minister of Public Instruction, Count Serego Alighieri, the
last living scion of the poet's family,* and other distinguished
men, were moving from the city- hall to do honor to the remains
of the greatest of Italians. Passing through the streets previous-
ly chosen, the cortege reached the little square marked by the
shrine of Dante and the mortuary chapelle ardente, around which
all took their positions ; the Minister of Public Instruction, the
prefect, the provincial deputation, the deputation from the Histo-
rical Society of Italy, the delegates from Florence, with Count
Serego Alighieri, the syndic of Ravenna, and Prof. Giovan
Batista Giuliani, the most luminous of Dante's commentators,
were admitted into the chapel within which, through the four
open sides protected, as has been said, by balustrades, the urn was
visible to all.

The syndic of Ravenna, in the midst of general applause, re-
moved the veil which covered it, and the venerated relics ap-
peared. All present composed themselves to a reverent de-
meanor, and a profound silence succeeded, in the midst of which
the gonfalonier of Florence and the syndic of Ravenna laid two
garlands at the sides of the urn. The venerated remains were

Paglioli and Claudio Bertozzi, assisted by Prof. Luigi Paganucci, lecturer on pictorial anatomy
in the Institute for Advanced Students in the Higher Branches in Florence.

* The male line from Dante failed at the fourth remove with Piero. But the female line
was continued by Ginevra, who, marrying in 1549 the Count Marc' Antonio Serego of Verona,
transmitted both honored names Serego and Alighieri to her descendants.

1 882.] HIS PORTRAIT AT RAVENNA. 361

then apostrophized by the latter, followed by Prof. Giuliani, and
this part of the festival ended.

The following day was devoted to visits to the sarcophagus of
the poet from various societies and delegates, who all offered the
tribute of a garland.

The third and last day, June 26, was dedicated to the new en-
tombment of the bones. The mournful ceremony was long. The
skeleton having been taken apart in the presence of the city offi-
cials of Ravenna and the delegates from Florence, three notaries,
and seven witnesses, the bones were placed anew by the syndic
in Fra Sand's casket, and this, enclosed in a walnut case covered
with sheets of lead, was deposited in the marble urn of Bembo,
which was quickly covered and walled around, not, however,
before there had been laid in the urn itself a glass tube contain-
ing a roll of parchment bearing a record of the facts just nar-
rated.*

In regard to the finding of the bones concealed by Fra Santi,
and the subsequent observances until they were restored to their
former position, regular documents and statements were drawn
up, of which latter I think it will not be useless to introduce here
as it stands the report of the experts who examined and compar-
ed the bones. It is as follows :

"The bones which belong to the corpse of Dante are well preserved,
are of a dull red color, and are strong, not breaking when taken up even
by one extremity. Excepting some few bones which are missing and which
will be mentioned, the skeleton consists of these : cranium lower maxilla
wanting; in the upper maxilla all the teeth are wanting, as well as the
right styloid apophysis ; twenty-three vertebrae the atlas wanting; twenty-
three ribs one false rib on the right wanting ; two scapulae ; two clavicles ;

* The following is the record mentioned in the text :

RAVENNA, June 26, 1865.

On the zyth day of May, 1865, the bones of Dante, which had been believed to be in the
marble urn within the shrine erected by Cardinal Valenti, were discovered in the front wall of
Braccioforte, in a small wooden box in which they were concealed on the i8th of October, 1677,
by Father Antonio Santi, of the Friars Minor who occupied the neighboring convent.

On the 7th day of June the marble urn was officially opened and there were found three
phalanges which were missing from the little box and were recognized as belonging to the bones
of Dante.

On the 24th and 25th days of June the sacred relics were exposed for public veneration in
Braccioforte, and were visited by a vast throng of citizens and strangers from every part of
Italy.

On the 26th day of June, with great solemnities, the bones of the divine poet were replaced
by the municipality of Ravenna in the marble urn within the shrine of Dante.

Public records were made of the finding of the bones, their arrangement and preservation,
their exposition and entombment, by the notaries Rambelli Vincenzo, Malagola Saturnine, and
Bondazzi Pietro, on the 27th of last May and on the 6th, 7th, nth, 22d, 24th, and 26th of the
present month.

362 THE TOMB OF DANTE, AND [Dec.,

os joide ; tyroid cartilage ; two humeri ; two radii ; the two ulnae are want-
ing ; of the two hands there are only two large bones and the uncinato ;
sternum in two pieces, with the ensiform cartilage ossified ; sacrum the
coccyx wanting ; two ossa innominata ; two femora ; two tibia? ; one fibula
the right is wanting ; two patellae ; two ossa calcis ; one astragalus the
right is wanting ; three cuneiform, middle, large, and small the three cunei-
form of the right foot are wanting ; two cuboid ; five bones of the meta-
tarsus ; six bones of the phalanges of the feet the right is wanting to com-
plete the feet.

" Height : from the top of the skull to the os calcis.'one metre, fifty-five
centimetres, fifty-five millimetres.

"This measure was obtained by connecting the vertebrae with a coarse
brass wire, so that their articulating surfaces should rest one upon another
in the natural order, and then placing the cranium at the upper extremity,
leaving a gap for the missing atlas.

"At their lower extremity was placed the sacrum, and in connection
with it the os innominatum of the right side, and in the cotyloid cavity of
the latter the head of the femur, and to this was joined the tibia with the
astragalus and os calcis."

If to this measure of the skeleton we add the soft parts it may be
said to represent in the living subject a height of 1.65 or 1.67
metres ; and contemporary writers have mentioned that this
greatest of poets was of middle stature.

Not to mention, then, the shrine which encloses it, and the
surroundings, of which enough has been said, the actual tomb
of Dante is that erected by Bembo close to the church wall, and
consists of the urn having on its base or pedestal the inscription
given above, " S. V. F., Jura Monarchias, etc.," and at the top the
bas-relief with the figure of Dante two-thirds of the size of life. In
it the poet is represented his head crowned with laurel, his eyes
fixed upon a volume lying upon a reading-desk ; his left hand
supports his chin ; with the right he rests upon a low table.
Above is a garland enclosing the words already given, " Virtuti
et Honori."

To come now to the second and last subject which gave oc-
casion to this article, and passing over the discussion upon the
authenticity of the portrait of Dante in the Palazzo del Podesta
at Florence, attributed to Giotto. This portrait was introduced
by the centenary itself, and reported in the journal of that name,
and it gave rise to the most exact and detailed disquisitions,
which ended in its deserved rank being established as nearest to
the epoch in which Dante lived, and as the normal type.* Yet

* A sonnet by Antonio Pucci, a contemporary of Dante and Giotto, published in Pisa,
January 15, 1868, on the occasion of the Bongi-Romanelli wedding, by the celebrated Prof. Ales-
sandro, of Ancona, would confirm the opinion generally received that the portrait of Dante in

1 882.] HIS PORTRAIT AT RAVENNA. 363

this portrait represents him in youth, and it therefore still re-
mains to be discovered what he was as an adult that is, in the
full vigor of manhood and near the end of his life.

Upon this matter, too, with the help of what Boccaccio wrote,
the researches and comparisons, as we may learn from the
centenary, were not few. They extended to engravings in the
different editions of his works, sketches in fresco or on canvas,
reliefs in wood, clay, and plaster ; but none of these was available
for what was desired that is, to determine which of them all was
to be held as the true likeness ; for some belonged to a time more
or less distant from that in which Dante lived and flourished ;
others did not seem designed to portray exclusively and to the
life the features of the poet, but rather the ideal or fancy of the
artist ; and in all the resemblance to the acknowledged type was
uncertain.

We must, then, under the circumstances, conclude that he
who first after Giotto, or some unknown artist in his stead,
attempted to produce a representation of the poet, especially in
Ravenna, where he died, and where memorials of him would be
sure to be preserved on account of Polenta's friendship, would
not be likely to fall into inaccuracies in his work. This was
Pietro Lombardo ; and we can have the more confidence in
him because he received his commission from such a patron
as Bembo, who, when he wished to have represented upon the
tomb the true lineaments of the poet, or such as were then sup-
posed most nearly true, would certainly have made every effort
to discover them by letters and by the various means which
were at his disposal in Ravenna and elsewhere for in Florence
he must have seen his portrait, then still in existence * and upon

the Palazzo del Podesta in Florence is the work of Giotto, if it indicated the location of the pic-
ture that it celebrates. This is the sonnet :

" Questo che veste di color sanguigno,
Posto seguente alle merite sante,
Dipinse Giotto in figura di Dante,
Che di parole fe si bell'ordigno.
E come par nell'abito benigno,
Cosi nel mondo fu con tutte quante
Quelle virtu, ch' onoran chi davante
Le porta con affetto nello scrigno.
Diritto paragon fu di s"entenze :
Col braccio manco awinchia la scrittura,
Perche signoreggi6 molte scienze
E '1 suo parlar fu con tanta misura,
Che 'ncorond la citti di Firenze
Di pregio, onde ancor fama le dura.
Perfetto di fattezze e qui dipinto,

Com'a sua vita fu di carne cinto."

* Five years before he commissioned Lombardo to reconstruct the tomb of Dante, Bernardo
Bembo had been Venetian ambassador to Florence. At that time there were to be seen portraits
of the poet in the Palazzo del Podesta and upon a partition in the church of Santa Croce, where
Taddeo Gaddi had painted it, and which had not then been destroyed.

364 THE TOMB OF DANTE. [Dec.,

these the artist would not have failed to model his work. Some
years ago the city government of Florence, adopting this view,
had an engraving made from the work of Lombardo, which
cannot now be found.* And if Cinelli, in his Memoirs of Floren-
tine Authors, states truly that the head or mask of Dante was
taken by the archbishop of Ravenna from the place of his
burial to be given to Giambologna, and, after having been trans-
ferred to Tacca, was unhappily lost if, I repeat, we can be sure
of the existence of this cast, which is said to have been taken by
order of Guido from the face of the dead poet, even then we
cannot doubt that Bembo and Lombardo would have made use
of it in the way of comparison with other portraits.

These few reasons seem to me to afford valid ground for
believing, with that moral certainty which is all the matter ad-
mits, .that the typical portrait of Alighieri in his mature age is
that sculptured in bas-relief by Lombardo, of which, as I have
said, I possess a very rare print. In fact, we see in the bas-relief
under discussion those characteristic features which we notice,
though in less marked proportions by reason of youth, in the
portrait attributed to Giotto, and which Boccaccio describes,
telling us that Dante's face was long, his nose aquiline, his eyes
large rather than small, his jaws large with the under lip pro-
truding beyond the upper. We perceive, too, that melancholy
and thoughtfulness mentioned by Algurotti, of which Certaldese
adds that " after he arrived at maturity he was always of a
thoughtful and melancholy countenance." The diminished pro-
jection of the under lip alone must be a variation made by the
sculptor either through caprice or the desire to avoid the ap-
pearance of caricature, which the combination of an aquiline nose
and a projecting lower lip would be likely to produce, as may
be seen in many so-called likenesses of the poet to be met with
in various places. In any case the characteristics of Dante are
completely expressed in the work of Lombardo, which also
shows the costume and the poetic garland with which his brow
is wreathed, and the vajo, or short cloak emblem, perhaps, of
wisdom as scholar or magistrate, of the high rank which he held

*Gaspero Martinetti-Cardoni, in his historical memoir entitled Dante Alighieri in Ravenna,
remarks : " Many years ago the Florentine government, wishing to have the best possible like-
ness of the poet, and knowing no work which could equal that of Lombardo, had a plate care-
fully engraved from his bas-relief, in order to have in more convenient form the beloved sem-
blance of the Homer of Italy."

It might be supposed that the engraving which is the subject of this article was that ordered
by the Florentine government and spoken of by Martinetti-Cardoni, were it not that it bears
upon the reverse the seal of an unknown private family.

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 365

in Florence, or of the honorable embassies with which he was
more than once entrusted ; so that I come back to this same
point, that, as long as there are no positive proofs or more certain
data as to the authenticity of alleged portraits of the divine
poet, that which was sculptured upon his tomb by order of
Bembo must be held as least uncertain for his advanced age.

The portrait in my possession was taken in oval form, so that
it only includes so much of the figure of the poet as can be in-
cluded within such an oval, and the few cracks and stains which
may be seen upon it are such and so many as are to be found at
present upon the original in Ravenna.

Having thus satisfied my own wish, and perhaps the curiosity
of any whose patience may have carried them thus far, it only
remains to beg them to supply my deficiencies with their in-
dulgence.

A BRAVE LIFE.

A STORY OF RUSSIAN POLAND.*

PRELUDE.

A LONG summer evening late in summer or early in autumn
in Russian Poland, the yellow sun slanting from the west over
rolling fields of yellow corn and playing hide-and-seek in the few

trees and hedge-rows that surrounded the little hamlet of O .

A cool breeze rippled over the tall heads of corn, tossing them
to and fro like a billowy sea. Under the shade of a spreading
oak sat two children ; the boy's cap and the girl's kerchief were
on their laps, full of berries. Sunburnt, strong, healthy village
children they were. The girl might otherwise have been pale ;
she had dark blue eyes with black lashes, thick black eyebrows,
and a square red mouth ; the boy was dark, with a sunny smile
and a thick thatch of black-brown hair. Their berry-hunting
had been successful and they were very merry. At length the
girl looked up at the western sky.

" See there, Ivan," she said ; " the sun is getting low. Mother
will be looking out for me. Let us tie up the berries, and I must
go. What a good day we have had ! Only I hope Black Bolis

* The main incident a true.

366 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

may not meet me. He frightens me always, and perhaps he
would take my berries." " That he shall not," said Ivan proudly.
" I g-o with you to the garden. Bolis will not meddle with me."
" Indeed ! " said a sneering voice ; and a big, sharp-faced lad
suddenly jumped out from the hedge and with a quick pounce
emptied the boy's cap into his Own and ran away. Ivan jumped
up. " O Ivan ! " cried Olga, throwing her arm round his, " do
not leave me. Perhaps he will come back again. See, there
are some left," she said, taking up the cap, " and you shall have
half of mine. Do not go after him. Though he is a coward he
is so much bigger than you, and you might get hurt. And your
father does not like fighting. Ah ! look, there comes Father
Sylvester ; now you cannot go." And both children ran for-
ward to kiss the priest's hand.

Father Sylvester was a young man, pale and quiet, with a
somewhat pensive look. People said he came of a family which
had had troubles. His father had been shot for refusing to con-
form to the Orthodox Church and receive its baptism on .one
occasion when a regiment of Cossacks had been sent to his vil-
lage on a mission of wholesale conversion ; and his mother died
broken-hearted, worn out with grief, persecution, and terror.
The boy had been taken away by relations, and sent later to a
seminary in Prussian Poland, and, when ordained to the priest-
hood, chose to return to the post of hardship among his own peo-
ple. He led a silent and retired life. No one thought him a
saint, but he was respected by all as a good parish priest. Being
familiar with none and reserved in his ways, no one knew him
very well. But the children of the village were fond of him
and the sick all praised him. His flock, however, trusted him
and were proud to have so pious a priest. He smiled now on
the children and asked, What had they been doing ? They
showed their berries.

" Why, how comes it Ivan has so few ? " asked he. " Has he
eaten them all, then, or did he find less than you, little one? "

" No, he found more, father," said Olga, " but some one took
them away from him while we were talking."

Just then the Angelus rang out.

" God bless you, my children ! " said the priest. " It is time,
is it not, to go home now ? "

And they went away together, hand-in-hand. Returning
home, the priest passed Black Bolis. But he did not wait to be
spoken to ; he slunk away on the other side of the hedge. There
he ate some of Ivan's berries, and, counting the remainder, tied

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 367

them up in a handkerchief and hid them, when he went in, in a
corner of his room in one of the biggest farm-houses near O .

CHAPTER I.

TEN years after. The same village, the same priest, the same
long fields, the same summer sun. But Ivan is nineteen now,
the strongest, merriest, and handsomest young fellow in the vil-
lage, the best shot, the best rider, the best wrestler, the best
dancer some say. He helps his father on his farm, the largest in

O except that of Black Bolis. Black Bolis, whose father is

dead, has the farm now, and lends money, too. He is the richest
peasant for some miles round, but his riches do not seem to make
him very happy. His wolfish face has a restless look ; his narrow,
cunning eyes never seem to smile. He seems always sullen ; his
brow is always lowering. But every one knows him, and, if none
like him, few venture to speak out their feeling, for too many
peasants' names are on his books. They are more or less in his
power and feel it needful to propitiate him. Among these is Ol-
ga's father, a small peasant proprietor. He had long been down
for a loan made by Bolis' father, which had never been paid
off as to the principal, and the heavy interest of which he did
not always find it easy yearly to meet. Black Bolis, however,
had shown unusual patience, and, whilst indulging in pretty fre-
quent reminders of the length of time the debt had run on, had
never yet shown signs of resorting to extreme measures. But
he hung about the house, to the terror of its women, who dis-
liked and feared him, and kept up a kind of intimate acquain-
tance with Olga's father, drinking with him occasionally at the vil-
lage inn. Those were days which Olga dreaded, and her mother
also. Peter came home sullen, irritable, and perplexed, having
drunk more than he should have done, and for weeks after would
be morose and violent. Nothing the women could do would
please him. But Olga's patient mother, Catherine, bore all in si-
lence. No one heard her complain. She worked from light till
dark, and Olga with her, and her younger sister, Marietta, too.
Between them all they kept the wolf from the door and paid off
the yearly interest of the debt. Olga, moreover, had her bright
days ; for, bringing the cows home in the evening, Ivan Ivanovich
would meet her, and they had kept up their childish friendship.
He brought her flowers to wear on feast-days, and Olga knew
her mother liked Ivan. Who did not like Ivan in the village ?

368 A BRA VE LIFE. [Dec.,

He was the general favorite, and, gay as he was, he was good as he
was gay. No one had ever missed him from Mass. Indeed, he
generally served the Masses on festivals. He was the pattern as
well as the pride of the hamlet. Black Bolis shunned him. But
there were no business transactions between them, for Ivan's
father was one of the few fortunate peasants who had never bor-
rowed on his farm, and was in debt to no one and fairly pros-
perous to boot. But Olga was now nearly seventeen, and Black
Bolis was beginning to press for his money.

Again a summer evening. It was a Saturda}'. The girls, Olga
and Marietta, had just driven the cows into the byre when a hand
reached over the paling, holding a bunch of sweet-smelling flow-
ers. Olga looked up and met the smiling eyes of Ivan. " Some
for you and some for Marietta," he laughed. " Will you wear
them ?" She smiled assent. " Then I shall look to see to-mor-
row," he said.

The girls nodded and, with a good-night, ran smiling home.
Their father was there already, but went out noisily when they
came in ; their mother's face look troubled. She followed them
into the inner room. "Olga, my little one," she said, "do you
know what your father has been telling me? He is gone up to
the inn to meet Black Bolis " Here she paused, as if she did
not well know how to continue. " Olga, my child, he has told
your father he wishes to marry and he has asked for you."

" O mother ! " screamed Marietta, " Black Bolis ?" Olga's face
had blanched. She looked into her mother's eyes. " My child,"
said Catherine, " what can I do? We cannot go against your fa-
ther. And he will -cancel the debt and take you without a
dowry." "O mother, mother!" cried Olga, and, laying her
head on her mother's shoulder, she burst into tears. The thing
she feared had come, but she felt now there was something in
life that would be yet worse, when once she should be in Black
Bolis' power his wife, never able to free herself again never.
She was a brave girl, but her heart sank at the thought.

All that night she lay awake thinking. There might be one
way only one. When morning dawned she lay and waited
waited till Marietta should wake. Then she took her into her
confidence. Marietta loved Black Bolis no better than she did,
and she loved her sister. " Marietta," she said " Marietta,
speak low. If I could speak to Ivan ! There is nothing else to
be done nothing. I must see him very soon or it will be too
late. Black Bolis will be here this evening. O Marietta!
what shall I do if I am ever his wife ? How can I bear it ? I

i882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 369

think I shall die of fear in the church." "I would as soon
marry a wolf," said Marietta. " I wish I were a man, and I
would soon settle it. But you shall see Ivan. Perhaps he can
do something." " Down by the copse," said Olga, " under the
yew-tree. You will come with me, heart's darling. I do not think
mother will forbid us. But I will tell her before we go. I must
say good-by. ' If Ivan can do nothing, then it will be good-by."
" Do you tell mother," said Marietta, " and leave the rest to me."

Olga told her mother, who had not the heart to forbid this to
her child. She knew Olga and trusted her, and she loved Ivan,
as all did, and had hoped he might be her son-in-law. Perhaps
things might yet be well. But she would ask the priest's advice
and prayers, for he knew his people well, and perhaps he could
give counsel. He was fond of Ivan, and he knew as much of
Black Bolis as any one in the village, and perhaps more, though
Bolis shunned him. People even said he had not made his Eas-
ter lately. So Catherine and Olga both knelt in the confessional
that morning, and both came away calmed and strengthened.
Meanwhile Marietta managed to give her message, and in the
long afternoon the two girls went together towards the little
copse where the old yew-tree grew, " They must be back
soon," their mother said. There would be no time for long ex-
planations. When they got there Ivan was waiting ; he came
hurriedly forward. Olga stood still.

" Good-evening, Ivan," she said. " My mother gave me
leave to tell you Bolis Borovich has asked my father for me."
Ivan broke into an exclamation. " You know my father owes
him fifty roubles," she went on, " and he will cancel the debt if
he marries me, and take no dowry, and my father is going to say
yes." " And you have said yes, Olga ? " exclaimed Ivan indig-
nantly. " It will not matter what I say," cried Olga. " You
know whether I love Black Bolis. But my father owes him the
money, and of what use will it be for me to say no ? He will sell
the farm ; we shall be turned out of our house ; my father and mo-
ther and Marietta will starve before my eyes. Do you think my
father will allow that ? What am I to do ? Look here, Ivan.
If it were not a sin I would lie in the depths of that black pool
sooner than be Bolis' wife." " And if / ask your father for you,
Olga, as I was waiting to do ? " said Ivan. " Why not I as well
as Bolis ? " " Yes, if there were not the debt," remarked Mari-
etta. " Listen! " cried Ivan. " My father will do this for me. If
we sell some of our cattle I could pay the debt. How would it
be then, Olga ? "

VOL. XXXVI. 24

3/o A BRAVE LIFE. ' [Dec.

" My father might consent," she answered ; " and if my father
consented, Ivan, I should consent too."

" Be quick, then, Ivan," said Marietta. " He comes this
evening. Get your father's consent quickly. There is no time
to lose." " Now we must be gone," said Olga. " My mother is
waiting for us. I shall not see you again, Ivan, till you have
spoken to my father." " Don't fear, Olga; don't *fear! My fa-
ther will do this for me. We will outwit Black Bolis yet.
Good-night, Olga; good-night, Marietta." And they parted.

They had time to tell their mother all before supper. She
spoke then to their father. She had told Olga, she said. But
he must give her a little time. She was young yet and was
startled by the news ; and then he knew Black Bolis was not
liked in the village, and Olga naturally feared him. She begged
him to settle nothing that evening, but to say Bolis should have
his answer in a week's time. Olga could not see him to-night.
Peter was cross and hard to deal with ; but she persuaded him at
length, and he consented to a week's delay. Then the girls
danced for joy in the inner room, and for once they all heard
with delight Black Bolis carry their father off to the inn.

CHAPTER II.

THE parish priest sat in his little room after the Sunday
Vespers, resting from the long services of the day. The heat
had been oppressive in the little church, and he was somewhat
weary. It wanted about a fortnight to the feast of the Assump-
tion. It was nearly five years now since he had come, quite
young, to that his first parish. How quietly those years had
passed, and somewhat slowly! He had been very solitary. The
parishes in that part were large and scattered, and he seldom saw
a brother priest. But his life had been peaceful. He had borne
the burden of each day faithfully, and laid it down each night
before the altar. He had no very great troubles. The sorest
spot in his heart was the thought of Black Bolis. Better than
any one he knew not only his evil nature but the mischief he
did in the village. He knew his hard and cruel ways with his
dependants, laborers, and servants, and the poor dumb animals at
his mercy. He knew that he had been a tempter to many.
Many evils could be traced up to -his door. Now he saw him
leading poor Peter Petrovich to drink, and through drink to
ruin. He had done so with others. Whatever of evil was going
on in the village Bolis had always had a hand in it. Drink was

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 371

not the only vice he encouraged ; and now he was scheming
that this poor girl Olga Petrovich should be sacrificed to him.
Cruel, vicious, full of avarice, pitiless, her lot would be a bitter
one if she became his wife. He would torture her, as he was
fond of torturing whatever was in his power. He pitied Ivan,
too, who had made a friend of him and made no secret of his wish
to marry Olga. But he could help in this matter only by prayer.
He had prayed long and much for Bolis, tried hard to influence
him for good, but failed failed to find one good point in him
to work on, one redeeming quality to help in the battle he was
fighting for his soul. What more could he do than he had done
already ? He did not see. But at least he could pray that two
more lives might not be rendered unhappy. And perhaps he
might say a word in Ivan's favor to Peter Petrovich, if he gave
him the opportunity. But Peter kept away from him since he
had taken to the company of Black Bolis and to drinking long
evenings at the inn. No, he could but pray.

A little door opened from the presbytery into the church.
The sacristy lay, however, on the other side of the church, and
opened again by a small door, with a porch to it, on the church-
yard ; but a large space behind the high altar allowed you to
pass unseen from the house into the sacristy round the back of
the altar. Father Sylvester was about to rise and go into the
church when a light knock on the presbytery door was followed
by a familiar step, and Ivan entered. He came from his inter-
view with Olga to ask what Father Sylvester thought of his plan
and of his chances of success with Petrovich. First he kissed
the priest's hand ; then, sitting down on one of the wooden
chairs, he began to speak of Bolis' proposal and of his own
wishes.

" You see, father," he said, " my chances would be as good as
Bolis' but for this old debt which he keeps hanging like a halter
over Peter Petrovich's head. But if I can pay off the debt why
should he not please Olga ? who would rather have me than
Black Bolis, I am sure ; for since she was a little child, she has
always had a terror of him, and I don't wonder at it. He is the
worst brute I ever saw. I wouldn't like to be his dog or his
horse ; and as to his wife, the woman must have a strange taste
who could take him willingly. Now,if my father would sell some
of our cattle we could pay the debt. My father won't like parting
with his beasts, I know ; but I never asked him for anything be-
fore, and I don't see any other way of doing it. Will you pray
for us that things may go well ? I could not bear to see Olga

372 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

Bolis Borovich's wife. I should enlist in the army and never
see the village again."

" Indeed, Ivan, I will pray very willingly for you," replied
the priest. " You and Olga have always been rather favorites
of mine, you know, since you were both children and I used to
meet you blackberrying. I wish you well, my children, and may
God grant your desire ! But now there is some business of mine
perhaps you will also speak to your father about. I have been
wishing to see him, but we have not met lately. You know that
to repair the church and presbytery, and to help the Strogoffskis
when they were burnt out, I had to borrow money of your
father. About a third of it is repaid, and I hoped to have paid
another third by September ; but this has not been a rich year
for me, and I meant to ask him if he wants the money now or
if it can- wait. But I am afraid that would hamper you, my boy,
if you want the money just now for Petrovich and," he added,
smiling, " a wedding. So say frankly if it will be difficult, and I
can then borrow from Bolis Borovich, I suppose, after having
spent great part of my life," he ended laughingly, " in warning
other people against doing so. But he cannot very well play
me any trick."

" No, father, not if you look well to your papers, as he cannot
get you to the inn," said Ivan, laughing. " The inn helps him
with most of his customers. A man can't look after his business
very well when he is soaked in black brandy. But if you think
you could arrange with him it would make it easier for me, be-
cause this is a big bit of money we shall be wanting now. And
I know my father would not like to sell his beasts. In this way
we might manage not to part with them."

" Very well, Ivan," returned the priest ; " then it is settled.
If Bolis will not come to terms there are always the Jews,
though I should be sorry to go to them. But I don't suppose
Bolis Borovich will refuse, since he knows the security is safe
.and that he is sure to be paid in no long time. I will speak of
it to him to-morrow." And thus it was settled, and thus later
Black Bolis came to know, for the misfortune of all concerned,
that between the parish priest and Ivan Ivanovich there had
been a question of a loan and its repayment.

Ivan did not let the grass grow under his feet. That night
he got his father to consent. Unless this could be done, he said,
he should enlist and leave the country ; and the old man did not
hold out long, for he loved his son. Next day Ivan came down
to the village and hung about till he caught sight of Peter Pe-

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 373

trovich. Then going up to him, " Peter Petrovich," he said,
" will you come up to the inn and have a glass with me ? I have
some business to talk over with you." Petrovich did not de-
cline. The invitation was one always to his mind. When the
vodka was tasted Ivan began, dashing into his subject : " I speak
as a friend, Peter Petrovich. Do not be displeased, therefore, at
what I say. But Bolis Borovich boasts he has nearly all the vil-
lage on his books, and I have heard you are in for fifty roubles.
Now, if you want to jump out of his claws and they are pretty
sharp, I know I can tell you how to manage it." " I often wish-
ed to Heaven I could," muttered Petrovich; "but now " Ivan
cut him short : " Look here ! I will give you the fifty roubles
down, Peter Petrovich, and ten roubles over, if you take me for
your son-in-law. Let me marry Olga and I will pay Black Bolis
for you and laugh in his face."

Petrovich looked astonished. The world was changing sud-
denly. The clouds lately seemed to be raining money. Here
were two men both willing to give him fifty roubles. It was
astounding. But this one said ten roubles over. Fancy that!
Ten roubles' worth of vodka would go a long way. This was
the better offer of the two. And he had no love for Borovich,
who had often taunted and twitted him, for he delighted in giving
pain. " It's a fair offer, isn't it? " said Ivan. " It's a fair offer,"
returned Petrovich ; " but you see " uneasily " I've promised
at least I've very nearly promised that " " That beast Bolis
Borovich," cried Ivan hotly, "who'll break your daughter's heart

and make her the most miserable woman in O . And then all

the village will know that Olga Petrovich was sold to Black Bolis
at the devil's own bidding. Look out ! I tell you, Petrovich, they
shall know it. And you'll live to repent it yourself, for it's not
possible you like Black Bolis." " Like him ? I wish he were
hanged ! " mumbled Petrovich sullenly. " He has half ruined
me one way and another." " Then be a man and refuse him,"
retorted Ivan. " I and my father will stand by you. We will
pay him the fifty roubles down at the betrothal, and I will give you
ten roubles the day I take Olga home. Catherine won't say no to
me, will she?" "I am master in my own house, I suppose,"
growled Peter Petrovich. " Catherine knows better than to say
no to me." "Then it's settled, isn't it? Here's to your promise
and a merry wedding. And now perhaps we had better be
going," Ivan added, anxious to get Peter away whilst he was
sober.

But this was not so easy. " I'll sit and think of it," he said.

374 ^ BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

" This vodka is good. There's a deal to think of in it. I'm
bound to consider it. Fifty roubles is a good deal of money,"
he continued meditatively, as if he had been asked to pay it.
" I'll think it over." Ivan waited some time, playing with his glass
and hoping the process of meditation might come to an end.
But no; Peter sat on. Ivan's patience grew threadbare. Not
only he had work to do, but he was wild to see Olga and tell her
the good news. But still Peter sat soaking. At length Ivan
could bear it no longer. He saw him fill his pipe and lean back
with his eyes shut, and, seizing his hat, he rushed out.

Soon after Bolis Borovich came in from the presbytery,
where he had been with Father Sylvester, who had sent for him
there to speak about arrangements for the transfer of the Ivan-
ovich loan. "Well, Peter," he said, "you here? When am I
going'to have my answer ? I can't stand much waiting. Wo-
men, they say, don't know their own minds ; but I know mine,
and " he swore a loud oath " if you don't settle this quick I'll
sell you up and every stick you've got, and turn you on the road,
mind ! So look sharp." " To the devil with you ! " broke out
Petrovich "to the devil with you and your selling up! Wait
till I give you the chance, Bolis Borovich ! "

Bolis stared at the man in astonishment. Here was the
worm turning with a vengeance. It almost amused him, he was
so used to abject submission from the old fool. " You've found
a gold-mine, no doubt, Peter Petrovich. When you are going to
court let's hear. We shall have you noble soon, I suppose."
" I'll find a better son-in-law than you, any way, Bolis Borovich.
Ivan Ivanovich will marry Olga and pay you the fifty roubles
the day of the betrothal. So I'll thank you to keep a civil
tongue in your head. You're not noble, I suppose, any more
than I am. And I wish you a good-morning," said Petrovich,
rising with dignity and moving off unsteadily.
Black Bolis' face grew blacker. He made no reply, but swal-
lowed a large glass of vodka. Then he sat thinking, not as poor
Petrovich had thought, but intently. His thoughts were evil
thoughts, and the tempter is never far off from souls like his.
For the first time in his life he had been foiled thoroughly, and
he knew it. He repented heartily now of having so often pro-
voked Petrovich, whom otherwise he might still have gained
over ; but there was no way out of it now, unless, indeed yes,
but for Ivan Ivanovich all would be right. It was he only who
stood in his path. He drank and brooded, brooded and drank.
Then he rose up, not foolish from drink, but dangerous. He had

.i882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 375

made up his mind. When a man wishes to do evil the devil is
not slow to counsel him.

CHAPTER III.

THE betrothal was to be hastened, that Borovich should have
no time to press his claim. But, somewhat to the surprise of all
concerned, he seemed in no haste to do so. And meanwhile
Ivan's old father unexpectedly sickened. No one knew what
ailed the old man, but he grew strangely feeble. The flame of
life flickered awhile and then died out. He fell asleep peaceably
but suddenly, sitting in his chair. There was no time for him to
receive the last sacraments, but he had fulfilled the Easter pre-
cept and had knelt at the altar again at Pentecost. His life had
been full of simple, honest piety, and all respected and mourned
him. He was laid to rest in the midst of his own people, and the
whole village followed him to his grave. Even Black Bolis was
there, though he did not generally much frequent pious cere-
monies. He stood apart, and his eyes were fixed on the chief
mourner. As Ivan turned back from his father's grave he en-
countered that fixed look of sullen hate. He felt as though sud-
denly stung by a scorpion, but, resisting the impression, he said
to himself : " Probably he means nothing by it. It is his way.
Bolis always has a scowl for friend or foe." But he walked sad-
ly to his lonely home, and thought how desolate it would be till
Olga, like a ray of sunshine, should enter his doors. He had
much to do now his father's simple affairs to wind up, and to see
the priest about the loan and consult with him as to the pay-
ment of Petrovich's debt and the time to fix for the betrothal
ceremony. They were now close upon the feast, and there was
to be a yearly dance and village festival a few days hence.
Ivan would not go, and he bethought him it would be a good
moment for a quiet visit to the presbytery and for the settle-
ment of his affairs there. He would take with him the papers
and arrange with Father Sylvester for the transfer of the loan
and for the payment of the money to Petrovich.

The feast of the Assumption dawned bright and beautiful.
That morning Ivan went to confession, served the Mass, and of-
fered his communion for the repose of his father's soul. Olga,
too, was there, and Catherine, and all three knelt at the altar.
After the Mass Ivan spoke to Catherine in the churchyard and
told her (Bolis Borovich, whom he had not seen in the church,
was hanging about near them among a knot of men) that he

376 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

would be down at the presbytery in the evening-, as he was not
going to the dance, and would come and see her and her husband
beforehand. He parted from them, feeling happier than he had
done since his father's death.

That evening he paid his visit and spoke to Petrovich of the
arrangements he was about to make with Father Sylvester.
Plans were discussed, and with a peaceful heart, having taken
leave of the family of his betrothed, he went on to the presby-
tery. In the distance could be heard the village music tuning
up for the dance, which was already begun. Ivan sat some time
with Father Sylvester, executed his business, discussed his
plans and his hopes, received his money, and, having taken a
grateful farewell of the priest, asked leave to go out through the
church, where he knelt before the altar and again at the feet of
Our Lady. A strange peace seemed to come over him. He
remembered his dead mother ; she seemed to be near him, and
the spirit of his father also. He prayed for them. He prayed
for himself and for Olga. He gave himself to Mary. He asked
her to watch over him, to pray for his protection in life and in
death. He prayed for a holy death, and felt strangely that his
prayer was answered. He hardly knew how long he stayed.
But when he went out at the sacristy door into the little church-
yard a clear moon was shining, and its light fell full on his fa-
ther's grave. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he did not stop to
close the sacristy door, but, leaving it slightly ajar, looked out
into the peaceful night. Then at his parents' grave he knelt
again with uncovered head and said a De Profundis ; then, rising,
with a brisk step crossed the churchyard, passed a small hedge,
and entered a little wood which lay on his homeward way, when
a shot like that which often echoes through the mountains, and
which the peasants fire in honor of great festivals, rang out sud-
denly. He fell upon his face. After a few minutes, from behind
a tree in the little wood a man crept towards him, and, after
watching his motionless form for a moment, came rapidly for-
ward, and, raising his head, looked upon his face. The clear
light of the moon shone upon it. With a smile on his lips Ivan
Ivanovich lay dead.

The murderer laid his hand upon his heart and felt the
leather wallet full of money the money the priest had just re-
paid. He made quite sure that life was gone. Then hurriedly
drawing out the wallet stained with blood that oozed from the
wound which had penetrated the heart, and holding in his hand
the gun he had just fired, he ran rapidly across the churchyard,

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 377

keeping in the shadow, to the half-opened sacristy door. In a
moment he had returned without the weapon and dragged the
corpse to the very edge of the churchyard, but still on the other
side of the hedge which divided it from the wood. He then
ran to the brook, plunged his hands into the water, and washed
and cooled his heated brow.

Five minutes after Black Bolis was dancing. on the green, and
no dancer stayed later than he. He gave money to the musi-
cians, and people said : " What a wonder ! Black Bolis generous !
Why, surely the skies will fall."

The count's woodman was out early the next morning. He
went singing down the copse and passed the hedge, when his
foot struck against something in the long grass on the side of the
path. He stooped down. It was the body of a man. Cold and
stiff, but smiling, there lay young Ivan Ivanovich. The wood-
man stood astonished. What should he do ? Ivan was dead.
There was no doubt of that. Still, he thought he would go to
the priest. He was the nearest, and then he would know what
ought to be done. Across the churchyard he ran and noticed
the sacristy door standing ajar. He went straight through it
into the passage behind the altar leading to the house, and as he
passed he saw strange sight ! a drop of blood, a gun leant up
against the wall, and a leather wallet. He looked at it. It was
stained with blood and heavy with coin the wallet of old Ivan,
Ivan's father. He knew it well. He knocked at the door which
led into the presbytery. No answer came. He opened it and
passed in. The house was silent; no one was in the parlor. He
hesitated, wondered, went back again into the churchyard. He
knew not what to do. As he paused he saw the head man of
the village coming slowly out into his field. " Two," he thought,
"are better than one. I will tell him and see what he says." He
went over towards him, told him, and took him up to see the
corpse. As they went they met another peasant, for the village
was just beginning to stir. The three men kept together ; they
saw the body ; they entered the church again ; they saw the gun,
th wallet, the gold, the stains of blood behind the high altar.
Something they must do, but what they knew not. This time
the sound of steps had roused the priest. He came out into the
church, heard the voices, and met the men. They told their
story ; he, too, saw the gun, the wallet, the stains of blood. He
went with them to the corpse, and with them he carried it on a
rough bier, cut in the wood, into the church.

Then he bid them report what they had found, and, kneeling

378 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

before the altar, prepared to say Mass for the repose of the soul
of Ivan Ivanovich. Whilst kneeling he bethought him of Olga
Petrovich. She and her mother were wont to come every morn-
ing to the Mass. He would spare them, if possible, the shock
of seeing, at once and unexpectedly, the dead body of Ivan. He
covered the face of the corpse, and then, going to the door of the
church, opened it and called to him one of the many children now
about, and bid him go and tell Catherine and Olga Petrovich
to go up to the presbytery, as he wished to speak to them there
at once. Returning into the church, he was followed instantly
by a man wrapped up in a cloak, who entered the confession-
al. Something in his walk and the outline of his averted head
struck the priest.

It was Bolis Borovich.

Father Sylvester remained a long time in the confessional.
When he came out he knelt a few minutes with bowed head
before the Tabernacle beside the corpse of Ivan. Then, rising,
he went into the presbytery to speak to the women.

" It is not for good news I have sent for you, my children," he
said. " When did you see Ivan Ivanovich last ? "

" He was with us last evening, father," replied Catherine,
" just before he went on to your reverence. But what can be
the matter? Ivan was quite well." "God calls us suddenly
sometimes, Catherine. We may be well to-day and sick and
sorry to-morrow. Is it not so? But all God does is well done.
A bad death is the only thing we have to fear, or an unprepared
death. Ivan was not unprepared." " But, father," said Olga,
" Ivan is not dead. It is not possible. He was well and hearty
last night. Why do you speak so?" " Olga," said the priest,
taking up a small crucifix and holding it before her, " what did
our Lord Jesus Christ say when his murderers nailed him to
the cross? Do you remember? ' Father, forgive them.' My
poor child, there is some one you must forgive." Olga gave a
cry. She flushed scarlet and then her very lips blanched. She
would have fallen but for her mother.

"O father! tell us what you mean. Tell us all!" cried Cifth-
erine. " Ivan was shot last night, and I am going now to say
Mass for the repose of his soul. He did not die unprepared.
He had been to the sacraments yesterday morning, as you both
know, and I know that his last act before he died was to pray
before the altar." Of the De Profundis in the churchyard at
his father's grave Father Sylvester did not know. " Our good
God has given him the grace to die a good death. That I am

1 832.] A BRAVE LIFE. 379

sure of. There can have been no struggle that disturbed his
peace. There is a smile upon his lips now. His face is like the
face of a child."

Olga was sobbing violently but quietly.

" Father, who can have done this? " cried Catherine. "Ivan
had no enemies, unless," she added, " Black Bolis. Is it possible
he did it?" "When did you see him last?" asked Father Syl-
vester. " Not for a week now," cried Catherine " not at our
house, that is. Peter saw him last night at the dance. But we
were not there, the girls and I ; only Peter said he would go
down and hear the music after Ivan left us." " And Bolis Boro-
vich was there ? " asked the priest. " Yes, he must have been, for
Peter had a glass with him. He treated every one, he said."
"Where was Ivan, father?" said Olga.

They were the first words she had spoken.

" Ivan was found, my child, by the hedge on the other side of
the churchyard this morning, by Conrad, the forester. He and
Ulrich and Jan came early and told me. And, Olga, Ivan's body
lies in the church now, and I must go and vest and say Mass for
his soul. May he rest in peace ! Come, too, and pray, my child.
There will be an inquiry, no doubt, later. Conrad and Ulrich
will give the necessary informations."

And so saying, Father Sylvester passed into the church,
where by this time nearly all the village was gathered. It was
quite full; but Bolis Borovich was not there. He had slunk
out as soon as he left Father Sylvester's confessional, and made
haste to join Conrad and Ulrich and Jan the blacksmith, who
were gone to give information to the police.

CHAPTER IV.

THE official inquiry was over. Bolis Borovich had accom-
panied the other three men who gave notice to the police. He
had had some talk with them by the way, especially about the
gun and wallet of money. " As to those," he said, " he had in-
formation he could give," which was his reason for accompany-
ing them. When asked by the police what was his informa-
tion he said the money had been lent by Ivanovich's father to
the priest; that Ivan was anxious to withdraw the Joan; that, in
his opinion, this had made the priest angry and there had been
a dispute. They would find the sum was about fifty roubles,
and they had better ascertain if the gun were not the priest's
gun, as he had one, he knew, an old one, which had belonged

380 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

to his father. This Bolis Borovich had every reason to know,
as he had borrowed it from Father Sylvester more than once
and was acquainted with the place he kept it in. The depo-
sitions were taken down, and from them it resulted that all the
able-bodied men of the village and there were few sick had
been at the dance ; that Bolis Borovich had been there and con-
spicuous by treating others to drink; that Ivan and the priest
alone had been absent ; that Ivan, immediately on leaving the
Petroviches, had gone to the presbytery, while Peter Petrovich
had gone to the dance ; that no one had seen Ivan since he went
to the presbytery till he was found lying dead on the other
side of the churchyard hedge ; that his blood-stained purse and
money and a gun were found behind the high altar in the pas-
sage which led from the sacristy to the priest's house ; and this
gun was afterwards proved to be the gun which had belonged
to the priest's father. On this information being sent up to a
superior court Father Sylvester was arrested.

The witnesses against him were Conrad, the forester, Ulrich,
and Jan, who deposed to finding the body and to seeing the
purse and gun in the passage behind the altar. Bolis Borovich
was called and deposed to the debt owed by the priest to Ivan,
and to Ivan's intention of recalling the money. Peter Petrovich
deposed to Ivan's leaving his house for the presbytery. The
women of the Petrovich family were called for the same purpose.
They corroborated Peter Petrovich's testimony, but added that
Ivan was on the most affectionate terms with Father Sylvester,
and that he had not an enemy in the world, unless Olga Petro-
vich spoke out Bolis Borovich.

But there was concurrent testimony on all hands that Bolis
Borovich had been seen dancing on the green and had repeated-
ly treated musicians and friends to drink. No strangers, or only
those whose movements could be thoroughly accounted for, and
who had taken part in the festivities, had been seen in or about
the village that night. On the other hand, in the wallet of
Ivanovich's father were found the exact number of roubles Bolis
Borovich had indicated as the loan to be repaid to Ivan by
Father Sylvester, and the gun certainly belonged to the priest.
Examined in court, Father Sylvester admitted that Ivan Ivano-
vich had been with him on business that evening, the business
being to receive the fifty roubles lent by his father ; that he had
left him about half-past eight, soon after which he had heard the
report of a gun, but had taken no notice of it, thinking it was
fired off in sign of festivity or at a rabbit. He admitted that the

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 381

gun was his and the wallet Ivanovich's, but of how they had
come behind the high altar he knew nothing. The gun had
been lent to Bolis Borovich and others for rabbit-shooting pretty
frequently. He was in the habit of replacing it in the loft where
it was kept when he had done with it. He, the priest, did not
pay much attention to it, as he never used it himself. Others
had borrowed it on one or two occasions, but not Ivan Ivano-
vich. He had never sold the gun, because it had belonged to his
father. He was on good terms with Ivan. They had no dis-
pute. It was with his own consent the money was withdrawn.
There was no quarrel of any kind. Questioned as to who else
could have been in the vicinity of the presbytery and church-
yard that night, he did not know. Opinion was much divided.
No one in the village could believe in Father Sylvester's guilt,
though all signs pointed that way, and so did all Bolis Boro-
vich's sneers. After much deliberation, going over the evidence
always with the same results, Father Sylvester was pronounced
guilty and sentenced to hard labor for life in Siberia.

Olga Petrovich fainted in court, and much compassion was
expressed for her in the village. The witnesses returned to their
homes. Father Sylvester remained in the prison of the town
where the trial had taken place till he should leave it en route
for Moscow, whence at that time the gangs of exiles started for
Siberia.

Two months passed away. Ivan Ivanovich's distant cousins
had claimed his farm and the money found in his purse. Bolis
Borovich was still unpaid, therefore, and Peter still in his debt.
But hitherto Bolis had made no sign. Catherine Petrovich was
much broken. Her health seemed to fail after these troubles.
She did not complain much, but grew paler and weaker day by
day. Olga, too, had grown very pale, and her step had lost its
lightness and her lips their merry smile. But she worked harder
than ever and did her mother's share of the household labor as
well as her own. In two days Father Sylvester, with other pris-
oners, was to set out on the march to Siberia.*

On the day before his departure he heard that some one had
come to see him, and Olga Petrovich was admitted. She slipped
a coin into the jailer's hand, who thereupon occupied himself
with his tobacco at as great a distance as he could from them.
Olga kissed Father Sylvester's hand and knelt and asked his
blessing ; then she told him she had heard he left the next morn-
ing, and could not bear to let him go without seeing him once

Exiles are now sent by rail, but some years ago they marched on foot as described.

382 A BRAV& LIFE. [Dec.,

first, and, partly by walking and partly by begging a lift in the
neighbors' carts, she had come over to say good-by.

" We are not rich, you know, father," she said, " and it is not
much we can do. My mother would have come with me, but
she has never been well since Ivan's death, and now she can do
very little. Her strength fails her for walking. She sent to ask
your blessing, and we had no money, but Ivan gave me a gold
cross and chain at my betrothal ; we have sold it, and this," she
said, as she slipped a little packet into the priest's hand, " is for
the journey. Pray for us, father. My mother begs that you
will ask for her a happy death ; she thinks it will not be long
before she goes now. And there is one thing I implore you to
obtain from God for me that I may never, never have to be
Bolis Borovich's wife. My father may press it again some day.
But, oh ! I cannot do it. My heart tells me there is blood upon
his hand Ivan's blood and God's curse upon his soul. It has
been a black one since he was a child, and now he makes me
shudder worse than any serpent."

" Even, if it were so, my child, you must forgive him." " Yes,
I have done so, father. But be his wife no! O God! what
shall I do if my father tries to force me ? Let me be spared that,
let me die if necessary, but let me never be Black Bolis' wife.
God will grant what you ask."

" My child, I will pray for this. You know it will be long
before I can say Mass now. Who knows ? I may never say
Mass again, for I do not know where I am going. Murderers,
they say, are sent to the mines, chiefly to the gold-mines of Kara.
If my crime " he smiled a little " were anything else I might be
able to say Mass at the journey's end. But now God's will be
done. I am not greater than St. John the apostle, and do you
know that he had to work in the mines, too ? Ask the holy St.
John to pray for me, and the Blessed Virgin also. See, my child,
if you can, give me your beads, for mine were taken away and I
may not find it easy to get any on the journey. Ask the new
priest to give you others. Say I begged it of him as a charity.
And now be of good courage. There is a God over all. Wher-
ever they send me, he will be there. Better to suffer purgatory
here than hereafter. Pray for me and trust in God. Say good-
by to your father for me. Tell your mother from me to hope
in God. Tell Marietta to pray always morning and evening,
and not give up the sacraments, and I will not forget."

Olga knelt again, weeping, and then took her homeward way.
She was blind with tears and sad at heart. But she believed

i882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 383

confidently now that she would not be forced to be Black Bolis'
wife, for she would have the prayers of one who suffered for jus-
tice' sake. And the prayers of the martyrs never go unheard.

Father Sylvester, on his part, knelt before the icon.* He
made the sacrifice of his life for the welfare of these poor souls
and for all his flock, especially for Olga Petrovich, that her wish
might be granted and she might never be forced into the dread-
ed marriage, and for Bolis Borovich's conversion.

CHAPTER V.

THAT winter Catherine died ; when the spring flowers came
they grew around her grave. Her death was peaceful and
quiet. She had suffered much and said little, and it was not
hard for her to go ; only she was sorry to leave her children.
But she remembered Father Sylvester's words, and hoped in God
that He would care for them. She received the last sacraments,
having taken a last farewell of her husband. Her parting words
to him were, " Be kind to Olga, Peter." Then she said the " Hail
Mary " many times, and, with the name of Jesus on her lips, she
expired. \

Peter Petrovich became moody and sullen. He was growing
old and did not care to work much. He sat at home a good
deal. Sometimes he went up to the inn, and the girls feared he
met Bolis Borovich there ; for after his wife's death he drank
more. They worked hard and tried not to think of what was
before them. Olga began to wish their mother could have
seen Marietta married. Things went from bad to worse till
one Sunday Petrovich walked in, followed by Bolis Borovich.
Olga's heart stood still. She was very cold and distant in her
manner, but Borovich did not seem to mind this. He sat and
smoked, and sat so long that the girls tried to escape, and were
stealing out into the garden when their father recalled them
and bade them stay where they were, and asked where their
manners were, to leave a guest. Then Olga knew what was
coming, and was prepared to hear, as she did hear later, that
Bolis had renewed his suit and threatened, in case of its refusal,
to turn her father out and sell him up then and there. " And
so," ended Peter, " I have said yes, and it must be done."

Then Olga had an inspiration.

"Give me time, father," she said. "It is not a year since I

* Russian name for a picture of Christ, the Blessed Virgin, or the saints. There is one in
every Russian prison, though they object to images.

384 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

was betrothed to Ivan. It is not six months since my mother
died. No one can expect me to think of marrying yet. All the
village would cry shame on us. Tell Bolis Borovich this time
next year he may speak again."

Then she went straight to the church. It was not yet shut,
and, prostrate before the picture of Our Lady, she prayed
prayed for two things : that before that year was out her sister
might be married and she herself might lie in her mother's grave.
She prayed in the anguish of her heart, and in her prayer she
cried out: "O Father Sylvester! pray for me. O Father Syl-
vester ! pray for me."

At that moment Father Sylvester was in one of the perisylnie
prisons, in which, in large towns, the convicts halt for a time on
their march eastwards. They march generally two days and
rest one. They had just arrived that evening, after a long stage
of their journey, at the perisylnie. The long, barrack-like room,
with planks against the walls, was crowded with convicts. They
had thrown themselves down, weary with the day's march, in
various attitudes against the walls. But, if their limbs were
resting, their tongues were not. There was a hideous hubbub
quarrelling, grumbling, vile jokes, noisy altercations. Father
Sylvester leant back against the wall with half-closed eyes.
They thought that, tired with the journey, he was sleeping ;
and, indeed, he was tired and worn out, but not asleep, though glad
to appear so, that he might be spared any part in the coarse
quarrels or coarser buffoonery that went on incessantly, when
suddenly he heard himself called, " Father Sylvester, pray for
me " ; and the noises faded from his ears, and he saw his little
church again, and the lamp burning before the sanctuary, and
the picture of the Blessed Virgin and a woman prostrate before
it, and it was Olga Petrovich's voice that cried, " Father Sylves-
ter, pray for me ! " And he prayed. There in Ihe noise and din,
in the crowd and confusion, in the stench and riot, he lifted up
his heart to heaven ; he offered his sufferings and weariness of
body, his still greater suffering and weariness of soul, all he had
endured and all there was still before him to endure, for the
soul that needed his help first, and afterwards for the conversion
of Bolis Borovich. All around thought he was sleeping from
weariness. No one woke him, for in Russia it is a common say-
ing that it is wrong to wake a sleeping man, because " his soul is
before his God." But one or two near him, with rough kindness,
took and kept his portion of the unsavory food brought in for
the convicts' supper. In truth, he had forgotten the food. He

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 385

was in Poland again, in his own church, before the altar. But
he awoke at last to the crowded room, the noise, the coarse talk,
the filthy atmosphere, the bed of planks, the morning which
would bring no Mass. He thanked the neighbors who had kept
his bread and soup, ate his portion, and, when it was quite dark,
drew out and said his beads, his face turned to the icon, or
sacred picture of the Blessed Virgin.

Olga Petrovich rose from her knees (she had fallen prostrate
before the picture of Our Lady) sure that her prayer was heard.
She went and knelt before the Tabernacle. Peace filled her
soul. She felt as though her mother and Ivan were praying for
her. She passed out and knelt at their graves. It was cold and
damp, but she was not conscious of it. She had often knelt on
the long, wet grass before. But when she rose up she felt a
sudden chill, and from that day a constant slight cough harassed
her and one pink spot glowed on her usually pale cheek.

Two mornings after Father Sylvester set out again, with a
large company now ; for Moscow was passed, and Perm, and they
were getting near to Tiumen, where the exiles are distributed to
different parts of Siberia. They started in the morning, the van
consisting of soldiers with fixed bayonets. Next came the worst
class of convicts men with chains on their ankles. Amongst
these was Father Sylvester. Then more prisoners, without
fetters, but chained by the hand to a light iron bar ; then the
women convicts ; then women, not convicts, but wives who
had chosen to follow their husbands into exile ; then wagons
containing baggage, children, the old, the sick, and the infirm.
More soldiers brought up the rear. Compassionate souls step-
ped from the pavement ; for there is much charity in Russian
hearts, and the people are kind to the prisoners, and wherever
they pass give them little presents in money or kind. It was
then Father Sylvester found it most bitter to stand among the
murderers he who had always striven to keep his priestly robe
unstained. The men sometimes muttered a curse, the women
crossed themselves, when they saw him. To have murdered a
man for money, and to be a priest ! He bowed his head. " Fiat
voluntas tua." This was his offering now instead of his morning
Mass. He prayed then for the conversion of Bolis Borovich.
He prayed that Olga Petrovich might have strength to bear her
cross, and that her prayer might be heard and she might be
spared being the murderer's wife.

Then the band started, and in summer heats or winter snows
they walked onwards, sometimes twenty miles a day, and halted
VOL. xxxvi. 25

386 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

at night at one of the ttapes, or wayside prisons. Part of the
journey was made by barge, on barges covered in with wired
cages and towed by the river steamers. On and on to Tiumen.

CHAPTER VI.

JUNE, July, August came and passed. Conrad, the forester,
often met Olga and her sister near the wood. He seemed not
disinclined to do so, for they found him pretty frequently going
their way. Olga had lately seemed to encourage this, and one
day when he paid her some rustic compliment she sent Marietta
back to the house on pretext of fetching her something which
she said she had forgotten, and then turning to him, but looking
somewhat grave, she said :

" Master Conrad, you have not good eyes, I think, not to see
that Marietta is much handsomer than I am. She is tall and
has cheeks like the petals of the rose. She is the best dancer
in the village, and so strong ! I get tired very soon, but Marietta
is never tired. She would make a good wife. My father, you
.know, has promised me to Bolis Borovich. But I shall not like
to leave Marietta alone at home, she is so young."

"Ard you, Olga do you wish to marry Bolis Borovich?"
asked Conrad hastily. " You will know that next year," replied
Olga. "When the feast comes next summer you will know,
Conrad, whether I wish to be Bolis Borovich's wife or whether
I lie there " pointing to the churchyard " in my mother's
grave. I have not long to live, I think, but I do not like to
leave Marietta alone in the world. Can you help me, Conrad ?
Think of it. Marietta would make a good wife." Then Mari-
etta came back and they walked a little way together. Conrad
was very silent ; but he still came to meet them as before.

As the year wore on Olga's cough grew worse. She be-
came very thin, and her eyes grew large and hollow ; but the
weaker she became the happier she grew, and she often prayed
smiling at the feet of Our Lady. She let Bolis Borovich come
to the house, and made no remonstrance. Only she would not
be alone with him. It was not fitting, she told her father, for
a motherless girl. And she was silent to him and grave. But
he should have his answer, she said, before the feast of the
Blessed Virgin.

All the winter she grew worse, and when the month of May
was ended she was too weak to leave her room. The doctor
came and called it rapid decline. " She might linger," he .said,

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 387

" for a few months, but could not possibly recover." Then she
laughed for joy and kissed Marietta. One day soon after, when
Conrad came to the house, she told him the news. " May, June,
July," she counted " I shall die in August before the feast of
the Assumption is over." Then Conrad said he would marry
Marietta, and she told him to speak to their father. " You can
be betrothed at once," she continued, "and when I die take
Marietta home. You will let her nurse me till then." Bolis
Borovich came sometimes, but seldom after she got ill. Then
he would sit and look at her. She said not much to him or to
her father. Only she obtained Peter's consent for Marietta's
wedding, and bid him ask Bolis to wait till June. June found
her in her bed, and July and August. She was wasted to a skele-
ton now and her cheeks burnt like flame.

In the first week in August she sent for Bolis Borovich. She
.wished to see him before receiving the last sacraments. He
came in silently and sat down in front of her bed. Marietta
stood beside her.

" Bolis Borovich," she said, " I am a dying woman. I have
sent for you to say I forgive you. But do not do any more
harm now. Do not injure my father. When you are lying on
your death-bed, as I am now lying on mine, you will be glad of
it. And God may give you time to repent then, for Father Syl-
vester prays for you. You will not see me again alive. Good-
by."

He came nearer.

" Go ! " she cried. " Ivan stands between us." And, dumb
and pale, he went out. On the eve of the Assumption Olga
died, and within the octave she slept in the little churchyard in
her mother's grave.

About a month after Father Sylvester, lying upon the prison
plank at Tiumen, had a dream. In his dream he saw Catherine
and Olga Petrovich ; they were clad in white robes, and their
faces were full of joy. " Do not fear for us, father," they said ;
" we are safe now. A crown is prepared for you, too. But the
way to it is long and needs much patience. But great is the
reward of those who suffer. Ivan is with us." So saying, they
disappeared.

Here in the prison at Tiumen Father Sylvester stayed some
time till the band of exiles to which he belonged was sent far-
ther east. Sometimes marching, sometimes in barges, they
went on their way. The journeys were almost less painful than
the prisons. If they wearied the body more the soul sometimes

388 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

suffered less. One of the things the prisoners felt most, but es-
pecially those who were in any way superior to their surround-
ings in the prisons, was the torture of never being alone and
then not only not alone, but surrounded always with deprav-
ity, incessant noise, shouting, laughter, bad language, evil talk,
curses, every kind of moral foulness, in the long, bare rooms
lighted by two or three tallow candles and pervaded by a sick-
ening smell. All this by night as well as by day ; only at night
there was comparative stillness. Another suffering was the ab-
sence at times of occupation. Hard labor was looked upon as
recreation ; it was better than sitting all day, day after day, upon
a plank, doing nothing, and with nothing to do but listen to the
unceasing quarrels and ribald jesting of criminals. The murder-
ers were generally classed together whenever space allowed.
Most of them had committed their crimes through drunkenness,
but a> few were monsters in human form who had murdered
men, women, and even children, in cold blood. Few, if any,
showed any signs of remorse. Nor could the priest attempt to
do the work of an apostle among them, as they were Orthodox
Russians and he a Catholic priest, and the first attempt at mak-
ing a proselyte would certainly have been the last.

One consolation only was left to him. He had managed to
preserve his beads, and in every prison there was an icon. The
thought of Mary was like a well in the desert to his parched
soul ; and the thought of Mary is never apart from the thought of
her Son. He had been able to bring no crucifix with him, but
the Image of the crucifix was always before his mind the Christ
he remembered in his mother's home as a child, and the great
white Christ in the little church in Podolia ; when he shut his
eyes he could see them before him. So he bore about the cruci-
fix with him always and the Madonna. Once on the road he had
had the happiness of hearing Mass, but he feared it would not
come again. In the mines he was told no Sunday was kept, and
no saints' days but the feast of the patron saint of the mine. In
one place he heard that the prisoners had made a league to re-
sist the Sunday labor, especially the Polish priests, and that a
Protestant and a Jew had also joined. But it had had no effect
but that of bringing punishment on them, and they were forced
to submit. Four ecclesiastical holidays only they had in the
year, and twice a year the convicts attended church. The cha-
pels, too, in most places were Orthodox, so of course he could
not go. There were, out of Russia, few Catholic chapels at-
tached to the prisons, as the great majority of exiles, except the

1 882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 389

Poles, were of the Orthodox religion. He prayed more and
more, however; he grew used to pray by night and by day,
regardless of the surrounding confusion. And twenty years
passed thus. Then his strength began to fail ; he became feeble
and found it hard to drag his aching limbs about and to work as
he had done hitherto. The doctor who inspected the convicts
once a month (and many of these doctors were humane and cha-
ritable men) saw his increasing weakness, watched it, and after
a time ordered him to an old weather-beaten, smoke-dried build-
ing where the aged and infirm who were not ill enough to be
sent to hospital, but not strong enough to work, were allowed to
linger out their days. Men were there of seventy, eighty, and
even ninety, sleeping on planks and waiting for death in chains
in the prison ward. But there, too, there was an icon and
he took his beads. There, too, was the thought of Mary, the
image of Jesus, the adorable though hidden presence of God.
Father Sylvester was content, almost happy, for here were far
fewer of those evils which made some of the prisons faint pic-
tures of hell. A comparative quiet reigned. The inmates were
too feeble now to quarrel much.

CHAPTER VII.

TWENTY years had seen some changes also in the far-away
Polish village. Peter Petrovich was dead. Marietta was the
mother of a large and prosperous family ; another Marietta,
another Catherine and another Olga, another Conrad also, were
growing up. The little hamlet looked as peaceful as ever the
little church, the green churchyard, and the broad, golden fields.
Bolis Borovich was alive, growing an old man now, hard and
fierce, sullen and morose as ever. He shut himself up and lived
a great deal alone. He drank hard at times and was no man's
friend. He remained rich, but with no enjoyment of his riches.
He had never married. He had no bright fireside, no happy
home. A settled gloom sat on his countenance, a dark shadow
seemed to brood over his dwelling. Remorse tortured him, de-
spair gnawed at his heart. He never came to the church now.
He wandered about alone and rode alone at times. He shunned
neighbors, and the neighbors shunned him. Many a time he was
on the point of shooting himself, but he never dared. Some-
thing came between him and his purpose. For some months
little had been seen of him, then for weeks nothing. Then it was
known he was ill. One wretched woman there was who served

390 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

him, and she began to say his was a fearful illness. His right
arm was rotting away, his right eye was gnawed out of its sock-
et. To be near him was intolerable ; no one could bear to stay
with him. She gave him food and drink, and saw he did not die
for want of it ; that was all. There he lay, tortured with pain of
body, but still more tortured with pain of mind. His days were
bad enough, but his nights were worst of all. He saw fearful
sights ; he heard hideous sounds. The cold sweat would break
out on his brow and he would shiver from head to foot. But he-
never asked for the priest. At length, hearing he was not far
from death, the priest sent to say he was coming to see him.
Black Bolis refused ; he refused, but one night the woman
who lodged in the house was waked by a terrible shriek. She
went to his room. He was livid, trembling, and looked like
one who had had a fit. He bid her go back to bed, but the next
day to go down to the village and tell Conrad's Marietta to come
to see him before he died and bring her husband with her.

They did not know what this could mean, but did not like
to refuse a dying man. When they arrived they could hardly
cross the threshold, so terrible was the room and so ghastly the
face of the dying man.

He took little notice of their presence, but spoke as if
unconscious of it. " Olga Petrovich is there," he said, " and
Catherine, and Ivan, and the priest Ivan, whom I murdered,
and he will not let me go. See, he holds me, and the priest
stands there. I must tell it. I cannot die till I have told it.
I took the priest's gun from the loft ; I knew where it stood.
I hid myself in the wood and I shot Ivan Ivanovich. Then I
took the money, and I ran with it and put it and the gun behind
the altar. I smeared the wallet with blood. Then I came back
and dragged the body to the edge of the churchyard, and
washed my hands in the brook, and went back to the dance,
where I had been before. Since then the devil has me. First I
went to confession to the priest and told him what I had done ;
but I was not sorry. I thought it would make it more difficult
for him to speak, for he knew I hated Ivan and wished him out
of the way for Olga Petrovich's sake. So I wanted to close his
mouth. Then I accused him to the police. The devil has me.
I have never known peace by night or by day, but I had to
do it."

Marietta was white with horror. Conrad spoke : " God for-
give me for having had any share in it ! But it is not too late
even now for you to repent. You must clear the priest, and

i882.] A BRAVE LIFE. 391

there may still be time for you to make a good confession. Let
me bring Father Gregori to you, or one of the holy monks from
Z . Marietta will remain with you while I go."

Bolis said nothing, and, considering this to be consent, Conrad
hurried off. Marietta dared not leave, though she trembled with
fear at staying. She knew not what to do. She looked about
for holy water, but there was none. Black Bolis writhed and
groaned, but said nothing. Never had hours seemed so long to
Marietta. She felt as if she would die of fear. She tried to pray,
but found it difficult. When, after a long time, her husband re-
turned with the parish priest, and also the notary, who had just
at that moment been calling at the presbytery, and whom, on
hearing Conrad's story, Father Gregori brought with him, she
felt as if a mountain of lead were lifted off her heart.

The priest sprinkled the room and bed with holy water.
Then, drawing near Bolis, he asked him if what Conrad had told
him were true, and if he were willing publicly to declare it, to
which he gave a sullen "yes." The notary then read to him
Conrad's deposition, which he had taken down, and asked if he
were willing to sign it. He said yes. Then the priest begged
them to withdraw, and, speaking to him of the mercy of God,
asked if he were willing to make his confession He replied
it was of no use, as he already belonged to the devil. The
priest spoke of pardon, of peace, of hope ; he held before him
the crucifix and exhorted him to hope in the Five Adorable
Wounds. He told him at last that Father Sylvester, whom he
had injured, and whom he, Father Gregori, had seen in prison,
had told him he would never cease to pray for Bolis Borovich,
and charged him, out of confession, to give that message to him
if he ever found an opportunity.

Then at last tears burst from the dry, fierce eyes. " I repent,
father I repent ! " he cried. " Give me water ! " for his parch-
ed lips were burnt with fever. The priest turned to get him
water. There was none near. He crossed the room to call one of
the women to fetch some ; when he returned Bolis was not dead,
but palsied. His speech was gone. He who had wilfully pro-
faned the Sacrament of Penance to the purpose of his crimes was
denied its solace in his last agony. He never spoke again, but
trembled unceasingly, lingered some days, and so died. Wheth-
er he still had his reason they could not tell ; he could give no
sign. Father Gregori hoped and believed that, by the prayers
of the priest he had wronged, he was saved. As he had ex-
pressed repentance, he anointed him. On the eighth day he died ;

392 A BRAVE LIFE. [Dec.,

and at his funeral Father Gregori told the assembled village the
story of Father Sylvester's innocence and begged all present to
pray for the soul of the unhappy and guilty man. A murmur of
horror and compassion broke out at the thought of the wrong
done to the innocent. Many wept aloud.

Father Gregori did not rest now till he had tried to redress,
so far as it could be, the evil that had been done. He took the
news to his bishop. There was but one feeling far and wide of
horror and of reparation. All was done that could be done.
Every effort was made, and at last, when all had been duly ex-
amined and attested, the evidence sifted and confirmed, an official
order was obtained for Father Sylvester's release and was for-
warded as swiftly as possible to eastern Siberia.

The courier who was sent was made acquainted with the
story and promised to use his utmost diligence.

At length he reached that remote and inaccessible region.
With the least possible delay he saw the governor, delivered
his despatches, and told the .story. The governor listened in
silence ; he seemed somewhat affected. " Ah ! " he said at the
end, " what a pity ! Come with me ; you will see."

He led him to the tumble-down out-house where the super-
annuated convicts were lodged, and there in the smoke-dried
hut two candles were burning before the icon, and a candle was
placed before two planks of the convict shelf, and on them, in the
coarse prison garb, with the convict's chain still on his worn-out
form, lay the priest. His face was peaceful, his eyes were clos-
ed ; in his thin hands were Mary's beads. A brave and silent
soul had passed away.

The courier fell on his knees. The governor knelt, too.
Next morning Father Sylvester was buried and an iron cross
marks his grave in the lonely wilds of eastern Siberia.

1 882.] POWERSCOURT WATERFALL. 393

POWERSCOURT WATERFALL.

ADOWN the mountain's brow of stone
I've seen the headlong torrent thrown,
A snowy mass. It streamed sublime,
Unceasing as the sweep of time.
With roaring voice and dashed with spray
The torrent burst upon the day,
Attired in thunder ; like the mane
Of some great battle-horse it came,
And headlong plunged into the vale
With flashing foam and lightnings pale.

A silvery streak I saw it rest,

A baldric on the mountain's breast,

As if suspended in the air,

Yet selvaged by the foliage there.

It flashed and gleamed athwart the trees,

That bowed responsive to the breeze,

As if to greet this truant child,

This stormy offspring of the wild.

O Powerscourt ! full many a time
I've gazed upon thy fall sublime,
And fancied that some giant hand
Had wound thee as a silvery band
To scarf the broad and massive breast
And dignify the mountain's crest ;
To tell us, if we would be free,
We must be pure and grand like thee,
And run a lofty race, and shine
With noble thought and high design.*

* We read in the Personal Recollections of John O'Keeffe that Powerscourt waterfall, situ-
ated in County Wicklow, Ireland, is the loftiest in Europe.

394 GUIDO MONACO. [Dec.,

GUIDO MONACO.

DURING the month of September just passed the city of Arez-
zo, in Italy, was mostly given up to the festivities held there
in honor of the world-renowned Benedictine monk, Guido or
Guittone Aretino, commonly known as Guido Monaco, or Guy
the Monk, to whom we owe the invention of the method of
solfeggio, or solmization. Though the fame of his works has
cast a brilliant aureola round the name of the distinguished
but humble Camaldolese monk, history furnishes little or no
reliable information relative either to the birth or the death
of this celebrated reformer of ecclesiastical music styled Grego-
rian from its founder, Pope Gregory the Great, the father of
choral chant (590-604). Guido Monaco was born, it is supposed,
in Arezzo about 905, since he is known to have flourished in
the eleventh century, as he taught in Italy and Germany from
1024 to 1037. He assumed at an early age some say when
only eight years old the habit of St. Benedict in the Camal-
dolese abbey of Pomposa, near Ravenna, in the duchy of Fer-
rara, of which he is said to have become later abbot, though
they may confound him with another of the same name, St.
Guido, Abbot of Pomposa in 998 also in some repute as a
poet native of Casamare, who died March 31, 1046, at Borgo
San Donnino, on his way to visit the Emperor Henry III. at
Piacenza. Be that as it may, the biographers of Guido Aretino
unanimously represent him as a pious and exemplary monk
wholly addicted to prayer and study.

Viewing his recognized wonderful facility in the art of music,
he was appointed to instruct in ecclesiastical chant the choir of
boys attached to the abbey of Pomposa, and whose difficulties in
mastering the "voice of sweet sounds " were immense, as Guido
himself tells us in his own artless and simple language. " Little
children," he writes, "once they have learned to read the Psalter,
can read any other book whatsoever. Peasants, when they have
planted a shrub or laden an ass, know how to perform those
operations unassisted. But the unfortunate pupils of musicians,
even after ten years of study and of practice, cannot intone the
simplest antiphon without the aid of their master, who for his
part sings it from memory, hardly conscious of his act, and,"

i882.] GUIDO MONACO. 395

somewhat maliciously adds Guy of Arezzo, " qui facit quod non
sapit, definitur bestia"

St. Gregory is said to be the first who marked the progres-
sive gradations of the octave or diatonic scale with the first
seven letters of the alphabet A, B, C. D, E, F, G. The an-
cients, for notes, made use of the twenty- four letters of the Greek
alphabet, entire or halved, simple or doubled, and lengthened,
placed now to the right, now to the left; now reversed, now col-
located horizontally. These served to form in all one hundred
and twenty-five special characters, which number greatly mul-
tiplied itself in practice, so that it was said that ten good years
were requisite to learn to decipher an Oreinus. We are assured
by undoubted authorities that the letters of the Latin alphabet,
substituted for the Greek by St. Gregory, were commonly em-
ployed in Italy for musical writing in the seventh century, but
fell into disuse without any alleged cause or instigation, and dif-
ferent figures of hieroglyphic nature styled notes, or rather ncuma
or neuinata, were adopted in place thereof in the eighth cen-
tury. Gerbert, De Cantu et Musica sacra, vol. ii. p. 58, gives the
following hexameters containing the names of said notes, figures,
or hieroglyphics :

" Scandicus et salicus, climacus, torculus, ancus,
Pentaphonus, strophicus, gnomo, porrectus, oriscus,
Virgula, cephalicus, chius, quilisma, podatus,
Pandula, pinnosa, guitralis, tramea, cenir,
Proslarnbaromenon, trigon, tetradius, ygon,
Pentad icon, et trigonicus, et franculus, orix,
Bisticus, et gradicus, tragicon, diatinus, exon,
Ipodicus, centon, agradatus, atticus, astus,
Et pressus minor, et major, non plurihus utor
Neumarum signis, erras qui plura refingis."

These signs, of Greek, Latin, or Lombardic origin, as their
names denote, were divided into simple and compound, other-
wise styled knots. The simple indicated but a single note, as
franculus, gnomo, virgida ; the compound designated sometimes
two, three, four, five notes for example, astus, cenir, clivus,
podatus, torculus formed two notes ; cephalicus, climacus, scandi-
cus, three; ipodicns, stropJiicus, tragicon, four; diatinus, exon,pen-
talicon, five. Some of these signs, furthermore, did not pre-
cisely express the note, but the accent of the sound : the Latin
word vinnula, for instance, indicated a delicate sound ; the other
Latin word, the vulgar pinnosa, indicated the piano and \\\e forte.
Later, these sighs no longer indicating with precision the inter-

396 GUIDO MONACO. [Dec.,

val from one note to another nor the gravity nor elevation of
sounds, confusion generally reigned to such a degree that, every
master teaching the melodies after his own fancy, the true mode
of chanting was utterly lost. Ubaldus de Saint- Amand ninth
century considering the notes then in use as no longer sufficient
to designate the degrees of the voice, in his work De harmonica
Institutions gives a new method of neumation that is to say, the
manner of writing chant and prescribes new signs indicating
the seven tones of the gamut, in order to know the place of the
five tones and of the two semitones. This method, however, was
not accepted, whereupon St. Odo of Cluny, towards the opening
of the tenth century, re-established the ancient usage of letters,
declaring, in his Dialogue on Music, " that cantors, by dint of in-
sisting upon the then manner of writing the notes, could not,
after fifty years of study, succeed in executing unaided any
melody whatsoever, whilst his young scholars, taught by method
of the ancient letters, learned, after a few days of practice and
without the assistance of their master, to chant several anthems."

Guy of Arezzo, remarking that in Italy also similar incon-
venience resulted from the neumation then in use, says in the
preface to his Micrologus that cantors could never have learned
a single antiphon, though they had labored at it over one hun-
dred years. Also, in his Regulce de ignoto Cantti, he deplores the
existing errors, better calculated to sow disputes amid the can-
tors than to further the praises of the Almighty, since the scho-
lar agreed neither with his master nor with his colleagues. Desi-
rous to put an end to this disastrous state of things and to familiar-
ize the study of chant, Guido, after long thought and deep study,
determined to establish some sure rule, making use of points dis-
tributed upon parallel lines, which by their fisrure and position
should serve to mark the diverse intonations, and thereby reduce
and simplify the manner of writing and reading music. Finally,
about 1030, he succeeded in determining upon a method by
means of which the chant could be more easily learned and re-
membered. The discovery was after this wise :

One day, whilst the pious monk was practising psalmody
and chanting the hymn composed by Paul the Deacon in honor
of St. John Baptist, which is sung at first Vespers of the feast of
that saint (June 24) St. John, styled by the Sacred Scriptures Vox
clamantis, is the patron of cantors he perceived, to his astonish-
ment, that the first syllable of the first word of each succeeding
hemistich regularly ascended, either by a whole or half tone ; so
that, commencing with the first note and rising to the sixth, there

1 88 2.] GUIDO MONACO. 397

was ultimately formed a complete Greek hexachord.* From this
observation, which had escaped the attention of all other learned
musicians, Guido formed the idea that by using these syllables to
designate the sounds belonging to them in the hymn of St. John
there would be found an easy method of teaching and learning
the chant. The following is the stanza of the hymn from which
are derived the well-known syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la:

" Ut queant laxis r^sonare fibris,
Mt'ra. gestorum/amuli tuorum,
Solve polluti /abii reatum,
Sancte Joannes."

He applied himself to teach this method to his pupils, and to
render them familiar with the diatonic succession of the sylla-
bles ut, re, mi, fa, sol, and la. We cite his own words, which still
more clearly set forth his aim : " If, therefore, you wish to recall
to memory such or such tone, and to recognize it immediately in
a chant, known or unknown, debes ipsam vocem, vel neumam, in
capite alicujus notissimce symphonia notare, ut pote si hcec symphonia
qua ego docendis pueris in primis utque etiam in ultimis utor." Fur-
ther, to banish every species of confusion, he established the
usage of two lines to distinguish the clefs, one yellow for the clef
of ut, which he styled of third voice, the other red for the clef
of fa, which he named of sixth voice, as we read in the following-
lines comprising the rhythmical rules added to the Micrologus :

" Ut proprietas sonorum discernatur clarius,
Quasdam lineas signamus variis coloribus,
Ut quo loco sit tonus, mox discernat oculus.
Ordine tertise vocis splendens crocus radiat,
Sexta ejus, sed affinis flaro rubet minio.
Est affinitas colorum reliquis indicio."

He preserved, as well upon these lines as in their interstices,
the customary signs or hieroglyphics, thereby fixing the recipro-
cal distance between the upper and lower notes. By this means
children could readily chant without the aid of their master. He
taxes with folly him who would dare do otherwise, comparing

* Dr. Roch holds that during a visit to Rome Guido chanced to enter a church whilst the
monks were chanting this hymn. According to Durandus, the circumstances under which Paul
the Deacon wrote the hymn were as follows : Having to sing the blessing of the Paschal candle
on Holy Saturday, he unfortunately lost his voice from hoarseness, and to recover it invoked the
aid of St. John Baptist, in whose honor he composed this hymn, wherein he implores him to
restore him the use of his voice, and reminds him that at his Nativity he had procured a like
grace for his father, Zacharias. This anecdote explains the allusion in the opening lines Paul
Warnefrid, known as Paul the Deacon, sometime secretary to Didier, King of the Lombards,
774, became later a monk at Monte Cassino, where he wrote his Life of St, Gregory the Great
and the well-known hymn above named.

398 GUIDO MONACO. [Dec.,

him to a man who would seek to draw water from a deep well
without the help of a cord, or to a blind man striving to find an
unknown route without the assistance of a guide :

" Hac de causa rusticorum multitude plurima
Donee frustra vivit, mira laborat insania,
Dum sine magistro nulla discitur antiphona
Notis ergo illis spretis, quibus vulgus utitur
Quod sine ductore nusquam, ut caecus progreditur.
At si littera, vel color neurais non intererit,
Tale erit, quasi funem dum non habet puteus,
Cujus aquae, quamvis multae, nil prosunt videntibus."

Guy applied the first seven letters of the alphabet already in
use to the syllables he had adopted, in this guise : C ut ; D re ;
E mi; Ffa; G sol; A la. The letter B found no special
correspondent syllable, because Guy, who taught by hexachords,
had adopted but six syllables. A French musician named Le
Maire, who lived towards the close of the seventeenth century,
is reported to have superadded the syllable si an augmentation
which completed the method of solfeggio as applied to the dia-
tonic scale ; other authors name one Van der Putten, in the six-
teenth century, as the inventor of the si. Italians substituted the
sweet do to the harsh, disagreeable sound of the syllable /, and
this musical scale is known as the gamut, because Guido, to avoid
confusion and obscurity between the new and the ancient signs,
conjoined, as already stated, the syllables invented by him to the
letters thitherto used to express the same tones ; and as he be-
gan with the Greek letter Gamma, so the scale formed by him
was termed gamma-ut, QY gamut, from the title attributed to its
first letter. Apropos of the new solmization Fabricius cites two
Latin distichs too singular to be omitted :

" Corde Deum et fidibus et gemitu alto benedicam
Ut Re Mi Facial 5<?/vere Zabia 5/bi.

" Cur adhibes tristi numeros cantumque labor! ?
Ut Tfelevet Af/serum Saturn .SWitosque Zabores."*

The use of the word gamut in Guide's system is doubtless
what has led to his being wrongly called the inventor of the
gamut. It is more correct to say that Guido, by the application
of the syllables ut,re,mi,fa,sol,laio the first six notes of the
gamut, invented an easy method of learning and retaining the in-
tervals of the scale a method the excellence of which is attested
by its retention in musical instruction to the present day.

* Biographic Univ. , anc. et moderne, t. xix p. 89.

1 882.] GUIDO MONACO. 399

All the marvellous inventions sometimes attributed to Guido
either existed prior to his day or were wholly unknown to him,
with the exception of the application of the hymn of St. John
Baptist. Hucbald, or Ubaldus, a Benedictine monk of the
abbey of Saint-Amand, who died, 930, at the advanced age of
ninety years, left two works on music, one existing in MS. in
Strassburg De harmonica Institutione, already quoted above the
second found still in the Magliabecchi Library of Florence, en-
titled Musica Enchiriadis. In his notes the monk of Saint-Amand
speaks of the bemol and of the b sharp as known before his time ;
and the characters he invented are disposed between different
lines, not forming, it is true, distinct staves, but which are more
or less elevated. He treats formally of polyphonic music, known
as diaphonia, which he defines diver sarum vocum apta coadunatio,
and is considered the first author to have touched upon the sub-
ject. Le Noir writes : " The division of the gamut in hexachords,
as opposed to the Greek tetrachord, and the harmonic hand to
facilitate the reading of music, being found nowhere in the writ-
ings of Guy, they are wrongfully attributed to him. Neither did
he impress any essential modification upon chant, properly so-
called ; that ulterior development belongs rather to the name
of Franco of Cologne, a master of music in the eleventh century,
the inventor of measured chant, who laid the foundation of figured
music; whilst the harmonic element was for the first time laid
open and explained, in sure and profitable rules, by Jean de
Muris, a great mathematician of Paris, Doctor of the Sorbonne,
1370, and by Jean Tinctor, or Tinctoris, a native of Nivelles,
Belgium, who flourished towards the close of the fifteenth cen-
tury. Of great renown as a jurisconsult, he later embraced the
ecclesiastical state, visited Italy to perfect himself in music, be-
came member of the Royal Chapel at the court of Ferdinand of
Aragon, King of Sicily, and was, together with Gafforio, one of
the founders of the Neapolitan school. He has left, amongst
other works, several treatises in Latin on the Origin of Music,
the Art of Counterpoint, the Value of Notes, etc. This leaves to
the musician of Arezzo but the application of the syllables
ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la, and possibly the use of clefs, which deter-
mine the position of the notes upon the staff ; whilst, in fact,
an established system of lines, permitting the exact figuring of
melodies and their transmission without alteration to posterity,
together with the essential facilitation of the reading of music
and the introducing by that means not only uniformity in choral
chant but likewise fixing and preserving primitive melodies, con-

400 GUIDO MONACO. [Dec.,

stitutes the true merit of Guy of Arezzo and assures him a per-
manent souvenir in the history of music."

Guido Aretino established a regular school of music in his
monastery, and the success of his method was such that his pupils,
who up to that time had required at least ten years of close
study to overcome all the difficulties of the art, were able in less
than two weeks to decipher plain song, and became in the space
of a year skilful singers, or rather cantors. This astonishing
superiority of Guido Monaco over the other musicians of his
day quickly gained him envy, and his rivals so beset him that he
was forced to leave his convent and seek other shelter. Pope
John XIX. or XX. 1024-1033 hearing of his renown, invited
him to Rome, whither he was accompanied by Grimoald, his
abbot, and Peter, dean of the Chapter of Arezzo. He presented
to the pope his AntipJionarium, noted after his method. His Holi-
ness admired it, made trial of, and readily recognized the superi-
ority of, the new solmization. He describes his journey to the
Eternal City and his reception by the Sovereign Pontiff in a
letter addressed to a fellow-monk, Michele of Pomposa, who
had assisted him in compiling the Antiphonary : "The apostle
of the supreme see," he writes, "John, who at present rules the
Roman Church, heard the fame of our school, and how boys,
thanks to our Antiphonarii, learn canticles which they have
never heard sung; at this he marvelled greatly, and thrice sent
me a summons to go to him. I repaired to Rome in company of
our abbot, of Gregory, Abbot of Milan, and of Peter, provost of
the canons of the church of Arezzo a man of wonderful learning
for our times. The pope, having shown great joy at my arrival,
detained me long in conversation, questioned me upon many
subjects, and, closely examining our AntipJionarium, seemed to
think it a sort of prodigy ; conned its rules, nor would rise from
his seat until he hacl learned a verse which he had never heard
sung, thereby experimenting in himself that which he could with
difficulty have believed of another." This letter, entitled lipistola
Guidonis Michacli Monacko, de ignoto cantu directa, is found in the
Annals of Baronius and in the Thesaurus Anecdotorum of Bernard
Pez, but less complete. Baronius refers it under date 1022, Ma-
billon under 1026. A picture due to the brush of the illustrious
Professor Domenico Bertini, specially celebrated for his system
of painting on glass, represents Guido Monaco, with his Grego-
rian school, in presence of Pope John XIX. It is now in the
possession of a Milanese amateur named Ponti in his magnificent
villa at Bennino Superiore, near Varese.

1 882.] GUIDO MONACO. 401

The pope imposed silence upon the enemies and detractors
of the humble monk, who was not allowed to quit Rome ere he
had promised to return the following winter to give a regular
course of musical instruction to the pope and his clergy. He
was in nowise puffed up by the sunshine of pontifical favor,
since in the letter to Michele above quoted he continues : " The
designs of Providence are obscure, and falsehood is sometimes
suffered to oppress the truth, God so ordering it lest, inflated
with self-confidence, we should suffer loss. For then only is what
we do good and useful when we refer it all to Him who creat-
ed us. God inspiring me with the knowledge, I have made it
known to as many as I could, to the end that I, and those who
have gone before me, having learned the cantus with extreme
difficulty, those who come after me, doing so with greater facil-
ity, may pray for me and for my fellow-laborers, that we may
obtain eternal life and the remission of our sins." Hence it is
evident that he only rejoiced at being able to spread the know-
ledge of a discovery which would be useful to others.

After leaving Rome Guido Monaco retired once more to the
solitude of his beloved abbey of Pomposa, and we have no fur-
ther reliable information regarding his after-life. It is statetl
that he was invited by the archbishop of Bremen to repair
thither to reform the music of his cathedral, and it is probable
he did the like for many other churches throughout Germany.
Neither have we any certainty relative to the last days of the
pious monk, save the fact that he died at Pomposa, to which
abbey he bequeathed his AntipJionarium. The learned Ger-
bert, prince-abbot of the monastery of St. Blasius, in the Black
Forest, 1764, has collected, in his Scriptores ecclesiastici de Musica-
sacra, all the works of Guido Monaco then procurable, under the-
rubric, Guidonis Aretini, Opuscula de Musica* They comprise :

I. Micrologus Guidonis de Disciplina Artis Musica, written
about 1030 and dedicated to Theobaldus, Bishop of Arezzo.
This treatise, besides the dedication and prologue, is divided in
twenty chapters, written, according to the then usage, partly in
Latin prose, partly in free iambics of unequal measure. Chap-
ter i. bears title : Quidfaciat, qui se ad disciplinam musicce parat ?
The author examines the nature of notes and their disposal in

* V. Gerbert, Scriptores ecclesiastict de Musica sacra potissimum ex variis Italia, Gallitz
et Germania Codicibus manuscriptis collecti, in 410 (Typis San Blasianis, 1784). This work,
in three volumes, contains, unfortunately, many discrepancies and inexact statements relative to
the works of Guy of Arezzo. A new and emended edition of this learned author, who quote*
numerous fragments from musical writers of the middle ages, has long been promised under
direction of Cavalier Fetis.

VOL. XXXVI. 26

402 GUIDO MONACO. [Dec.,

the monochord ; he establishes the division of the diapason, or
octave, in seven fundamental sounds, and the distinction of the
four modes, which he subdivides in eight, and treats of tropes,
of diaphonics, and of the invention of music by the noise of 'ham-
mers. This book, still inedited, very incomplete, obscure, and
intricate, is to be found in MS. in some few public libraries, but
is known only from the analyses given thereof by several authors
and historians for instance, Mazzuchelli, La Combe, Tiraboschi,
Baronius and Mabillon, both of whom give the dedicatory epis-
tle ; also Nicholas Vicentino, a celebrated professor of music in
the sixteenth century, to whom is attributed the invention of
the archicymbal, a cymbal with special strings and keys for har-
monic sounds. Treating of Guido Aretino, Muratori, quoting
the Life of the Countess Matilda (t. v. Rerum Italicarwn) :

" Mtcrologum Librum sibi dictat Guido peritus,
Musices et Monachus, nee non Eremita beandus,"

states that the notes to her Life assert that the same Micrologics
is preserved, in MS., in a codex of the Ambrosian Library at
Milan, together with another pamphlet beginning thus: " Musi-
carum et cantorum magnet est distantia. Isti dicunt, illi sciunt, qua
componis musica" etc. At the end are the following words :
" Finit Regula Henchiriadis et Boetii, et Domni Guidonis Monachi"
The same codex contains likewise Liber Henchiriadis in Musica,
which opens thus: " Sicut vocis articulates elementarice, etc.," sup-
posed the work of some author of the tenth century.

II. Versus de Musicce Explanatione,suique nominis ordine, follow-
ed by Regulce rhythmicce in Antiphonarii sui prologum prolatce.
These two treatises, resuming his doctrine in verse, the second
of which is regarded as forming the second part of the Micrologus,
are copied from a MS. in the library of the abbey of St. Blaise.

III. A lies Guidonis Regulce de ignotu Cantu, identidem in Antipho-
narii sui prologum prolate. This treatise is followed by Epilogus
de Modorum Formulis et centum Qualitatibus.

IV. Epistola Guidonis, Michaeli Monacho, de ignoto cantu directa.
In this letter Guido relates the annoyances endured from his re-
ligious brethren and others, and his journey to Rome.

V. Tractatus Gtiidonis Correctorius Multorum Errorum, qui fiunt
in cantu Gregoriano in multis locis. Ex Cod. Tegernseln. , sec. xiv.
vol. xv. This work is thought wrongfully attributed to Guy of
Arezzo.

VI. Quomodo de arithmetica procedit Musica. Gerbert is con-
vinced this treatise is not from the pen of Guido ; certainly the

1 882.] GUIDO MONACO. 403

principles therein laid down are not always conformable to
those known to have been his. The original copy is found in a
MS. of the convent of St. Emmeran at Ratisbon, at the end
of the Micrologus ; but all know how manuscripts were drawn
up in those days. Guido is said further to have composed a
treatise entitled On the Measure of Monochords, a mere frag-
ment whereof is given in the collection of Bernard Fez ; also a
Treatise upon Music, specially intended for the instruction of
the clergy of the cathedral of Arezzo. Charles Poisot, in his
Histoire de la Musique en France, depuis les temps les plus recutts jus-
qua nos jours (Paris, 1860), announced a complete edition of the
works of Guido Monaco, translated and duly illustrated, with
notes, by Ad. de la Fage, which edition is not as yet in com-
merce.

Guido Aretino cannot be denied the no small honor of hav-
ing, to quote one of his biographers, " ameliorated the art of
singing, amplified instrumental music, laid the bases of counter-
point, and facilitated the way to a rapid knowledge of music,
thitherto by far too thorny and difficult." His name will flour-
ish so long as endures the use of the syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol,
la, to which it has been frequently but vainly sought to sub-
stitute other words. Mgr. Alfieri, in his Critical History of the
Restoration of Gregorian Chant, written in 1856, relates that about
1844 an Italian very profound in music claimed to have dis-
covered the Davidic chant in the Hebrew books, and con-
ceived the idea of applying Hebrew letters to the monosyllables
of the musical gamut. Having thus found the notes, he gave
them measure, and then the piano accompaniment. In that way
he obtained exquisite songs, fitted for private entertainments,
but which could not secure the approbation of really learned
musicians. The Germans are said to be the last who have con-
tinued the custom of sol-faing by the letters of the alphabet, as
they were the first to accept the usage, since we read in the
Life of St. Notker-le-Begue, who died 912, that Romanus, one of the
Roman cantors sent into France by Pope Adrian I., at the
request of Charlemagne, to civilize the barbarous singing of the
Prankish cantors, was the first who thought of arranging the
letters of the alphabet to the musical notes, which system, later
explained by St. Notker and further elucidated by the monk
Lambert, of the abbey of St. Gall, was adopted throughout
entire Germany (Act a SS. Bened.}

Beautiful Florence, ever zealous for the culture of the fine arts
and for the memory of those renowned therein, had long years

404 GUIDO MONACO. [Dec.,

since raised a statue to Guido Monaco in the magnificent portico
of the Uffizi. Arezzo has but now determined thus to honor her
great citizen, erecting for that intent a noble monument to the
meek and holy religious' in the Square Guido Monaco. In the
centre of this vast piazza bearing the name of the celebrated
monk, in the middle of an elegantly-laid-out parterre, encircled
by an artistic iron railing, stands the monument aforesaid. The
basement is square and composed of marble steps. A wide socle
or plinth in re'd Veronese marble is superposed and upholds the
base, topped by the escutcheons of the Hundred Cities of Italy.
On the sides two bronze bas-reliefs represent, one the discovery
of the notes of music, the other the moment when Guido teaches
his new method of chant. On the facade is this simple inscrip-
tion in bronze lettering: "Arezzo to Guido Monaco 1882."
Upon a heavy cornice forming the capital of the base rises the
marble statue of the great Aretian, who stands displaying a
book whereon are graven the notes discovered by his genius.

The day of the inauguration of the monument (September 2)
the Via Guido Monaco presented a fairy-like scene. It was bor-
dered throughout the entire length with Venetian poles, whence
floated the oriflammes and flags of all nations. Festoons connect-
ed one pole with the other, whilst between every two poles stood
columns bearing immense baskets of flowers and verdure. The
procession, comprising the prefect, the mayor of the city, the
deputations from the Senate and from the Chamber of Deputies,
all the provincial, civil, and military authorities of the neighbor-
hood, together with numerous artistic associations and other
societies with their respective banners, moved at eleven A.M. from
the prefectorial palace to the Square Guido Monaco, where they
grouped round the monument. At a duly given signal the sta-
tue of the inventor of the gamut was unveiled to the sound of
the royal march and by the hand of the sculptor himself, Cava-
lier Salvino Salvini, of Bologna, who was greatly felicitated upon
the complete success of his work. The square was densely
thronged, scores of banners waved in the air to the music of
hundreds of instruments, whilst the immense crowd gave vent to
the most frantic display of enthusiasm. Speeches were then
made by the mayor of Arezzo, by Cavalier Tenerani, represent-
ing the municipality of Rome, and by Professor Kraus in the
name of innumerable Italian and foreign artistic societies ; the
symphony of " Nabucco," and the two marches composed in
honor of Guido Monaco by Forti and Gandolfi, both natives of
Arezzo, were executed by thirty-two bands amid a deserved

1 882.] GUIDO MONACO. 405

ovation, and in the evening the whole city was brilliantly illu-
minated.

The fact should not be lost sight of that in Guido Aretino
the monk and the musician are inseparable, and if Arezzo have
reason to commemorate and to honor him, likewise the church
and the papacy, which, through the protection awarded by John
XIX., gave to the fame of Guy of Arezzo that consecration
which formed the pride of the artists of that epoch, have also
the right to claim their share in the distinctions now awarded
him, because the feasts of Arezzo and the honors conferred upon
the monk Guido are the justification of the papacy, and, in com-
mon with the other centenaries of illustrious men and of most
celebrated events, tell of the antiquity and of the utility of the
temporal power of the popes, and of how much Italy owes to the
papacy. It is noteworthy that the festivals of Arezzo were attend-
ed and participated in by Libsrals of every shade those Liberals
who have so loudly perorated against monastic life and have
busied themselves in dispersing the peaceful dwellers in the clois-
ter. Naturally they will argue that they honor, not the friar, but
the inventor of the gamut ; still, they cannot deny that the great
father of music was a friar, who meditated his marvellous discov-
ery within the walls of his cell in the retirement and silence of
that ascetic and contemplative life for which they profess such
unbounded contempt ; nor that the humble monk of Arezzo,
when carrying out the reformation of choral chant, had no
thought of the apotheosis to be decreed him by posterity.
Hence it is untrue that claustral life clips the wings of genius
and smothers the inspirations of the soul ; that it is an existence
of idleness and sloth. Neither can the}'- claim Fra Guido as an
exception, since that would be to deny the history of entire
centuries.

We conclude with the lines wherein Guido Monaco an-
nounces his musical discovery :

" Feci regulas apertas, et Antiphonarium
Regulariter perfectum contuli cantoribus,
Quale nunquam habuerunt reliquis temporibus.
Precor vos, beati fratres, pro tantis laboribus
Pro me, misero Guidone, meisque adiutoribus
Pium Deum exorate, nobis sit propitius.
Operis quoque scriptorem adiuvate precibus.
Pro magistro exorate cuius adiutorio
Auctor indiget et scriptor. Gloria sit Domino.
Amen." *

*V. Gerbert, Script, ii. 33.

406 THE GREAT COMET. [Dec.,

THE GREAT COMET.

THE comet discovered by Mr. Wells last spring grievously
disappointed the expectations which were entertained of it. In-
stead of developing an enormous tail, as had been fondly hoped,
it seemed to have exhausted its energies in the production of the
short though bright and promising one which it displayed long
before perihelion. Its brilliancy, like that of many a precocious
child, was only remarkable in its early days ; it afterward sank
down to the common level of its species. Though visible for a
time to the naked eye, probably few persons saw it, unless the} 7
knew exactly where to look. And those who did see it without
a glass saw it probably only before its perihelion passage, un-
less, indeed, it may have been more conspicuous in the southern
hemisphere.

It grievously disappointed, we say, astronomical expectation ;
but this expectation was really well founded. For the tails of
comets, as a rule, seem to be developed immensely by their ap-
proach to the sun, and are much more conspicuous after peri-
helion than before. Still, there are exceptions to this rule more
notable than that of the Wells comet. That of 1769, which had a
train of sixty degrees two-thirds of the distance from the hori-
zon to the zenith a month before its perihelion, showed only
one of two degrees in length on emerging from the rays of the
sun ; and though it afterward grew a little, still it never after-
ward reached more than a tenth of its previous dimensions.

Both the astronomers and the Wells comet, then, have some-
thing to say in justification of their conduct ; they have prece-
dents to urge. Still, whatever the comet's feelings may have
been, no doubt the astronomers felt a little ashamed of themselves
and of their promised show, and were somewhat in disgrace till
lately, when, quite unexpectedly, another celestial wanderer of
enormous proportions and most unusual splendor came to their
rescue.

The great comet of 1882, which, as we write, still shines in the
morning sky, was not, as has just been said, an expected visitor
to our system ; and, indeed, as we have before had occasion to
remark, no great and brilliant comets, except that of Halley, are.
But this one was not even seen, as comets usually are, with the
telescope, faint and far away, long before they attract popular

1 882.] THE GREAT COMET. 407

attention. So far as has yet been ascertained, this great comet
was first seen by Dr. B. A. Gould, director of the observatory
at Cordoba, in the Argentine Republic, on the morning of Sep-
tember 7. It must have been at that time visible to the naked
eye without much difficulty. Next day it was noticed by Mr.
Finlay, assistant at the observatory at the Cape of Good Hope ;
four days later by Dr. Cruls, the astronomer at Rio Janeiro. It
seems rather strange that during all this time such a bright ob-
ject should have escaped detection at the numerous observa-
tories of the northern hemisphere, from all of which it was visi-
ble, though not so favorably as from the southern ones just
named. It can best, perhaps, be accounted for by the astrono-
mical habit of going to bed before dawn, which is almost neces-
sary if one wants to get a good sleep, and which cuts off much
more of the night in latitudes far outside the tropics, where
dawn and twilight last so long.

On the I7th of September, however, the comet was suddenly
seen in bright daylight in close proximity to the sun a rare but
by no means unprecedented phenomenon. Mr. Ainslie Common,
of Baling, in England, seems to have been the first to notice it in
Europe. On the i8th it was seen by many people in Europe,
and by some also in this country. In the south of France, and
in Spain, Portugal, and Italy, it was on that day an object of
general admiration, the people stopping on the squares in some
places and gazing with astonishment on this blazing star close to
the solar orb. In this country circumstances do not seem to
have been so favorable ; still, had Mr. Common's observation of
the 1 7th been known early on the next day here, as it probably
was in Europe, many more persons would no doubt have seen
this strange sight. On the I9th it had become much fainter ;
and a tremendous storm soon after setting in, all chance of seeing
it either by day or night was lost for some days in this part of
the world. Bad weather also prevailed in Europe at this time,
and it seems not impossible that some disturbance of our at-
mosphere may have been caused by an excitement of the sun
consequent on the comet's near approach to it.

On the I7th, when the comet passed its perihelion, it is now
known to have been distant only about three hundred thousand
miles, or a little more than one-third of the sun's diameter, from
its surface. It was then well within the limits of what is called
the solar corona, and not so very much above the region of the
great jets of gas which are thrown up from the sun's surface,
and which are often conspicuous during solar eclipses, but easily

408 THE GREAT COMET. [Dec.,

seen at all times by means of the spectroscope. Its brightness
at that time was undoubtedly due to the tremendous heat to which
it was exposed, making it then highly incandescent or self-lu-
minous. This brightness was so intense that it was actually seen,
by two observers at the Cape of Good Hope, in apparent con-
tact with the edge of the solar disc a phenomenon unprecedent-
ed in astronomical history. This occurred at nine minutes be-
fore five in the afternoon, about an hour and a half before the
moment of perihelion passage. The comet then passed in front
of the sun and was lost to sight for a time in the dazzling radi-
ance by which it was surrounded. Its emergence from the sun's
disc on the eastern side, which must have occurred within an
hour, was not, as it would appear, observed in Africa or Europe,
the sun being near setting and perhaps obscured by clouds ; but
no doubt it could have been seen in this country, if the comet's
existence had then been known here, and may have been ob-
served in South America.

In the three hours after its entrance on the solar orb the
comet swung through one hundred and eighty degrees, or one-
half of its complete circle of angular movement round the sun's
centre, and was very shortly afterward quite clear of the sun's
disc, now again on the western side, from which it had approach-
ed, and toward which it was to recede. Its actual velocity at
this time can easily be calculated from this simple statement of
fact. It moved, as will be seen, through a curve which we may
call an approximate semicircle drawn round the sun's centre,
with an average radius of a million miles, in about three hours
three million miles in three hours, a million miles an hour, or
nearly two hundred and eighty miles a second. At the moment
of perihelion passage the speed of the comet was indeed about
three hundred miles each second, or twenty thousand times that
of a railway train at express speed.

This enormous velocity, produced in the comet by the at-
tractive force of the sun itself, was of course what saved it from
falling into the sun, as it would of course have done if it had had
more time to do so. And, according to the law of gravitation,
things always work in this way. Let no force come in to im-
pede the movement of a comet as it turns the corner, so to speak,
round the sun, and its velocity will carry it safely by, though it
should pass only an inch from the sun's surface. The nearer it
passes the greater its speed will be.

But supposing there should be such a resisting or impeding
force ; how then ? Then, of course, the comet would be drawn

1 882.] THE GREAT COMET. 409

out of its proper path toward the sun into a more contracted or-
bit, and it would leave the sphere within which that force was
exerted if it succeeded in leaving it at all at a reduced rate of
speed ; it would have less energy of projection away from the
sun, and would now revolve in a finite or elliptical, if before it
had moved in an infinite or parabolic, orbit. And at each suc-
cessive return its ellipse would be more contracted and its re-
turn to the sun would follow in quicker and quicker succession.
And each time, as it returned to the region of resistance, it would
be more and more impeded, till at last, like a moth circling
round a candle, it would be unable any longer to escape, but
would be stopped and consumed in the sun's blazing heat.

This, then, would be the result of such an impeding force.
And now the question naturally arises, Is there not such a force
actually in operation near the sun ? Has not the sun an atmos-
phere like in resisting powers to that surrounding our earth, and
of vastly greater extent ? And the answer can only be in the af-
firmative. There are the strongest reasons to believe that it has.
And, more than that, we are quite justified in holding that com-
ets passing as near the sun as this one has passed move through
this atmosphere and experience its impeding effect.

On this supposition, as well as on the remarkable resemblance,
in position and dimensions, of the orbit of this comet with those
of 1843 an d 1880, was founded the opinion held by many astro-
nomers that this comet and those of 1843 ana " 1880, and possi-
bly also the one of 1668, were in fact one and the same. The
orbits of all four are very similar, and it seemed highly probable
that the comet of 1668, previously parabolic in its movement,
experienced in its passage round the sun that year a sufficient
resistance to bring it back in 1843; then again, after a much
shorter interval, in 1880; and now, after only a few months, in
1882. It was therefore maintained, even by excellent astrono-
mers, as very likely, that the comet now visible would no more
leave the neighborhood of the sun, but that, returning to peri-
helion in a very short time, it would stop in the sun's atmos-
phere or on its surface or, in other words, fall into it as just
described ; or if it did not do so this time, at least after a few re-
volutions.

In confirmation of this view it appeared a few weeks ago,
from observations on the comet's position, that it was actually
moving in an elliptic orbit ; the period assigned by one compu-
ter was eight years, and it was expected by many that on a more
complete discussion of the observations a much shorter period

410 THE GREAT COMET. [Dec.,

would be obtained. But unfortunately for those who wished
to have a sensation, and to try by experiment the effect which
might be produced by a comet's fall on the sun this elliptic or-
bit has lately proved a mistake, owing to slight errors in the ob-
servations made use of to obtain it. It has now become quite
certain that the comet is moving in an orbit so nearly parabolic
that very careful observations will be necessary to detect the
ellipticity, if indeed any exists. The best ellipse now calculated
gives it a period of about four thousand years ; and though this
result may be very materially changed one way or the other,
there is no probability that it will be back in the lifetime of any
one of us now on the earth.

It follows from this that the theory of the identity of this
comet with that of 1843 or 1880 is now untenable. It is just pos-
sible that it may be, perhaps, that of 1668 on its first return, but
this must remain a speculation for the present.

But does the comet give no evidences of disturbance or re-
tardation in its movement by having passed through the solar
atmosphere? It is too early as yet to answer this question.
When the earliest observations are worked up with the latest
we shall know more on this subject. At present there are some
indications that such a disturbance has taken place.

By the proof which recent observations have given that
this great comet cannot soon return it has lost much of its in-
terest ; but it still remains the most interesting in many ways, as
well as one of the most splendid, of all the bodies of its class
which have ever visited the solar system. For though it is not
certain that it has experienced disturbance in its movement, it is
quite evident that it has been otherwise violently disturbed by
the intense heat to which it has been subjected.

The most remarkable peculiarity which it has presented is
perhaps its tendency to break up into smaller parts to detach
portions, as if by some internal force, from itself. Prof. Schmidt,
of Athens, was the first to discover a mass of this character
separated from the principal comet and travelling with it.
Quite lately a number of such parts are reported to have been
found near the path of the great body. One especially was stat-
ed on seemingly good authorit}' to have been seen some weeks
ago, of enormous size several degrees, in fact, in length. This
breaking up of cometic masses is not unprecedented ; but never
before has the phenomenon occurred on such a large scale and
in such a way as to enable us to see not only the results but
even the process itself.

1 882.] THE GREAT COMET. 411

The spectroscope has also been used more satisfactorily than
ever before with a comet to determine its physical constitution.
Sodium and carbon seem to have been the principal elements de-
tected.

Though the nature and the way of formation of the tails of
comets remain still mysterious, there is little doubt that the ex-
tensive and accurate observations made on that of the present
one with the magnificent telescopes recently constructed will,
when thoroughly examined, shed some light on this vexed ques-
tion and be a very important element in its final solution.

It has truly been a magnificent object, and those who have
had resolution and curiosity enough to get up early and see it,
and have been more than repaid for- their trouble, will feel some
regret as it sinks away from their sight in the immeasurable
depths of space. Its real dimensions were even larger than
would have been supposed by most of those who looked with
astonishment on its noble form and splendid brightness. The
nucleus was estimated at over twenty thousand miles in length ;
the tail must have covered fifty million. For the comet, though
not appearing so large as some others which have been seen,
has been, it must be remembered, since October i considerably
farther fronvus than the sun, say one hundred and twenty million
miles or more away a distance at which many of even the
great comets have seemed like only a faint wisp of cloud on the
sky.

We are sorry, then, to take leave of this glorious celestial visi-
tor ; sorry that there is so little hope of its return. But those
who did not see it may hope to see others like it. It would
seem as if the solar system, in its immense orbit through space,
had got into a region of space where these remarkable objects
were abundant ; and we may perhaps not unreasonably look for-
ward to picking up before long, as we travel, a few more as
good fish of this kind as those which lately have been caught in
the immense sea through which we are being rapidly borne.

412 A NE w BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. [Dec.,

A NEW BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS.

THE Journal of Education, published in Boston, dated the I2th
of October last, contained an article entitled " On the Crime of
Educating the People in free Common Schools," from the pen
of W. T. Harris, LL.D.

What Dr. Harris says about our public schools, as from one
who is familiar with the system, ought to command more than
ordinary attention. He has been the Superintendent of Public
Schools in the city of St. Louis for a number of years, and,
if we are not mistaken, is one of the lecturers in the Summer
School of Philosophy at Concord, Mass., and is engaged to
give in the coming winter a course of lectures on philosophy to
the people of Boston ; and what we should not pass by with-
out notice Dr. W. T. Harris is the editor of the Journal of
Speculative Philosophy.

What comes from so competent and distinguished a person is
significant and deserves serious attention, and this is what we
purpose to give to his article on the public schools.' .

Dr. W. T. Harris in the first paragraph starts with the pre-
mise that there is prevalent a profound distrust of, and a wide-
spread defection among the more intelligent classes in the com-
munity from the cause of free popular education. He says :

" If the leading articles in our ablest newspapers and magazines, touch-
ing the school question, are to be taken as a serious indication of popular
opinion, there is no doubt that there is a wide-spread defection from the
cause of free popular education in this country. It certainly indicates the
prevalence of a profound distrust among the more intelligent classes, and
this distrust will descend to the less intelligent classes if it continues to
exist."

There must be real causes for so great a loss of popular favor,
and, though it is not to be expected that a short article would or
could contain them all, yet we reasonably do expect that one or
more of these will be given. Dr. Harris confines himself to one
only, and that he states as follows :

" When our modern dreamer, who has persuaded himself that he be-
lieves in the caste system, turns over uneasily in his sleep and murmurs
something like this : ' Is it wise or best to educate our children beyond the
position which the vast majority of them must always occupy ? ' '

1 882.] A NE w BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 41 3
Again :

"The number in our common schools who are studying reading, writ-
ing, and arithmetic, chiefly, with a little geography and much less gram-
mar, is so large that the balance who are studying the higher branches is
pitiably small in comparison. In the great cities the number engaged in
high-school and college studies is only one in ten in the most advanced of
cities, and only one in fifty in the average of cities. And yet our dreamer
of caste and inequality mutters again in his sleep : ' The cruel suspicion is
forced upon us that our present educational system largely unfits young
people to deal with the actual necessities of those who are to earn their
own living. It takes away self-reliance, begets conceit, and draws atten-
tion to what is ornamental rather than what is fundamental.' "

How much of this " modern dreamer, who has persuaded
himself that he believes in the caste system," is made up of straw
we leave our readers to judge. Not every one, however, finds
the vulnerable points of free public schools in the same spot.
For instance, here is M. W. Hazen, who, after confessing their
literary imperfections, goes on to say :

" In their moral aspect, however, the schools are more vulnerable.
Here are evils that are undermining their very foundations. It is not a
question of Bible or no Bible, of Catholic or of Protestant influence, but
rather of such positively immoral tendencies as make the public schools
dangerous to the family, the state, and the nation. This is not stating the
case too strongly. In the constant association of all classes on the school
playground our boys and girls are exposed at the most susceptible age to
the worst possible influences. When the low and vile mingle with the bet-
ter class of children it is the universal result that the worst influences pre-
vail. In passing by the school-grounds in almost any city one is shocked
at the vile, obscene, and profane expressions that are heard on every
side. The better class of people are rapidly withdrawing their children
from some of the schools on this very account. Even the members of the
school boards in some instances have done this. Nor is this evil confined
to the cities. In a town of less than two thousand inhabitants, not far
from Boston, the superintendent has been notified that several parents
would be obliged to withdraw their children from the school for this very
reason. It is impossible for parents to counteract this evil influence.
Weeds always grow faster than wheat. Besides, in many cases, parents do
not know of anything like the extent of the evil until it is too late. The
better class of parents, rich and poor, are rapidly awakening to a sense of
the wrong they are doing their own children in thus allowing them to be
exposed to such pernicious influences.

"This is the great fault with our schools to-day. This, unless remedied,
will destroy either the schools or the nation. Parents will not long suffer
their children to be hopelessly defiled for any real or apparent benefit arising
from the literary work of the school. 'What shall it profit a man, if he
gain the whole world and lose his own soul ? ' and what will it avail for a

414 ^ NEW BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. [Dec.,

boy to be able to read and write and use figures with ease, if his moral na-
ture is so polluted that he is a curse to himself and to his associates ? "

When Mr. Hazen was taken to task in a subsequent number
of the same Educational Journal on account of his testimony,
in his reply he says :

"The article over which you inadvertently printed my name has been
so widely commented on that you must certainly allow me a brief space
for further ' testimon)^.' The facts on which the article was based have been
collected during a period of more than a dozen years, quite a portion of
which was passed at the head of prominent schools, and the remainder in
such work as has enabled me to examine carefully the schools of nearly
every State in the Union. My own experience is not, then, confined to
New England, as the Tribune, in its excellent editorial, would venture to
hope. Nor are the facts based entirely on what I have seen personally,
although I have known enough to warrant every assertion therein made ;
but additional facts have been given me by teachers from different parts of
the country facts so much worse than those mentioned in the previous
article that I do not even venture to hint of them.

" Since the former article was printed I have been constantly receiving
letters thanking me for it ; some saying that the writers had long known
and tried to overcome the evils, others that the writers read with indigna-
tion and uabelief, but, on quiet, thorough investigation, had found evils in
their schools of which they previously had had no idea. The different notes
and comments you have published on the article all seem to agree that the
evil exists."

He then proceeds to give the additional facts received from
different parts of the country. If the reasons which have pro-
duced so wide-spread a defection among the more intelligent
classes from the cause of free public schools were thoroughly
investigated, the objection of Mr. Harris' dreamer would stand,
perhaps, on the list, but not as marking the most serious part of
" the crime of educating our children in the public schools."

We may as well say at the outset that we do not altogether
disagree with Dr. Harris' dislike of " caste and inequality,"
since the aspiration for intellectual improvement, the desire to
better one's social position and to increase one's physical com-
forts, if kept within reasonable bounds, are not illegitimate or
criminal. And if there be one advantage which the United
States possesses over all other countries it is the fair oppor-
tunity which it holds out to those classes that lack knowledge
and wealth for the comparatively easy acquisition of these bene-
fits. It may be said with perfect truth that the increased intel-
lectual elevation and the improved physical condition of the
most numerous classes of society are among the satisfactory

i882.] A NEW BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 415

features which distinguish American civilization. What Dr.
Harris, therefore, has to say in condemnation of caste and in-
equality has our sincere and hearty approval as a Christian
American.

But in our legitimate dislike of caste and inequality, fostered
in great measure by pagan traditions and unjust laws, let us not
be driven into the support of a system of schools which is train-
ing up a generation of infidels and breeding a dead-level vulgar-
ity ; let us beware of being frightened into the defence and sup-
port of free public schools of which it can be said by their ad-
mitted friends that "their positively immoral tendencies make
them dangerous to the family, the state, and the nation."

Though we have stated Dr. HaVris' point, AVC have not yet
brought forth the gist of his argument. This lies in his last
two paragraphs.

" The critics of our educational system," he says, " are never done with
telling us that its results are to make the rising generation discontented
with its lot. As if this were a defect rather than the greatest glory of an
educational system ! What place is there in our system for a drone who is
utterly devoid of aspiration ? To be like dumb, driven cattle is this per-
mitted or encouraged in a Christian civilization ? Man is immortal and
has an infinite destiny this is the burden of Christian teaching. In conse-
quence of this, Christian civilization strives toward the heavens ; it sub-
dues nature, and makes natural forces toil for it and procure food, clothing,
and shelter for the body. It continually turns out the drudge from his vo-
cation and says to him : ' I do not want your mere bodily toil at any price ;
I have a machine that can do such work better than the like of you can,
and at less than what you would call starvation wages. Up, therefore, and
acquire directive intelligence, so that you may manage and direct this ma-
chine and other machines ; for presently we shall need no more mere hand-
labor, but require all to be intelligent and directive.'

" Man's destiny is not contentment with his lot, but growth in the
image of his Maker. The idea that the divine aspiration of the American
child at school is an evidence of the criminality of our school system wall
conceived only in the mind of a heathen or in the nightmare dream of
caste."

Suppose we grant, which we do, that " man's destiny is not
contentment with his lot, but growth in the image of his Maker."
May we ask, Does the training which our children receive in the
free common schools tend to increase growth in the image of
their Maker ? That's the question ! The American people are
naturally a religious people, and is it not possible, nay, quite
sure, that they are not displeased with " the divine aspiration
of the American child at school," but are displeased with the

416 A NEW BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. [Dec.,

school itself? And this displeasure arises from the fact that the
public schools such is their impression place a disproportionate
value on the knowledge how " to manage and direct machines."
Not that the more intelligent classes of the American people
disparage the value of secular knowledge, but they object to
overestimating its worth in comparison with that instruction
which should be given to children in order that " they may grow
in the image of their Maker " and thus secure their immortal
destiny. There is no disputing the point that Americans love
secular knowledge, but it is also true that they love religion
more. Improve the material conditions of man by all means,
but be sure to make him better.

But the kind of knowledge whose principal aim is to make
men better is religious knowledge, and our common schools pro-
fessedly ignore religious knowledge. They do not impart it.
They are, in fact, incompetent to teach it, if they would. Be-
sides, it is not the province of common schools to give religious
instruction, because it is not the province of a state whose citi-
zens hold such divergent religious beliefs as ours do, to provide
for their religious instruction. It is not in its power or compe-
tence to do it. Hence .the American state is not called upon to
provide or to pay for the religious instruction of the people. It
would be un-American to attempt it. Having thus prepared the
way, we are now ready to shape more definitely the objection of
a Christian community, such as we indisputably are, to the pre-
sent free common-school system.

One of the principal objections of the more intelligent classes
of the American community against our free public schools is
the inherent tendency of the system to exaggerate secular
knowledge in comparison with that instruction children ought
to receive in order to grow in the image of their Maker. In
Qther words, the direct tendency of our free common schools
by their one-sided education is to stimulate an overweening
worldly ambition, and thus make their scholars unreasonably
discontented with their lot in this actual but transient world.
The quarite primum of our free public schools is regnum mundi,
and the qucerite primum of Christ is regnum Dei. Here, in the
eyes of a Christian community, lies " the crime of educating the
people in free common schools." Failing to make the distinc-
tion between the discontentment of one's earthly lot which
springs from an inordinate worldly aspiration, and the heavenly
longing of the soul which is due to a divine aspiration to grow
in the image of its Maker, Dr. Harris' Christian plea in favor

i832.] A NEW B'UT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 417

of free public schools is clearly a false one, and consequently his
argument falls to the ground. The doctor has made the mistake
of " putting the boot on the wrong leg."

Suppose, however, for the nonce, that Dr. Harris meant that
the aspiration of the American child at school was not earth-
ward but heavenward for he says its aspiration is " divine " and
now let us suppose on this account his " modern dreamer " is
displeased with the free public schools. What then ? Why,
then we submit that his last sentence should run thus : " The
idea that the divine aspiration of the American child at school is
an evidence of the criminality of our school system was con-
ceived only in the mind of a secularist or in the nightmare
dream of an atheist." For only pe'rsons of this class would, in
case of a " divine aspiration," be found in the ranks of oppo-
sition to our public-school system. Christians are aware that
grapes are not gathered from thorns, and so are secularists.
But let it be said just here that, so far as known, these persons
are with Dr. Harris' defence of our common schools, and up-
hold and maintain them just as they are. They appreciate fully
that under such a school system, which stimulates the desire for
worldly things, by the exclusive imparting of secular know-
ledge, religious ideas are weakened and gradually wane away,
and it would suit secularists to run the free public schools, at the
expense of the state, to turn out secularists. Whatever others
may think or do, Catholics who are worthy of the name will not
knowingly be a voluntary party to such a transaction.

We beg pardon, but we cannot help it : a suspicion crosses our
mind at this moment which inclines us to ask the doctor to inform
his readers what he really does mean. The word " lot " in his
phrase is ambiguous. Surely it could not have been his intention
to mystify the public ? Let us at least have things clear and in
logical order from a teacher of philosophy. What is Dr. W. T.
Harris driving at? Is he a Christian, or a theist, or a secularist?

Let us not be misunderstood. We are loath to doubt the
good faith of Dr. Harris in making this false plea for common
schools. It is equally far from our thoughts to draw subtle
distinctions, of no substantial value, in order to put the friends
of these schools in the wrong. Our sole aim is to see things
clearly as they are and " let every tub stand on its own bot-
tom." But surely he who puts in a Christian plea for free pub-
lic schools which, their friends being judges, turn out " pa-
gans " * and are " of such positively immoral tendencies as

* Vide infra.
VOL. XXXVI. 27

4 1 8 A NE w BUT FAL SE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. [Dec. ,

make them dangerous to the family, the state, and the nation,"
entertains no high estimate of the intelligence, or the religious
sincerity, or the morality, or the patriotism of his readers.
Candidly, is not one compelled to acknowledge that such a pro-
cedure from a Doctor of Laws does not look well ? Such being
the case, we have the right, and that without any discourtesy, to
ask: What does Dr. Harris mean ?

In the meantime our proposition is that the court grant leave
to Dr. Harris to take his plea from the docket, lest it should
place what is not true on its record. Leaving now W. T. Har-
ris, LL,D., with our compliments, to settle this point, we turn
our attention for a few moments to other opponents of the Chris-
tian view of the school question.

Only religious bigots impute to Catholics, for demanding pro
rata compensation for the secular knowledge imparted in their
schools and for nothing else, the illegitimate and un- American
design of furthering the success of their church at the expense of
the treasury of the state. Fanaticism appears to have such a
mastery over the minds of some persons that they would rather
see their own religious meetings deserted, their children become
pagans, our free institutions destroyed, and our political govern-
ment in ruins, than open their eyes to the truth and thus be led
to do simple justice to those who differ from them in the Chris-
tian faith. This class of persons, active and noisy, we have rea-
son to believe is very small. But to the minds of an enlightened
and unbiassed Christian people, who sincerely mean to continue
to exist as Christians, it is as clear as the sun at midday that Chris-
tian instruction must enter as an essential part into the education
of their children. No Catholic parent this can be said for cer-
tain and no American parent, we dare add, would have his chil-
dren grow up infidels. But all attempts to separate morals from
religion, and religion from Christianity, are vain, and as long as a
system of education is maintained which is based upon the theory
of their separation, so long will religion and morals decay, and
such schools where they prevail are justly taxed, where such is
the fact, with the increased criminality in a community. Men do
not gather figs from thistles.

To say that religious instruction should be given in the fami-
ly or by the clergy, when the agencies at their disposal are in-
sufficient for this purpose, in addition to the daily education giv-
en to children at common schools, is an unmistakable evidence
of indifference to religion. And even if such agencies were at
the disposal of the parents or the clergy, the free public schools

1 882.] A NE w BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 419

absorb the best energies of the child and demand its best hours
the child is taxed more from this quarter alone than com-
ports with its physical health, according to competent judges.
Then when and where and how are children to be taught to
grow in the image of their Maker ? Moreover, we unbiddingly
repel, with the strongest feelings of indignation of our nature,
the idea that the most momentous interests of the soul should
be made a supplementary matter in the education of children ;
and ^ye leave to our impartial readers to judge what a Christian
ought to think of that class of men who, after having exhausted
the mind and energies of the child, after having worked children
to their very utmost, and more, in public schools, would then
turn them over to their parents of the clergy to instruct them
in religion, morals, and manners. None but secularists or
atheists would have the face to venture upon making a sugges-
tion of this sort to a Christian people who can claim an ordinary
share of intelligence and humanity with a proper sense of their
dignity.

It is the profound conviction of the primary importance of
religion, and its inseparableness from the interests of this life, that
stimulates and strengthens Catholics in establishing schools where
religious instructions go hand-in-hand with instructions in other
branches of knowledge. It is these truths which uphold Catho-
lics in supporting their independent schools while bearing the
unjust burden of an additional taxation for the support of state
schools, whose influence they hold to be inimical to the welfare
of souls no less than pernicious to society and the state.

Upwards of ten millions of dollars are expended yearly in
the State of New York alone upon the so-called common schools,
which are not common, but the schools of the worst sect of all
the sect of secularism ! When is this enormous and ever-increas-
ing sum lavished upon these irreligious sectarian schools to
stop? How long will an intelligent Christian people continue
the suicidal policy of paying their enemies to dig the grave of
their religion?

Undoubtedly it bears hard upon Catholics to have to com-
pete with schools whose managers have their hands plunged
up to their elbows in the state treasury. It oppresses Ca-
tholics with a double weight when one considers the fact that
the state treasury is replenished with money drawn propor-
tionately by taxation out of the pockets of Catholics ! But
their self-sacrifice and courage will prove equal to the task.
For with Catholics the question of education involves their love

A NEW BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. [Dec.,

for their children's souls, the welfare of society, and the sus-
taining of free institutions. With them the school question is
a serious question, a momentous question, a question that is
fraught with all they hold near and dear in this life and in the
life to come. The real question in contention is : Who shall
have the child the parents or the state, Christianity or infi-
delity ? Shall society continue on a Christian basis or plunge
into Nihilism? That is, in the last analysis, at the bottom of
the school question in these United States, in England, in France,
in Prussia, and in Italy.

That religious conviction wedded to patriotism and perse-
vering effort will succeed, will end in triumph, there is not a
shadow of doubt. Catholics have taken measures to the utmost
of their ability, and continue to take measures, to secure their
children from the fatal effects of scepticism and infidelity, which
like a blast is withering the spiritual energies of the souls of
men almost everywhere of this generation. And if good sense
and sincere love for the Christian faith, their children's souls, and
their country's good /do not teach non-Catholics in time their
duty and their interests, then the apostasy from Christianity of
their offspring, and the ruin of their country, will have to open
the eyes of their understanding and awaken them from their
religious apathy.

To some extent the ulterior results of our public-school sys-
tem are already visible, recognized, and publicly acknowledged.
A Presbyterian writer in the Chicago Advance made the follow-
ing revelation: "We are," he says, "doing our very best to
create pagans even out of the children of the church."

A religious journal of a leading denomination of Christians
makes a similar statement in this form :

"A METHODIST'S QUESTION.

" If Rome educates one part of the children of these United States and
the other be let out as a government contract on a secular and semi-athe-
istic basis, what will become of Protestant Christianity ? The question
answers itself. The church that does not provide for the education of her
own sons and daughters must be prepared to lose them." Nashville Chris-
tian Advocate.

Still another evidence of the light dawning on this important
question is taken from the Lebanon Times and Kentuckian :

" We are now satisfied, after mature thought and reflection, that the
present admitted demoralization of public sentiment has grown out of our
system of public education more than from all other causes taken together.
Our system of state education is all wrong, and an experiment of half a cen-

1 882.] A NEW BUT FALSE PLEA FOR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 421

tury, under the guidance and direction of the ablest men of the state placed
at the head of it, has resulted and is resulting in nothing but failure every-
where ; and why ? Because the most essential elements in the training of hu
man beings for usefulness and character in life are omitted. We teach a few
of the elementary branches of learning imperfectly, and leave out altogether
instruction in the higher fields of morals and religion. Our schools are ab-
solutely pagan and infidel ; we have adopted the plans of Lycurgus and aban-
doned Christ ; we act on the Spartan theory of instruction, and treat with
contempt the higher and holier claims of the Christian system ; we substi-
tute the state for the family and the church, and we are losing thereby all
the gentle and purifying influences of the home and fireside, and all the
sublime and exalted teachings of Christianity and the church. Instead of
the forbearing and gentle virtues, the love and devotion that are so admir-
able in the family circle, instead of the sublime charities, the patience and
suffering and heroic personal sacrifices, which have so often distinguished
the great Christian leaders, we have the Bob Ingersolls in public life and
the Arnolds in private station.

"All this is horribly wrong and ought to be corrected. Let us go back
to the old plans ; let the family be replaced in its power ; let every church
have its schools and modes of instruction, and abolish this immense system
of mere political education, and all will be right again. No other mode will
do. You can't amend a system that is radically wrong in its very founda-
tion and purposes. Our system is now no better than an excrescence of
the body politic, a cancer eating at the vitals of our free institutions, send-
ing down its morbid roots into the very muscles and bones and sinews of
the body politic, and calculated some day, if not arrested in its course, to
be attended with consequences fatal to civil and religious liberty.

" Already the grasping hand of ambitious power, seated at Washington,
is making its movements in the direction of our State institutions, with the
purpose of establishing a great national system of public education, based
upon the vices and elements of our State plans, which, if accomplished,
will add to the rings already organized another ring of inconceivable
power and influence a ring of school officers, of commissioners, teachers,
and dependants appointed by the central authority and subject to its be-
hests. In its applications to oar State institutions, already the country is
full of heart-burnings and dissatisfactions, growing out of its injustice and
oppression, its enormous taxation and unjust distribution of its funds.
Wrong in its moral influence on society, wrong in its injustice to the reli-
gious institutions of the country, wrong in its political tendencies, let the
calm thought of the people be directed to it, and at a proper time let action
be taken."

Congregationalists, Baptists, Episcopalians, and other Pro-
testant denominations acknowledge and are alarmed at the
visible decay of Protestantism as a religion. One among the
principal causes which have hastened thus far this dissolution in
the United States will be found in the education given to their
children under the free public-school system.

This system is unchristian in spirit, as it is un-American in

422 THE SEVEN DEAD. [Dec.,

conception. If Christian Americans had had sufficient foresight
they would never have been wheedled into submission to this
system. For in the proportion that a body of alert Christians
has a vital faith in the truths of Christianity, just in that degree
will they distrust a system of exclusively secular education, and
provide schools where their sons and daughters will be taught
not only the necessary branches of secular knowledge, but also,
what is of higher importance, religion, morals, and manners.

The struggle for existence between the Christianity of Pro-
testants and the continuance of the free common schools has
fairly begun. The light is dawning on the minds of Protestants
that the public-school system is a one-sided system, and its side
is exclusively the secular side. They are becoming convinced
that a one-sided secular system of education is an education
downward, and not upward. They have been deluded! The
light which has dawned upon the minds of not a few has led
them to detect the delusion under which they have labored and
to see that they have been caught in a snare. Have they enough
sagacity to escape the snare and save, at this late hour, whatever
of Christianity they have still left ?

THE SEVEN DEAD.

A LEGEND OF VENICE.

WHO goes to Venice, and with gondolier
Passes an idle hour, this tale may hear,
For many times the legend has been told,
And still it holds the list'ner as of old :

Long years ago, across the calm lagoons
Six fishers passed, with no light save the moon's,
That shimmered on the wake their vessel made
And softly o'er the pleasant waters played.
Toiling amain with net and spear, they spent
The slow-paced, lonely hours till morning sent
Her golden arrows flashing from the East
And all night's prisoned creatures were released ;
Then, well content, and cheery with the spoil
The teeming wave had yielded to their toil,

i882.] THE SEVEN DEAD. 423

Their laden craft they rowed back leisurely,
Its bright freight fresh with odors of the sea.

While yet with easy stroke they plied the oar,

And slowly neared the misty, curving shore, '

A ghastly thing they suddenly descried :

A dead man floating seaward with the tide

One like themselves, as by his garb they knew,

Swart still in death, rugged and sea-worn, too.

A moment startled by the sight, they said

No word, but gazed awe-rapt upon the dead

A moment only ; then the^blood again

Quickened its courses through each lusty vein,

And strong hands soon had raised the dripping thing

And laid it in the boat, that they might bring

It to the land for burial. Again

The ready craft, responding to the strain

Of brawny sinews, shoreward sped apace

And drew at length unto a landing-place

Where stood a youth, halfway 'twixt boy and man,

To bid them to the day's first meal, and scan

Their number, that for each a place should be

Prepared within a hut beside the sea.

Thither the} 7 followed as the stripling led,
Leaving unwatched the stark and silent dead,
Whom, not perceiving that his life was o'er,
The youth had reckoned in his hasty score
And as they drew apart, and felt the space
Widen between them and the ghastly face,
The awe that had oppressed them quickly passed,
And lighter moods came cheerily and fast;
Thus when the hut whereto their steps were bent
Was reached they had again grown eloquent
With the rude talk of rough-hewn men, who feel
No wound but food and fellowship can heal ;
And even the lonely dead became a jest,
Mocked at, made sport of, as the absent guest :
The dead, at whom they shuddered when, beside
Them in the boat, and dripping from the tide,
He lay with staring eyes and lips of stone
Of him they jested, being now bolder grown.

424 THE SEVEN DEAD. [Dec.,

Briskly the youth bestirred him in the task
Of setting forth the meal, nor paused to ask
Of this or that, but spread the simple store,
As one who heeds his toil, and heeds no more ;
But when the six were seated, and a place
Remained yet vacant, scanning face and face
And seeing none he knew not, then he said :
" One is not here the stranger ; there is bread
For all." A harsh laugh followed, and one spake :
" Go, bid him to our merry feast, and take
Good care that he shall hear." Waiting no more,
The supple youth sped quickly to the shore
And hailed in timid tone him whom the deep,
Earth-startling thunder could not rouse from sleep.
Again he called : " Awake ! they wait thee ; come ! "
But no voice answered, for the dead are dumb.
Then hastening back to where the fishers were,
He said he could not make the stranger hear,
Whereat they louder laughed and rudely smote
The air with harshness from each bearded throat ;
And he who first commanded spake again :
" Go, take him by the beard, and pull amain,
And if he wake not thus, then shake him well ;
Haste, boy, and bring us what thou hast to tell ! "

Back to the shore, but not so speedily,

The youth returned, and by the shining sea,

That murmured softly, kissing the fair sand,

Did his rude office with recoiling hand ;

For some vague thing he had not known before

Possessed him, and a tremor, passing o'er

As he did touch the dead, sent to his heart

A sudden pause. Soon fain was he to start

Again to where the roisterers were, and say

He could not wake the man in any way.

And when they heard, their mad, resounding glee

Yet louder grew and harsher ; then did he

Whose throat outroared the others roar again :

" Back, boy, once more, and heed ye well, on pain

Of losing thy dull tongue and being dumb

Henceforth say this to him, that he must come,

Or we shall bring him ; call it in his ear

And see to it that thou dost make him hear."

i882.J THE SEVEN DEAD. 425

With faltering step and heart now fainter grown,
And almost fearing to approach alone,
The youth a third time reached the silent place
And gazed upon the strange and solemn face
Of him who lay there ; then he drew more near,
And, bending low, called in the dead man's ear
The words he had been told ; and while he yet
Spake loudly, from the cold lips, firmly set,
The answer rose, " Return and say I come ! "
But such the tone it startled, as if some
Grim corpse, long silent, in sepulchral gloom
Had waked and weirdly spoken from the tomb.

Six brawny fishers, boisterous with cheer,

On jest still bent, and thinking not of fear,

Waited and laughed betimes, yet wondering

What final tale the messenger should bring ;

And when he came and said, " He comes ; his place

Is here ; make room," at once each swarthy face

Showed dread amazement, and a silence fell

Upon them, as if suddenly some spell

Had seized the ribald tongues that lately lent

Harsh, lusty voice to reckless merriment ;

And while the youth set forth the frugal fare

For him thus bade, a wild shriek smote the air

From those who had grown silent, for the dead

Had entered, with unheard and solemn tread,

And staring eyes and stony lips, and all

That should be shut from vision by the pall.

Mute, rigid, cold, and with his awful eyes

Fixed strangely on them who no more should rise,

He stood a moment,. then again, unheard,

Passed to his place without a sign or word ;

And when the startled youth found voice to say

'Twas ill-grace shrieking in so wild a way,

No lip made answer, and he saw with dread

That all, like he whom they had mocked, were dead.

Such is the tale in Venice ofttimes told,
And still it holds the list'ner as of old.

426 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Dec.,

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE GROUNDWORK OF THE CHRISTIAN VIRTUES. A Course of Lectures.
By Bishop Ullathorne. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

These admirable lectures make a sequel and a companion volume to
Bishop Ullathorne's Endowments of Man. There is no department of
philosophy which has been treated in a more complete and satisfactory
manner by great Catholic writers than ethics. Some of the best pagan
philosophers, and especially Plato, had already prepared the way in such
an excellent manner that one frequently seems to be perusing a Christian
author in reading their luminous and sublime expositions. Adopting and
perfecting the best portions of the ethical philosophy of Plato and Aristotle,
St. Thomas and his school have erected a beautiful fabric of rational ethics,
adding to it the superstructure of the doctrine of specifically Christian
virtue. Bishop Ullathorne walks in the path they have marked out, and
presents deep yet clear views, in a philosophical and theological manner,
profound and lofty, yet made intelligible and pleasing to every educated
and thoughtful mind.

The lectures begin with the great subject of Probation, which is at
present so prominent and important a topic. So far as the reason, the
need, the nature and end of probation for man is concerned, considered as
in point of fact subject to a moral and spiritual probation in this life, there
is nothing lacking in the author's exposition. It seems to us, however,
that he assumes the necessity of probation for all rational creatures in too
universal and absolute a manner. A great multitude of human souls viz.,
all such as are saved without ever exercising the power of reason and of
free-will, infants and such as are on a par with infants are raised to per-
fection and attain the sovereign good without probation. It is, therefore,
evidently possible for God to dispense with this condition if he pleases.
Besides, we have in the humanity of the Lord Jesus an instance of the
most perfect and exalted human virtue and beatitude belonging to the
Son of God as man, as a birthright and not as the result of probation, and,
moreover, we see in him absolute impeccability co-existing with merit
gained by acts of free choice ; so that even the fullest exercise of free-will
and the acquisition of the highest merit do not absolutely require a proba-
tion which involves any capacity and risk of sinning. If it be said that the
divine personality elevates the human nature of the Lord to an exceptional
state, we have in the Blessed Virgin Mary an instance of a purely human
person whose nature was so perfect from the beginning as to be impec-
cable, and who has attained the most sublime height of excellence and
beatitude by the way of merit, without that possibility or risk of forfeiture
which seems to be a necessary element of probation in the proper sense
of the word. Although we know that in general God has established a law
of probation for angels and men, and do not know that there are any other
rational creatures in the universe, yet we do not know that there are not
many such, or that if they do or will hereafter exist theymust attain nat-
ural perfection and happiness through a probation. In our opinion, view-

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 427

ing all these considerations, there must be some reason, other than the
very nature of rational beings, why the Creator does expose some of them
to the risks of probation.

The author treats very fully of humility as the foundation of Christian
virtue. We like very much his way of setting forth the true dignity of
man as entirely based on his dependence upon God. Proceeding on this
line of argument, he conclusively proves that it is humility which really
exalts, while it is pride which utterly debases, a rational creature a great
point to be gained. He shows up, also, most admirably that silly conceit
of certain pseudo-philosophers which they call " altruism." His argument
is, briefly, that love is due to an object in proportion to its excellence, with-
out respect to the fact whether the object loved is identical with the sub-
ject loving or not. God owes to himself supreme love because he is the
supreme good, and it is an idle blasphemy to assert that the Christian con-
ception of God represents him as selfish. Every creature owes to God
supreme love, and to all creatures, his own individual self included, the
love which is proportioned to the just claim of each one. Selfishness,
therefore, is not simply the love of self, but that inordinate love of self
which is regardless of the just claims of God and our fellow-creatures.

THE PERSISTENT VIOLATION BY THE MANAGERS OF THE HOUSE OF REFUGE
OF THE RELIGIOUS RIGHTS OF CATHOLIC MINORS COMMITTED TO THAT
INSTITUTION.

We have received a pamphlet with the above heading, " prepared by
the Executive Committee of the Catholic Union of New York. 1882."

This pamphlet was prepared and published for the purpose of spread-
ing among the " Catholics of our city and elsewhere, and among their
just and fair-minded fellow-citizens of other creeds, a knowledge of the
present persistent violation of religious rights guaranteed by the con-
stitution of our State to the Catholic boys and girls committed to the
House of Refuge on Randall's Island."

This House of Refuge is not simply an institution for those who are
guilty of crime. Fifty-three percent, of the commitments of last year were
for vagrancy, truancy, and for being disorderly.

The Catholic Union has requested from the State Legislature of New
York for ten years the removal of the grievance of which it has so justly
and persistently complained. Catholics seek for no privileges from the
state. All they ask is simple justice and fair play, which they are perfectly
willing to give to others, and which is in perfect accordance with the prin-
ciples of our entire political fabric. Let but Catholics persevere; they
have on their side justice, liberty, and all fair-minded Americans. The op-
position of fanatics makes this more and more evident, and the end of their
day is rapidly hastened by their bigotry.

DR. BROWNSON'S WORKS. Seventeen volumes. Edited by Henry F.
Brownson. Vol. i. Detroit : Thorndike Nourse.

We have received advanced sheets of a considerable part of this
volume, which will be issued before this number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD
goes to press. The typographical execution is excellent. The contents
are philosophical essays from the Boston Quarterly Review, the Democratic
Review, and Brownson s Quarterly Review. The editor is well known by

428 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Dec.,

his translation of Balmez' Fundamental Philosophy, and, being quite com-
petent to edit his father's works understandingly, he occasionally adds
notes of his own which are valuable aids to the elucidation of the true
sense and import of the text.

Dr. Brownson was a colossal man, and his works are in proportion to
his intellectual stature and strength. It is a good thing that we are to have
the best of them in a permanent form, well arranged and carefully edited.
We hope the editor will have complete and minute indices prepared for
the last volume. When completed this collection will constitute one of
the great monuments of English Catholic literature in this century, and
will be appreciated as such in every part of the civilized world. A portrait
of Dr. Brownson, taken from Mr. Wallace's photograph, the most striking
likeness of the illustrious publicist ever executed, will accompany the first
volume. We wish the editor a complete success in his undertaking, which
has been so well begun ; and it is but little to say that Dr. Brownson's
Works will merit a place in every public and private library, and never
cease to exert an important influence on the minds of men of thought and
study so long as the English language endures.

A HISTORY OF ENGLAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. By William
Edward Hartpole Lecky. Volume iv. New York : D. Appleton &
Co. 1882.

Modern English literature has been rich in everything but history.
Remembering the celebrated names in England that have written on his-
tory, this assertion may appear bold. Yet what are the facts ? Hume was
an eighteenth-century deist, to whom Christianity in the abstract, as a code
of morals merely, might be tolerable, but to whom Christianity in the con-
crete and as a supernatural system as Catholicity, that is was merely an
effete superstition. Hume patronized the English " Reformers " because
he deemed their Christianity doubtful, but for St. Dunstan and St. Thomas
a Becket, representatives in the middle ages of the morality and the free-
dom of religion, he had only scorn. Hume had a theory which he sought
to illustrate by his History of England : namely, that nations are great in
proportion as they free themselves from the shackles of superstition that
is, of Christianity. To his mind England in his time had come the nearest
to this desirable end ; England, therefore, was to be glorified. Macau lay was
a Whig, with William of Orange and the Whig politicians for heroes, and
his picturesque pages are a eulogy of Whiggery. What could be more
misleading than Macaulay's pretended history of the career of James II.?
James at the very worst was a good king as kings went in those times, and
at the very worst he was a fair-minded, well-meaning, if mediocre man.
Yet the unfortunate king is pursued through two volumes by Macaulay
with all sorts of misrepresentation and innuendo. His best-meant actions
are made to seem a part of a well-devised system of fraud, while his mis-
takes and his faults are dressed up in the guise of crimes against God and
man. Yet how could James help mistakes when he had no Englishman
about him that was not ready to betray him on account of his religion ?
Even his awkward attempt to give some relief to his fellow-Catholics suf-
fering for their religion was treated as an attack on the state-pampered
church. Mr. Green, a contemporary writer on English history, also ap-
pears to have no thought of his own inconsistency in praising the Non-

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 429

conformists for their professed love of religious liberty, for almost in the
same passages he conscientiously records the horror of these same Non-
conformists for anything looking toward a toleration of Catholicity. Mr.
Froude's bold attempt at an apotheosis of Henry VIII., though at the
time successful as a publishing enterprise, has been so shocking to the
moral sense even of those unacquainted with the light that has of late
years been thrown on the motives and actions of the English " Reform-
ers," that it is seldom read now except to examine and refute it. One of
the students who in the pages of the Saturday Review and elsewhere con-
tributed greatly to the exposure of Mr. Froude's dishonest methods of con-
structing history was Mr. Freeman. Yet Mr. Freeman has treated a period
of English history according to a certain pet theory of his own, which is
that Englishmen, and Englishmen only, have made England and the British
Empire what they are, and that those only are Englishmen whose ancestors
came to England from the Baltic coasts. It is amazing, if not amusing, to
note how solemnly and ponderously he tells his fellow-countrymen that
are not of " Low-German origin " that in supposing themselves to be genu-
ine Englishmen they are the victims of a delusion. And then how he seems
in the earlier pages of his Norman Conquest to gloat over the massa-
cres of the hapless Britons by the Jutes and Angles ! One could almost
fancy that Mr. Freeman had swung a battle-axe in the fray and was merely
relating his own bloody exploits the while he wiped the edge of his wea-
pon.

Among all these great writers and, excepting Mr. Green, they are all
great not one is really an historian in the proper sense of the word. Not
one has been able to choose a point of observation above the crowds con-
tending on the plain whose acts he undertakes to describe. Lingard was
truthful and worked conscientiously with the material within his reach ;
that all admit. When he describes something as a fact or when he quotes
an authority he may be depended on. But Lingard's view was not broad,
his literary style was not noble, and he is therefore read with difficulty.

Of Mr. Lecky this may be said as to his History : he seems to be com-
pletely free from bias, and he is one of the first to realize the fact that the
British Empire is not exclusively the work of Englishmen, whether Eng-
lishmen of " Low-German origin " or Englishmen of the ordinary John
Bull kind.

The fourth volume of Mr. Lecky's History will be found still more in-
teresting than the one that preceded it. England, though, in fact plays
only a minor part in it. Nearly the first half is taken up with a sketch of
our Revolutionary War, from the critical epoch when even Washington
himself showed some despondency at the weakness of his support, to the
successful conclusion by the aid of France. Mr. Lecky's opinion of the
Andre affair will naturally be looked at with some attention. Not that
Americans have any doubt but that Andre was a spy, and therefore liable to
all the risks assumed by a spy in time of war, but because Andre's social
rank in England and his relations to the mother of Maria Edgeworth have
put a sentimental halo around his memory in the eyes of those who look at
our Revolution from the English side. Mr. Lecky says of Andre : " It is
but justice to remember that he suffered under the unanimous sentence of
a board consisting of fourteen general officers, and that two of these

430 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Dec.,

Steuben and Lafayette were not Americans. Nor can the justice of the
sentence, in my opinion, be reasonably impugned." Alluding to our debt
to France for her aid, he says: "If England and America had been alone
engaged in the contest I scarcely think that any impartial judge can doubt
that the Revolution would have been subdued ; though if the American
people had ever been animated by a serious and general desire to detach
themselves from England, it would have been utterly impossible to have
kept them permanently in subjection." One of the chief values, indeed, of
Mr. Lecky's study of the Revolution consists in the light it throws on the
strength of the Tory party.

Chapters xvi. and xvii., comprising nearly the latter half of the volume,
are devoted to a history of Ireland from 1760 to 1782 an eventful period,
during which the Irish Parliament, though Catholics were still infamously
excluded from it, rose to be in some senses representative of the wishes of
the Irish nation, until at last (April 16, 1782) Grattan moved and carried his
famous address to the king, declaring that, while the crown of Ireland was
inseparably united to that of England, Ireland was by right a distinct king-
dom ; that her king, Lords, and Commons, and these alone, had a right to
bind her. The best political history of Ireland from the sixteenth century
down to 1782 that has yet been published is in fact contained in the chap-
ters which Mr. Lecky has devoted to Ireland in vols. ii., iii., and iv. of
his History,

SAFEGUARDS OF DIVINE FAITH IN THE PRESENCE OF SCEPTICS, FREE-
THINKERS, AND ATHEISTS. A series of eight essays chiefly addressed
to men of the world engaged in their various professional and social avo-
cations. By the Rev. H. Formby. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

The first half of this work has been previously published, and noticed in
this magazine. The second part, now first published, has for its leading
theme a most important idea viz., the unity of the natural and superna-
tural orders in universal human history, under one providence, for one end,
subjected to the pastoral superintendence and teaching of the Word of
God. Mr. Formby notices and condemns the doctrine of the sixteenth-cen-
tury Reformers that the heathen nations are altogether wicked, diabolical,
and reprobate, remarking at the same time that a notion too much akin to
this has had considerable prevalence among Catholic writers. He insists
strongly and with very excellent arguments upon another view, his own
and that of many of the best modern champions of Christianity viz., that
the heathen nations have been and are under the direction of a benevolent
providence and guidance of the Redeemer of the whole human race.

It would seem to be a necessary inference from this position that the
universal historical development of the plans of divine Providence among
all nations is trending surely and irresistibly towards the conversion of
the whole world to Christianity and the reign of Christ on the earth. Mr.
Formby's judgment of the present state and tendency of Christendom pre-
sents, nevertheless, the gloomy, desolating dominion of Antichrist in pros-
pect, as the outcome of the errors and vices which are now engaged in war-
fare against the faith and law of Christ. He can assuredly cite a good many
authorities in favor of this interpretation of the prophecies, and some
plausible reasons. Yet there is another interpretation which has also some
authority and very strong reasons to support it viz., that Antichrist has al-

1 882.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 431

ready come in the person of the false prophet Mohammed, and that we
are moving toward that universal reign of Christ which is to follow on the
downfall of Islam. The reasons for this interpretation are given by Rohr-
bacher in the tenth volume of his History, and by Mr. Ambrose Phillipps de
Lisle in his work on Mohammedanism in Relation to Prophecy. This view
harmonizes much better with Mr. Formby's main idea. If everything is to
end in an " abomination of desolation " such as some interpreters of the
Apocalypse forebode as awaiting us within the coming half-century, what
end and accomplishment has the providence and leading of God over the
nine hundred millions or more of the human race who have not yet received
the light of faith ? It seems in the eyes of common sense physically and
morally impossible that the horrible notion of certain writers, who repre-
sent Antichrist as a man possessed by Satan who shall destroy all religion,
true and false, obtain absolute dominion over the whole world, and for
three years and a half turn the earth into a pandemonium, can be realized.
To believe this without a plain divine revelation requires an enormous
stretch of credulity, for it is a stupendous diabolical miracle. It is a mis-
take to suppose that there is any such unanimous tradition of the Fathers
and agreement of doctors in support of the interpretation of prophecy in
this sense as to make it certain. Then again, all those visionary views of a
kingdom of Christ to be ushered in by a similarly stupendous divine mira-
cle, St. Michael appearing visibly to cast Antichrist into an abyss and slay
his principal followers, like all sorts of millenarian schemes and fifth-mon-
archy dreams, appear to us as mere idols of the tribe. We like the idea of a
harmonious scheme in which the natural and the supernatural are blended,
and all historical events march steadily on toward a spiritual and moral
triumph of Christ in this world, consummated by the transformation at
the end of the church militant into the church triumphant. This is no
place to interpret prophecy, but we venture to state our opinion that ft can
be fairly interpreted in harmony with the idea that not Antichrist's kingdom
but the kingdom of Christ on the earth is approaching.

RACHEL'S FATE, AND OTHER TALES. By William Seton. New York : The
Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

Mr. Seton's stories have often delighted the readers of THE CATHOLIC
WORLD. Some of them are love-stories, some are pleasant tales of odd
phases of life, displaying close observation and careful description, while
others have almost the accuracy and the vraisemblance of chronicles ; these
last are chiefly stories of early and Revolutionary times in New England
and New York. " The Wraith of the Achensee " is an exceedingly amus-
ing narrative of what befell two rather simple-minded but brave art-stu-
dents in Munich. The picture of the Munich beer-garden and the " Kneipe "
is itself an accurate study. It is a pleasure to see these stories gathered
together in this handsome volume.

CHRISTMAS RHYMES AND NEW YEAR'S CHIMES. By Mary D. Brine, author
of My Boy and I ; or, On the Road to Slumber land. Illustrated. New
York: George W. Harlan & Co. 1883.

ELFINLAND. Rhymes by Josephine Pollard. Designs by Walter Satter-
lee. New York : George W. Harlan.

Two very handsomely illustrated books for very little children. Elfin-

432 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Dec., 1882.

land is very bright in its colors. The designs, though often amusingly gro-
tesque, are at the same time tasteful. Christmas Rhymes possesses great
merit, both in the delightful quality of the baby-prattle that runs through
its verse and in the cleverly-drawn wood-cuts that illustrate its pages.

ESQUISSE BlOGRAPHIQUE DE NAPOLEON JOSEPH PERCHE, ARCHEVEQUE

DE LA NOUVELLE-ORLEANS. Par M. 1'Abbe Adrien Rouquette.

Mgr. Perche is still living and presiding over his province, although
the fifty-third anniversary of his ordination has furnished to the eloquent
Louisianian orator and poet, Adrien Rouquette, the occasion of writing his
panegyric. Whatever the Abbe Rouquette writes has the stamp of genius
on it, and this brochure, an offering of filial piety and gratitude to his spirit-
ual father, as well as an expression of the common reverence of the clergy
and people of the diocese of New Orleans toward their bishop, is a beautiful
garland redolent of the aroma of poetic sentiment.

Leo XIII. said to the Archbishop of New Orleans on the occasion of a
recent visit which he made to Rome : " You are the glory of France in
America ; you are also its new Bossuet by your eloquence and genius."
After such an eulogium from the Sovereign Pontiff the Abbe Rouquette
need not fear to exaggerate when he says of Mgr. Perche in the summing
up of his sketch in its closing sentence : " By his qualities of heart and
mind, by his science and piety, he has deserved the admiration and grati-
tude of Louisiana, his adopted country, which he has loved so much, served
so faithfully, and illustrated by the brightness of a life full of labors and
good works."

We remember the venerable archbishop, now in his seventy-eighth year
and almost laid aside from active work, as the Abbe Perche in the prime
of life, a vigorous and genial priest in his presbytery near the Ursuline
Convent. And we are happy to add our felicitations and good wishes to
those of his own diocesans and the Catholics of his province on the occa-
sion of receiving the beautiful tribute of the Abbe Rouquette.

KERNEY'S COMPENDIUM OF ANCIENT AND MODERN HISTORY. For the use
of schools. Corrected, enlarged, and brought down to 1880 by John
O'Kane Murray, M.A., M.D. Baltimore : John Murphy & Co. 1882.

A new and enlarged edition, as the title indicates, of an old, well-known
school-book.

HISTORY OF ENGLAND FROM THE WARS OF THE ROSES TO THE PRESENT TIME. T. J. Live-
sey. (Granville History Readers.) London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

CATHOLIC GRIEVANCES in relation to the Administration of Indian Affairs. Richmond (Va.) :
Catholic Visitor print. 1882.

THE APOSTOLIC CHURCH. A series of lectures, to which is added a lecture on Divorce. By
Rt. Rev. John Ireland. St. Paul, Minn. : Northwestern Chronicle Publishing Company.
1882.

NOVENA IN HONOR OF ST. TERESA, with Instructions, etc. By St. Alphonsus Mary Liguori.
Translated from the Italian, with a preface by the Most Rev. James Gibbons. Baltimore :
John B. Piet & Co. 1882.

THE WONDERS OF THE HEART OF ST. TERESA OF JESUS, those first observed and also those of
more recent date. Originally published in Italian by Mgr. Vaccari, President of the Com-
mittee upon the Celebration of the Tercentenary of St. Teresa. Baltimore : John B. Piet &
Co. 1882.

THE JUDGES OF FAITH AND GODLESS SCHOOLS. A compilation of evidence against secular
schools the world over, especially against common state-schools in the United States of
America, wherever entirely withdrawn from the influence of the authority of the Catholic
Church. Addressed to Catholic parents. By Rev. Thomas J. Jenkins, of the diocese of
Louisville, Kentucky. New York ; Thomas D. Egan. New York Catholic Agency. 1882.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXVI. JANUARY, 1883. No. 214.

AROUND THE HEARTH *

THE Hearth, the heart of home,

Glows with a welcome warmth as thriftless Thought,
Cooed to the wildwood by the wand'ring voice
Of Spring f (a golden heritage of hours
Spent by the wayside), now the clearer call
Of social instinct heeding, turns again
Back to its own fireside. The ruddy flush
That freshens Father Winter's frosty cheek
Bespeaks " all hail !" while, gathered at his knees,
All kindred pleasures meet to give good cheer
Unto the prodigal.

Set round with joys

The household ring is drawn ; unbroken trust
Clasps hands more closely ; and divided friends,
Brought face to face, look cunningly askant,
Then shyly through the empty breach between,
Then, one, two, three, away ! their bounding hearts
Cleave fast the faster for the longer leap ;
And their free speech makes merry o'er the past

* Free version of a passage in Les Trois Regnes of Delille (" Le foyer des plaisirs est /
source ffconde" etc.) Part of this translation appeared as a quotation in a number of the
Dublin University Magazine many years ago. TR.

t " O cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wand'ring Voice ? "

WORDSWORTH.

434 AROUND THE HEARTH. [Jan.,

As once o'er obstacles they cleared together
Less airy but more easy. Discontent
Hath now half-holiday. The Christmas sky
Shows the true steely sheen ; the crispy road
Feels lively to the foot ; the shovelled snow
Hath the old tingling touch ; and the great log
Burns high with heart of oak. Old times, old times
Glass kisses glass : old loves, old smiles, old songs.
Waes-hael ! waes-hael ! was ever roundelay
Of summertide so sweet?

Soon restless youth

Wearies of wondering at the reckless feats,
The peerless gallants and the matchless maids,
Of forty years ago. White-headed pets
'Scape from the eager sire's relaxed knees.
Prim darlings loose godmother's apron-string
And edge away demure. The blushful girl
With needless household pretext quits her place ;
And the young neighbor, moved to let her pass,
Forgets he might return, and, absence-struck,
Halts on the threshold, timing with his own
The step he hath by heart ; and for himself
Claiming each glance that for the tenth time marks
The perfectness of some especial cate
Making sweets sweeter. Now around the hearth
Close up the elders in a narrowed ring
Circling the sacred flame, while tale and jest
Join on to jest and tale. So loud, so full,
So glib and gay hold forth the orators,
You'd say each eloquent hand had moved the mill
That grinds age young again. And auditors,
Fair once and gentle still, with rapt regard
Lure on from pause to pause, deceiving with
The unconscious double-face of womankind :
To each recital they give smiles and tears,
Half to the tale, half to the tears and smiles
Of the dear days when it was not a tale.
At measured distance, watchful of the glance
Of a mild-matron, age-revering eye,
The youngsters gather to a group and taste
The sweets of stolen and yet sinless joys.
Arch gravity and stifled mirth pursue

1883.] AROUND THE HEARTH. 435

The slipper's stealthy speed, and when it drops

Clap hands for quiet, and with roguish tale

Count up the forfeits. Gay the sports proceed

Till the great chamber grows too strait to hold

Th' expanding spirits. Following the lead

Of some sly stateling, one by one depart

The mustered conclave till the bounds are broke

In order unimpeached. When silence falls

Upon the elders clouds come after rain

In autumn skies ; * when, the last fight outfought,

The veteran rests on the uneasy bed

The hard hand makes itself; when enterprise,

Bowled o'er the golden road, is brought to check ;

When knotty contests, stoutly struggled through,

Bring the poor man to where some luckless morn

His lawsuit left him, at the finger-post

Of scorn the end of strife, each tongue is still,

And age-dimmed eyes seem asking, each of each,

How, meeting thus at the cross-roads of Care,

Can we make merry ? Hearken ! Loud and clear

Youth lifts its voice in answer God in these

Had made those laughter, f Let the games go on !

With doubled strength and skill the bounding ball,

The plumed shuttlecock and graceful hoop,

Are gone to come again, and come to go.

The fathers, and their fathers, stand aside,

Second the strokes and share ii> the applause,

And smile, and fold their hands, and for themselves

Draw stakes with Fortune.

Pacing to and fro

Hard by this play of the two ends of life,
Worshipful wisdom, smooth-lipped, broken-voiced,
Shuts up its mouth and stops its solemn ears,
And shakes its antique head to be assured
The whirligig around hath left it steady
On its young shoulders. Holding dais high
With its own musings, yet with eye urbane
Looking on the two ages and their toys,
'Signs them a pitiful place below the salt
That savors its own schemes. Anon it stoops
To its own sport a sport that doth not shame

* Ecclesiastes xii. 2. t Genesis xxi. 6.

436 AROUND THE HEARTH. [Jan.,

The more-haste-worse-speed spirit of an age
When the head works for play. It meets its match.
The lists are drawn, new lists of cloth of gold ;
The forces ranked, the sign of onset made ;
The brain is busy as a battle-field.
Forethought is here, is there, is everywhere ;
Sets a poor pawn against a crowned king ;
Previses, calculates, combines, concludes.
Farewell, fair Chance, who wast the queen of fights !
Thou'st lost, whoever win.

In elbow-chair

Still the deaf uncle, spectacles on nose
And newspaper on knee, sits on well pleased.
Now he reads slow, yet turns to read again ;
Now rubs his eyebrow with the argument ;
Now smacks his lips upon a biting jest ;
Cries out at " hear " and " cheers," and laughs aloud
To mark the passing sounds of merriment
Chime in with " laughter." Now he folds the sheet,
And, leaning back, looks up as though " my lord "
Had writ and diagrammed his speculations
Upon the wall above the mistletoe.
Now he sits upright, turns the smouldering log
Upon the reddened bars, and, glancing round,
Nods at a noisy child, and slaps his knee
With merry make-believe that he will give
A second Christmas-box to little folk
Who use the first so well.

Three-quarters struck !

Few minutes more and Christmas will be gone.
All hurry back to gather round the hearth
With almost a remorse to think how long
They've spent in sports that any other night
Of the whole winter would as well beguile.
They sit in silence they've so much to say
Till the deaf uncle speaks. Then all again
Speak too, but with a speech subdued and slow.
They sweep the ashes by with reverent hand,
And watch the Yule-log as a parting friend ;
Look in each other's eyes and say or smile :
" Christmas is gone ; but you and you remain.
Christmas, thou hast been good, and so good-by ! "

1883.] AROUND THE HEARTH, 437

THE POET'S CORNER.

" IF speech is silvern," saith the ancient saw,

" Silence is golden." Many a silent home

Where the log burns to-night is happy too.

I am alone ; yet is my ingle-nook

Not lonely nor unloved. In easy-chair,

Screen-circled, by the blazing hearth I sit ;

Not busy, for the world holds holiday ;

Nor idle, for a poet's pastime feeds

His hours of labor, as the frolic wind

Fattens the fallow field. My wreathed urn,

Soft singing as in sacrificial chant,

Pours a libation to propitious Thought.

Now of the ripe, brown berry do I sip

Ripe ere it left Sabasa erf sweet scents.

Now drink I of the life-refreshing leaf

Once waving in the realm of mystery,

Fair, far-away Cathay. No troublous tongue,

No prying eye intrudes. I am alone

With thee, my early mistress, only mate

Imagination ! Loved and lovely one,

Close, close beside me be thy constant place :

My hearth, my home and all it holds are thine.

Bent o'er the burning Yule-log now I list,

Eve that thou art, thy curious questionings :

What kind hand gave it in its acornhood

To foster-mother Earth ? What sunny sky

Smiled on its sturdy growth ? On what bold bluff

It shook defiance at the wild north wind ?

What greenest glade it graced ? Or if, perchance,

Its shadow fell upon the mossy knoll

Whereon I wooed thee ? We will have it so !

Fairer that hillock than the thousand hills

That stud the Golden Girdle.* My true love,

'Twas a midsummer morn I met thee there

With birds and flowers in careless company.

And still, at mirk midwinter, keep we tryst

Here, hidden in our happy ingle-nook,

With study, silence, solitude, and night.

* The Altay Mountains. See Newman's Lectures on the Turks.

438 MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES.*

MR. MOZLEY'S work reminds us of a cosy, comfortable after-
dinner talk " across the walnuts and the wine." But sometimes
there are sentiments uttered under these circumstances that
have an enduring effect. Of course it depends on the speaker,
for " the lips of the wise disperse knowledge " whenever they
give utterance. So Mr. Mozle}' says much that merits careful
attention, and our object in this paper will be to point out those
subjects which seem wholly to have escaped the notice of his
reviewers, numerous as they have been.

We trust we are not uncharitable in supposing, after a care-
ful perusal of his volumes, that their object was " to make a
clean breast of it." There is a time in a man's life when he can
afford to cry peccavi. Vanity and self-conceit are overshadowed
by the great coming event which dwarfs all earthly things. He
feels a sublime indifference to the world's censure and speaks
out fearlessly. We imagine Mr. Mozley to have reached this
stage. He must have felt through the long lapse of years since
he shook hands with those dear friends who went their way,
sacrificing all for Jesus, some misgivings, some inward ques-
tionings must at any rate have often asked himself, " Were they
right or wrong ?" He seems to have resolved that they were
right, or at least that they were not wrong. Then how about his
own position ? Was there anything to be said in condonation or
defence of many who, like himself, had gone to the very verge,
and there halted? Various reasons might be alleged by others,
but he prefers to give his own. For this he merits thanks, be-
cause among all the puzzles of the age this position is the most
puzzling, and in the absence of any other more intelligible solu-
tion we have been tempted to think it is the old story, " Video
meliora proboque, sed deteriora sequor."

All Mr. Mozley's reviewers seem equally at sea respecting
the movement he attempts to describe. Its causes and results
are enigmas, principally, we opine, because they are regarded as
purely human. We incline rather to look upon the whole thing
as supernatural. As Cardinal Manning said over the coffin of

* Reminiscences, chiefly of Oriel College and the Oxford Movement. By the Rev. -T. Moz-
ley, M.A., formerly Fellow of Oriel, etc. Two volumes. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
1882.

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 439

Frederick Oakeley, " these were events not from men nor of men,
but from the Holy Ghost." If this is not so, surely some similar
phenomenon might be expected at other times. Surely, amid
the conflicting opinions of men, some giant intellects might arise
to weld these warring ideas into a whole whose force would be
such as to act like a battering-ram against the shams and refuges
of lies that abound on all sides. There are men living quite as
highly gifted as the leaders of the Oxford movement men who
have striven to effect the same thing, to create new ideas, to give
men a nobler ambition and aim ; and yet their efforts have failed.
They have lived to confess the failure and to know that these
grand results are not attained by purely human means.

We owe a duty to the reader, who possibly may not have suf-
ficient leisure to read these volumes through, to set forth their
salient points, and, as far as we are able, point out their errors.
The characters sketched present varying phases of interest.
They were all more or less connected with the movement, and it
is curious to note its different effects upon each. Mr. Mozley
does not attempt to account for the origin of the movement. The
Evangelicals always attribute it to the Tracts for the Times.
But what effect would these somewhat jejune treatises have had
if the public mind had not been already prepared to receive
them ? They were fruitful seeds because the soil was ready for
their reception. It is really most difficult to say how this pre-
paredness originated. But it is certain that at this period men's
minds had become tired of the formal and lifeless position of the
Church of England. There was a pervading heart-hunger among
men who asked their spiritual guides for bread, only to receive
a stone. There was a growing and deepening conviction that
there must be somewhere a guide to the attainment of that higher
aim of humanity the life of God in the soul of man. It was not
to be had in the church. No soul-life flourished there! The
Methodist sought it in his way, and the Presbyterian in his way,
but all seemed unanimous that it was not in the Church of Eng-
land, but that yet it existed somewhere and might be found.
This induced men to receive readily anything that promised the
least ray of light; and this spiritual disquietude was the first
parting of the clouds preparatory to the full breaking of the
day.

The picture of Oxford, and of the Church of England gene-
rally, at this period ought to be carefully studied by those who
affect to believe, like Matthew Arnold, that the whole movement
was an abortive failure, and, as he puts it, " wanting lucidity."

440 MOZLEY*S REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

Mr. Mozley presents us with some graphic and amusing sketches
on the subject. The camp was divided then into High and Low.
The High-Churchman had some sense of duty. He visited the
sick ; he made himself agreeable ; he believed that as a parish
priest he had work to do, and he did it, so far as it did not inter-
fere with his personal convenience and taste. The Low-Church-
man ignored the poor. He lived in his snug vicarage, went up
to London to the May meetings, preached sermons no one under-
stood, and went on from day to day in a quiet, humdrum man-
ner, never thinking of the souls of his parishioners, except as
utterly beyond his reach. As- for the people, let any one acquaint-
ed with the rural districts of England say if they are not even
now really half barbarous. The man who proposed to " 'eave
'alf a brick " at the new curate is not an exceptional monster.
It is astonishing how long the peasant will go to church and yet
remain wholly ignorant of the very rudiments of Christian doc-
trine. His sentiments about the hebdomadal sermon are much
like those of Tennyson's " Northern Farmer " :

" I hallus corned to 's choorch afoor my Sally wur dead,
An' 'eerd un a bummin' awaay loike a buzzard-clock * ower my yead,
An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd, but I thowt a 'ad summut to saay,
An' I thowt a said whot a owt to 'a said, an' I corned awaay."

The result everywhere was practical heathenism. The
abominable immorality which more stringent laws now coerce
within the bounds of decency walked unblushing through the
land. The owners of " smug parsonages " cared nothing for the
hovels where the members of a large family were crowded to-
gether without the least regard to decency. It is only within
very recent times thirty years at most that this plague-spot in
the land has won the attention of the rich. The peer housed his
horses and dogs far better than he did his tenants. And the
parish church ! who can forget the dismal barns that then ob-
tained, and the equally dismal services ? The series of etchings
got up by a well-known Oxford publisher representing the
churches before the Oxford movement were in no particular ex-
aggerated, f It was believed to be the house of God, but there
was no evidence of this belief in the conduct of the worshippers.
The font was a convenient receptacle for hats ; the charwoman
stored her mop and pail under the communion-table. It required
a vestry vote to get the surplice washed periodically, and every-
thing about the building betokened neglect and decay. The

* A cockchafer. t Reformation and Deformation. Mowbray, Oxford.

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 441

vestry was a little more comfortable ; so also my lord's pew, made
suitably high and curtained to keep out inquisitive eyes. If you
opened a cupboard in the vestry you might find an empty wine-
bottle and glasses, for the vicar needed support under the bur-
den of the service. A gentleman troubled in mind once went
(and it is not five years ago) to the vestry of St. Sepulchre's
Church, High Holborn, to consult the vicar, and, as his hand was
on the door-knob, heard a jovial voice exclaim : " Do you like it
fruity or dry ?"

Even regarding the Communion from the Evangelical point
of view, the most shameful desecration was common. In a
church at the West End of London the writer saw the pew-
opener regularly take away the re'mains of the consecrated ele-
ments in a piece of paper, saying " it was so nice for the fowls."
The unconsumed wine in the chalice was poured back into a
black bottle, which bottle was duly uncorked by the vicar be-
fore the service began, at the table, lest the crust should be dis-
turbed. The Sunday was a day of torture to the young and of
dismal ennui to the old. The idea of God was that of a heartless
tyrant, who had exacted the last drop of his Son's blood as the
price of human pardon, and was only kept from destroying the
world by that Son's intercession. Calvinism among Dissenters
produced Antinomianism as the Article of the Church of Eng-
land defined it, " recklessness of most unclean living."

This picture could be deepened tenfold. The nation was
divided into two classes, the intellectual unbelievers and the
practical unbelievers those who knew the better but did the
worse, and those who did the worst without knowing the better.
As John Wesley described it in fitting terms, " godless licen-
tiousness, mammon-worship, and brutal ignorance." Now, with
such unpromising material to work upon, the leaders of the Ox-
ford movement must have felt that their design was of God, for
any merely human effort could never cope with it. And those
who deny that that movement has wrought good ignore the
condition of England for the last half-century say in 1820 and
what it is now. The change is marvellous, and it is due, first, to
the Oxford movement ; second, to the impetus that movement
gave to the church, up to that time doing her work fearfully and
in secret, and which from that time came forth boldly to the
world, and-has ever since gone forth conquering and to conquer.
We hope this is a convincing answer to the Spectator, the Na-
tion, and other critics who wholly misapprehend the significance
of the movement.

442 MOZLEY" s REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

In reviewing a thousand pages replete every one with more
or less of interest we feel somewhat embarrassed in our choice.
Perhaps, therefore, we had better deal with the three parts into
which Mr. Mozley's work, like an orthodox sermon, divides
itself: I. What he says of other people connected with the
movement. II. What he says of John Henry Newman, its real
founder. III. What he says of himself.

Under 'the first head we can only make a few remarks. The
greater part of the first volume is taken up w r ith reminiscences
of persons who, except the Wilberforces, the Froudes, Arnold,
Keble, Pusey, Ward, and Oakeley, have no interest at this time of
day. The first person we meet is the rather sinister figure of
Blanco White. He was an apostate priest and received his de-
gree of M.A. by royal patent. Whatever induced his change of
views, it certainly did not make him happy. A man who has
cast himself loose from the Eternal Rock into the open sea must
feel some misgiving as to his safety. We do not wonder that
" he painfully relates he could not bless a child or utter a short
prayer without the instant recurrence of the question, ' Is there
a God, and does this mean anything? ' " ( vol. i. p. 57). Incapable
of enjoying anything, always disquieted and suspicious, life pre-
sented to him no charm. He drifted farther and farther into the
dreary wilds of scepticism a remarkable instance that, whatever
else it brings, apostasy does not bring peace of mind, nor even
intellectual satisfaction. Blanco White is much cited by ration-
alists and modern sceptics as an honest unbeliever one who
is like

"An infant crying in the night,
And with no language but a cry."

We sympathize with such. To all men the perception of truth
is not given. But could Blanco White plead ignorance? As-
suredly not.

Mr. Mozley says very little of Keble. Yet the Archbishop
of Canterbury is quite correct in saying that " his poetry did for
Anglicanism all that Cowper and Charles Wesley had done for
Evangelicalism." The power of a stirring song to weld the
hearts of a nation in one common bond is well known. Proba-
bly the power of the Reformation lay in Luther's hymn, " Ein
feste Burg," as that of the French Revolution did in the " Mar-
seillaise." They had and have a magic power to stir the wildest
impulses of a mob. But in the history of the lyre was it ever

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 443

known that stanzas so simple, so devoted to the pure and beau-
tiful, as the Christian Year should have had such an effect?
It became in its author's lifetime, as Newman says, " one of
the classics of the language." It opened up to men a new fact
which Protestantism had always doubted and often denied
namely, that the cultivation of the divine life was possible even
to a benighted papist. Jeremy Taylor, in his Holy Living,
had essayed to do this in prose ; but for one reader who is ac-
quainted with his magnificent composition a thousand have read
the Christian Year. It is poetry which, besides great felicity
of diction and remarkable aptness of imagery, has a chastened
and unearthly aspect about it. You seem to have come out of
the glare and bustle of life into therool quiet of some sanctuary
whose stillness falls on the perturbed spirit softer than " tired
eyelids upon tired eyes." You feel that holiness has a charm, an
attractiveness ; that the something that draws you to the flowers,
the birds, childhood all nature's most beloved things :

" The delight of hearts that know no guile,
Who all around see all things bright
With their own magic smile "

is akin and a part of the something that makes your soul yearn
for nobler things, the full fruition of its desires, the final ac-
complishment of its hopes. It is a spotlessly pure book, though
it has many literary defects and once had many doctrinal. In
the Apologia we are told about the famous line on the Eucha-
rist. This used to run :

" Oh ! come to our communion feast

Here, present in the heart,
Not in the hand, the Eternal Priest
Will his true self impart."

On his death-bed Keble consented to have the third line altered,
and it is now printed, " as in the hand," etc. Mr. Mozley tells
us that he consented with difficulty.

The Wilberforces area most interesting group the lamented
Isaac, and his brother Henry, and last, not least, Samuel. Un-
happily the latter does not gain in our esteem as we read the
little that is said of him here. He always had the reputation for
how shall we put it? slipperiness : a sort of intellectual wrig-
gling which in a man of perfectly upright character was hard to
understand. It won for him the sobriquet " Soapy Sam" His
biographer labors hard to clear him of the imputation. If the

444 MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

bishop ever had any leaning toward Rome, as so many at one
time thought, it was wholly removed on the conversion of his
son-in-law, Mr. Prebendary Pye. We heard him, only a short
time before his melancholy death, express himself with great
bitterness about Romanism, quoting the passage, " Of this sort
are they who creep into houses and lead captive silly women."
We fear he was thinking of his daughter. But withal he was a
most genial man to talk to. His ready wit is well known. The
last time we saw him he presided at a Workingmen's Congress at
Southampton, and the Dissenters had kindly lent the seats from
their chapel for the occasion, which drew from the bishop the
remark that he was glad to see that, though the Nonconformists
objected to his ceremonies, they had lent him their forms.

Mr. Mozley quotes the time-honored maxim, "Demortuis,"
etc., but he has quite forgotten to apply it in dealing with the late
Dr. Ward. We have pleasure in stating that the first misgiv-
ing that ever troubled our mind respecting the Anglican Church
was after reading his Ideal of a Christian CJiurch. We rose
from its perusal with this reflection : if this is a correct ideal,
then the Church of England does not respond to it. We never
met Dr. Ward, but others who knew him at St. Edmund's Col-
lege have described him far otherwise than Mr. Mozley. He
says : " It was otherwise with Ward. I did but touch a filament
or two in one of his monstrous cobwebs, and off ran he instantly
to Newman to complain of my gratuitous impertinence. Many
years after I was forcibly reminded of him by a pretty group of
a plump little Cupid flying to his mother to show a wasp-sting
he had just received." Any one unacquainted with Ward would
conclude from this extract that he was self-conceited and petu-
lant. Archbishop Tait, who knew him quite as well as Mr. Moz-
ley, is of a different opinion. Moreover, the petty smartness
shown in the allusion to poor Ward's embonpoint, by the image
of a plump Cupid, is too insignificant to excite a smile.

And who would recognize Frederick Oakeley from the por-
trait here given ?

" Oakeley was very impressible and impulsive. Years before the move-
ment a clever but cynical Oriel friend described him as so impressed by
worship and devotion that if he should come upon a temple filled with a
multitude prostrate before an idol he would throw himself down amongst
them. Nobody cared less for himself. He spent his life eventually serv-
ing a poor congregation, chiefly Irish, in the not very attractive region of
Islington. He might be seen limping about the streets of London for he
was very lame a misshapen fabric of bare bones upon which hung some

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 445

very shabby canonicals. Yet his eye was bright, and his voice, though sor-
rowful, was kind, and he was always glad to greet an old friend. He could
sometimes be induced to dine quietly at Lambeth and talk over old days
with the primate. There was always something aristocratic even in the
wreck " (vol. ii. pp. 4, 5).

There is just enough truth in this to make it pass muster, but
not to redeem it from the charge of ungenerous misrepresen-
tation. If no man is to be counted happy till he is dead, then
we are sure Frederick Oakeley was a happy man. Our acquaint-
ance with him was slight. At an evening party of literati this
genial priest was able to fill all the young men in the room with
jealousy by the engrossing nature of his conversation. The
author of A Gentle Remonstrance* reminded us of Oakeley when
he recently said : " Provided I feel my salvation is sure, I could
joyfully clean shoes in the City Hall Square." And yet this
man was brilliant in society, and with reasonable expectations of
high preferment, and possessing considerable property. So
Frederick Oakeley used to say (and be it remembered that the
prejudice against converts fifty years ago was far greater than
at present) : " I once got to my last five shillings, and I at once
said the Rosary in thanksgiving ; for now, I thought, the Bless-
ed Virgin will show that she loves me." And, true enough, an
anonymous letter came that evening, with fourpence to pay for
extra postage, containing a banknote for fifty pounds. His so-
lace when depressed was music, and he was so proficient, had
such a just appreciation of the " concord of sweet sounds," that
he might have risen to eminence as a composer. No mean
judge Mr. Gladstone thus speaks of him in the Contemporary
Review for October, 1874: " Mr. Oakeley united to a fine musical
taste a much finer and much rarer gift in discerning and express-
ing the harmony between the inward purposes of Christian wor-
ship and its outward investiture." Shakspere rightly judged
that a man can have no juster tribute to his worth than the tears
of the poor wept upon him. And those who were present on that
bleak January morning, 1880, when Frederick Oakeley lay in the
peace of death before the altar at which he had ministered so
long, can never forget the audible sobs of the warm-hearted Irish
who crowded the church to overflowing, nor the pathos of his
old friend's voice as, with pale, grief-stricken countenance, he
pronounced these words :

" He was a true disciple of Jesus Christ in all the fulness of the word
*A Gentle Remonstrance, By the Rev. A. J. D. Bradley, S. J.

446 MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

loving, holy, harmless, self-denying, laborious in his Master's service.
He was a true Catholic in all the fulness of the word. He was a true
priest, penetrated by the sacerdotal unction from head to foot. He was a
true pastor laboring for souls. He was a kind and loving friend. None
that ever approached him could forget his loving, kindly, gentle, cheer-
ful, playful, sweet tone of voice and aspect and countenance, and the ma-
turity of his thought and the wisdom of his words none who ever ap-
proached him could forget these things, least of all his spiritual children.
In such a life there was much to learn, but he possessed in an especial man-
ner two marks which were wrought in him by the Holy Ghost the gift
of piety and the gift of fortitude. Frederick Oakeley possessed piety
not the piety of emotion, not the piety of fancy, not the piety of worldly
fashion, that squanders itself in words, but a piety deep, simple, touching,
primitive, and natural ; and that piety was portrayed in a wonderful man-
ner in the multitude of his works and writings. He possessed fortitude
that fortitude which St. Bonaventure refers to as 'the daily martyrdom of
private life '; a fortitude which enabled him to endure with resignation and
jay those trials which, hidden from the eyes of man, were known only to
God." *

To this sufficient testimony let us add one anecdote. We have
ever associated with this genial man of God the grand old max-
im, " A word spoken in due season, how good is it!" At a time
when the perplexed mind weighed every word we were saying
" Good-by " to him at the door of his rectory in Duncan Ter-
race. It had a small grass-plot in front of the window, about
the size of a handkerchief, which, under very favorable circum-
stances, managed to grow two, or even three, dandelions. It was
all his garden. As we stood there two fat sparrows hopped up
to his feet. " This is Johnny and this is Billy," said he ; " ex-
cuse me a minute ! " And he went into the house, returning with
some bread. " These sparrows," said he, " must look on me as
their Providence, for I have fed them every morning for months.
After all, my dear friend, 'ye are of more value than many spar-
rows.' "

Manning and Pusey scarcely appear in these pages, nor Tait,
except in the sharp rap at the " Four Tutors." And surely it is no
slight breach of charity to bring back from the past the frailties
and errors of the dead, as in the case of poor Hartley Coleridge.
We have no space to devote to the Froudes, who present a group
almost as diversified as the Wilberforces or the two Newmans.
We will therefore turn to the central figure of this picture John
Henry Newman. It is certainly somewhat remarkable that no
great leader of thought in his lifetime has exercised so great a

* Funeral Sermon on the Death of the Very Rev. Frederick Oakeley, M.A. By Henry Ed-
ward, Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster. 1881.

1883.] MOZLEY*S REMINISCENCES. 447

direct and indirect influence as this man. One who is anything
but friendly recently said : " The figure of John Henry Newman
is suffused with an atmosphere of severe romance to which Car-
dinal Manning is a stranger, and is surrounded by an accretion
of traditions and fancies that cause him him even in his lifetime to
' have won his way to the region of fable.' " * Of no other person
in this century can as much be said. Newman founded no sect,
as did Wesley, yet the latter has never had so many adherents as
the former. For Wesleyans are less the disciples of Wesley than
of a system that bears his name ; and not one in a hundred could
give a clear account of his life or a re'sume' of his writings. It is
not so with Newman. Every item of his career is read with the
keenest interest. His works are read with avidity even for their
" English undefiled," as well as their clear common sense and
profound thought. Carlyle, himself no mean authority on the
subject, was once asked what he thought to be the secret of
Newman's great popularity. He replied: "A man who does
something which all men worth the name are trying to do, each
one after his fashion, and does it effectually too, is and must be
a curiosity to his fellows. Newman thought his way through
great difficulties to a logical issue, and those who have the same
soul-fights are curious to know hoiv he did it." That is to say, he
has the prestige of a hero. What is the origin of the e"clat, the
triumph that greets a Wolseley or any other general returning
victorious ? This : he has fought his way against odds, " made
by force his merit known," achieved a success at the cost of
suffering and deadly peril. And what are the sufferings and
perils of an earthly conflict compared to that more fearful
war within ; when the prize is life or death, heaven or hell,
peace present and future ; when one has to break loose from
old habits of thought, shake hands for the last time with old
friends, go forth, unknowing and unknown, to new scenes, new
faces, new everything, with only God and Hope to lean on?
We say such men are heroic, and the leader of thousands of such
was John Henry Newman. It is, therefore, not surprising that
the Spectator says of Mr. Mozley's work: "Above everything
else they are reminiscences of Cardinal Newman, and they have
the charm which everything associated with that mysterious and
solitary figure inevitably possesses."

* Henry Labouchere in the World, London.

448 MOZLEY 's REMINISCENCES. [Jan,

" For him nor moves the loud world's random mock,
Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound.
He seems a promontory rock
That, compassed round with turbulent sound,
In middle ocean meets the surging shock,
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned."

Nothing is so interesting as to watch the gradual growth of
a mind. The unfolding of the flower, the progress of the day from
the first glimmer of dawn to the full meridian splendor, is not
half so absorbing. A great deal must always remain hidden and
can but be faintly guessed at, for the results seen in a few words
or a single sentence may have cost the excogitation and elabora-
tion of months. Mr. Mozley supplies some links which modesty
probably omitted in the Apologia. We get a faint glimpse of
the beginning of the great work in Newman's mind, and some of
the processes whereby he arrived at a logical conclusion. From
the first to the last it is obvious that his conversion was reluc-
tant. Like almost all converts, he started with a positive antipathy
to Rome, and his investigations originated in a desire to procure
stronger evidence against her. In the chaos of opinions at that
period one doctrine was received by all parties as incontroverti-
ble viz., that the Church of Rome was apostate and the pope An-
tichrist and the man of sin. Newman began, as all his followers
did, by study of the Scriptures. Protestants triumphantly dare
Catholics to " search the Scriptures " ; but we assert that no man
can do this thoughtfully and intelligently and remain a Protes-
tant. The extravagances of those who study the Bible and no-
thing else are well set forth by the witty Dean Ramsey,* and
Kebie was not the only one who " took his stand on the conceiva-
bility, and indeed certainty, of the Almighty having created all the
fossils and other apparent outcomes of former existences in the six
days of creation " ( vol. i. p. 179). There was supposed to be a fix-
ed disagreement between science and revelation. Newman early
surmounted this. It may be remarked that he always had a high
esteem for the authorized version. Its magnificent English, its
quaintness, the splendid vein of poetry running through it, made
it most congenial to his poetic mind. He has explained this in
the Apologia. Yet he early felt that alone it was insufficient.
There was a living voice needed. He was not, as some have repre-
sented, a man confident in his own powers and moving steadily
forward step by step to a goal always in view. " In his own case
he was always consulting the auspices, so to speak, to guide his

* Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character.

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 449

course and to decide some question which he found it impossible
to decide simply on its merits. An unexpected act, or word, or
encouragement, or a check, the appearance of a book or an arti-
cle, pleasant or otherwise, a meeting, a separation, came to him
with the significance of an intervention. Whatever happened,
he interpreted it as providentially designed " (vol. i, p. 209). He
started with the belief that the Church of England was a part of
the one, holy Catholic Church, needing much to reawaken her
to usefulness and duty, but as such containing the germs of in-
destructible vitality. He would do what he could to rekindle her
smouldering fires, and he made preaching a power in the land.
This mighty engine for good or ill had lain neglected for years
and years. The Wesleys and Whitefield knew its power, but in
the average parish church it had become " weary, stale, flat, and
unprofitable." The university never gave any instruction in
preaching ; it was supposed to come, as Dogberry says of reading
and writing, " by nature." Who can calculate the melancholy re-
sults? Let any one compare the state of the Church of England
in this respect five-and-twenty years ago and at the present time.
"The sermon was brutum fulmen. Humanity and common sense
revolted against such teaching, and it really could no more reach
the understanding than so many letters of the alphabet shaken
out of a bag upon a table " (vol. i. page 188). What has devel-
oped Liddon, Knox-Little, Body, and others but the movement
which Newman originated ? We may remark in passing that his
University Sermons were the first since those of Jeremy Taylor
that suggested any relation between beauty and holiness. Burke
has traced the connection between sublimity and beauty, but it
did not occur to him that holiness must be beautiful because sub-
lime. It seemed a natural corollary in the minds of men at that
period, that piety could not be attractive, that ugliness was a
necessary qualification of religion. A clergyman who preached a
cheerful piety was thought to be " no better than he should be."
A sour and vinegary aspect was thought to sit well on " pro-
fessors," and hence hypocrisy became more or less a fashion.
We desire to record our opinion that the constant contempla-
tion of ugliness and deformity is demoralizing. It lies at the
root of a great deal of vice. Is it any wonder that the poor
laborer gets tired of the squalor and dirt of his miserable hovel
and flies for a change to the glare and glitter of the gin-palace?
Newman may be justly regarded as initiating or reviving the
idea that to be godly it is not necessary to be morose and
disagreeable.

VOL. xxxvi. 29

450 MOZLEY' s REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

Mr. Mozley throws a little light upon Newman's politics.
His aversion was an oligarchy. " There are always bad elements
in it, and the bad elements prevail " (vol. i. p. 244). He was
only impelled to speak out when the interests of the church were
imperilled. This, we take it, is much the conduct of all peaceable
clergy. There is certainly a time when it becomes a crime to
keep silent, and that time is when the interests of morality and
sound doctrine call for a vigorous defence. In this Newman
differed from Whately. And we should have been better
pleased if Mr. Mozley had explained to us the final estrangement
of these two men. We have seen it alleged again and again
that " they passed in the street without recognition," etc., as
though this was a strong evidence of Newman's bigotry, and
that the well-known urbanity of the man was lost in the odium
theologicum. .We believe that from the first the clear penetra-
tion of Newman gauged the. mind of Whately and divined his
strong leanings to rationalism. After-events proved this pre-
conception to be well founded. As Archbishop of Dublin he
gave his patronage specially to Broad-Churchmen. His examin-
ing chaplain was a Dr. Abelschauser, who by his influence be-
came a tutor of Trinity College. He imported him from Ger-
many, and, though a devoted admirer of Hegel, gave him a living
in the city. He used his great influence to foment the ill-feeling
then on the increase between the English and Irish by fostering
a society called " Church Missions to Roman Catholics." It
was organized exactly as if the Irish were heathens, and we
regret to say that the destitution of the starving peasantry was
made use of to procure proselytes. Soup and tracts went to-
gether, and poor ignorant Pat said amen to any creed pro-
posed, to fill his " lean and hungry sides." Despite the asser-
tions of Lord Plunket, we challenge a comparison of the numbers
of the so-called conversions during the famine and two years
later. The fact is, as soon as the wretched peasantry could dis-
pense with the bribes of the missionaries they returned to their
own church, to which they had ever been loyal at heart. Whate-
ly 's chaplain, Dr. Hinds, 'followed his footsteps. He made a
lamentable failure as Bishop of Norwich, and his last public ap-
pearance was to aid in building a church for Mr. Voysey, the
author of the blasphemous work, The Sling and the Stone, who
was actually ejected from his living and from the Church of
England for heresy. If, as it is possible, it was Newman's
strong antipathy to rationalism that led him to cut Whately,
we are not surprised. This is the more probable from the fact

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 451

that he kept up, and still keeps up, amicable intercourse with
Anglican friends.

The circumstances under which the exquisite hymn, " Lead,
kindly Light," was composed lend additional interest to that
favorite composition. It is curious to know that it is comprised
in almost all dissenting hymnals, even those of the Unitarians.
It must have had a very touching significance when sung recent-
ly over the grave of the author's old friend, Dr. Pusey.

Mr. Mozley mentions the cardinal's fondness for the violin.
The last time we saw him was at the Brompton Oratory, when
the fathers got up a little surprise for him in the way of a quar-
tette of violins. The selection was from Beethoven, and it was
very gratifying to note the waves of feeling and keen apprecia-
tion that passed over the genial countenance of Newman a
countenance that fully corroborates the idea of Plato that the
soul shapes her own habitation and the countenance becomes
her reflector.

Newman has never in the slightest way countenanced that
style of polemics which consists in ridiculing an adversary. He
contents himself with demonstrating his fallacies, as he did Kings-
ley's in the Apologia ; but though Kingsley offered some very
tempting points for attack, his antagonist refrained with chival-
rous magnanimity. Mr. Mozley points out that the caricatures
of Protestantism in some Catholic periodicals are often ontrt and
defeat their object by their absurdity. But surely they are not
worse than those levelled at Catholics. Neither of these carica-
turists perceive that the truest ridicule is a most minute descrip-
tion. The Englishman or American depicted on the French
stage is so absurdly unreal that the satire fails of its object. But
the English and American comedian copies the peculiarities of a
Frenchman to the letter his accent, his dress, his style and aims
at being exactly like a Frenchman, and this is much more pro-
voking. We are of opinion that, as Horace says, one may tell
the truth in a laughable way, but ridicule is a dangerous weapon
in controversy, and in the interests of charity ought to be dis-
countenanced.

\\ T e cut short a great deal more that we should like to have
said about Cardinal Newman, because Mr. Mozley himself de-
mands more special treatment. We have said that he represents
a large number who, like himself, have been almost persuaded to
take the final step. These must either be right or wrong. If
they are right what becomes of the illustrious army of men who
gave up everything for truth ? If they are wrong have we not

452 MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. [Jan-

cause to ask, " How long halt ye between two opinions ?" The}*-
could not have a better apologist than Mr. Mozley, and his rea-
sons deserve careful attention. We hope to deal with this part
of our subject very tenderly, mindful of the many devout souls
who are

"Longing and wishing to be right,
Yet fearing to be wrong."

The sweet home-picture drawn at p. 90 et seq. (vol. ii.) calls
attention to a phase of the subject which has not been fairly
handled except by one who was most competent, being himself a
convert and understanding thoroughly the entire matter.* Mr.
Mozley says that though " there is no future to converts," they
have never been intimidated at the prospect. Yet few outside
the English-speaking race understand what is meant by home or
what is involved in breaking it up. Home, we know, is where
:the heart is, as a shrine is where the divine Presence abides, no
matter whether it is rich or poor. Yet I appeal to refined and
elegantly reared women who may read this whether they can
comprehend the feelings of one, brought up in the daily enjoy-
ment of things and circumstances that have become almost neces-
sary, suddenly reduced from the comforts of home to two frowzy
rooms in a mean dwelling; to perform all domestic drudgery r
and to be afraid to eat heartily lest the loaf should not last long
enough ; to count cents and grow learned in all the contri-
vances of pinching and privation ; to see the faces of wife and
children grow thin and wan from lack of accustomed comforts,
and the forced cheerfulness of the heroic woman who " takes on
when no one is nigh." This is a side of the question I fear born
Catholics too little appreciate. Few of those who have gone
through it would probably have been able to face it had they
anticipated it. In this case it is a " blindness to the future wisely
given." How many are deterred from making this sacrifice I
fear to think. It is frequently the harmless things of life that
become our greatest snares. The late large-hearted pontiff felt
the want of converts so deeply that he made provision for the
maintenance of candidates for the priesthood in his Collegio
Pio ; but nothing, as far as I ever heard, has been proposed to
provide married clergymen with the means of gaining even the
most modest pittance. I think that Catholics ought to appre-
this.

But Mr. Mozley intimates that the sweet home-life is a pecu-

. -* Life of Father Baker. By the Rev. Augustine F. Hewit, C.S.P.

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 453

liarity of Protestantism. Mr. Ffoulkes has openly asserted that
Catholicism is antagonistic to its cultivation. Let us put our
foot down firmly upon this lie. What are the bonds of home?
Are they not the mutual love of its members, the obedience and
self-sacrifice that knit the varying members into a whole, as the
ivy that twines around its porch and lends unfading greenness
and beauty to its very poverty ? And are these dispositions
fostered by the teachings of Protestantism ? Nominally, we
admit ; but there is an entire lack of means to enforce the pre-
cept. It is a common complaint that parental obedience is
dying out ; that the boy or girl of twelve is more experi-
enced in forbidden knowledge than our forefathers at twenty.
Masters of schools know this to their cost, and confess that only
where the moral restraint of the confessional is practised can
there be mental discipline and soul-culture. The English have
had it so often repeated that the Catholic Church is the foe of
home-life that it is time they seized upon the statement and
honestly analyzed it. We say that where there is a perfectly
united family it is owing to the cultivation of those virtues
which radiate from the church's teachings. We have seen in
the East a tract of country, once carefully irrigated and tended,
long after it had been left to itself, still putting forth the rare
rose and beautiful shrub, though running wild. And wherever
the light of divine truth has shone it must leave an effect. That
place can never be again as it was before. But the power that
helps the members of a family to repress selfishness, and strive
for each other's welfare, to carry out the divine precept, " love
one another," without repressing the individuality of any this
is found in the Catholic Church, and in the Catholic ChurcJi alone.

Mr. Mozley tells us, " I cannot remember the time when I
liked the Thirty-nine Articles " (vol. ii. p. 254), and he points out
their opposition to the Scriptures, upon which they are said to be
based. He seems to have found that the Church of England
lacks a system of piety. Religion has been called "the science of
the saints." This suggests rudiments, gradual progress, and
final development of completed knowledge. But any inquirer
who is anxious for his soul can obtain only the vaguest direc-
tions how to secure its salvation. He consults a physician for a
physical ailment and receives the most specific and minute direc-
tions how to treat it. But the equally realizable malady of the
soul has no such treatment. This is felt by devout Anglicans to
be the weak spot. How is the divine life to be kept up in the
soul? They are perforce compelled to borrow Catholic prac-

454 MOZLEY' s REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

tices as the only efficient means, for they are too well acquainted
with the insufficiency of all others. We think this is really the
first query of holy souls. They are not able in many cases to
enter into doctrinal disquisitions or weigh the relative value
of evidence. But they ask themselves : Will this system help
me to keep down the wild beast in my nature, to attain to a
higher platform of life, gradually advancing to that goal where
the intellectual subjugates the animal? Will it help me to be
a better man, more lovable in my home, more conscientious
in business, more faithful as a citizen ? We confidently assert
that no man who has ever asked himself these questions fairly
will be content with anything less than the Catholic Church.
And this does not, as Mr. Mozley seems to understand, re-
duce a man to a mere acquiescing machine, whose volition
and choice are wholly disregarded. He says, " I always felt
that the understanding must be subordinated to belief." This
is all the church maintains. The intellect of man is like a
wingless seraph, unable to mount into the vast regions around
and above it. Faith supplies its wings, and therefore faith is but
intellect supplemented and perfected. This our author illus-
trates by a subject that comes home to all hearts. What do we
know of the state of the dead ? St. Paul triumphantly exclaims:
" Jesus Christ hath abolished death and brought life and immor-
tality to light." Yet, after all, there is very little told us about
the subject in the New Testament. It is open to question
whether as many hints and intimations of the immortality of the
soul may not be gathered from classic writers say Plato and
Socrates, for instance as from St. Paul. But what is it that en-
ables the Christian exultingly to cry, " O death, where is thy
sting?" that sheds light athwart the gloom that enfolds the
grave, and tells us that what seems death is only transition, that
life shall live for evermore, and that the communion of saints is
^ unbroken, as an army ever marching on, though part of its
; ranks are out of sight ? It is the supplementing teaching of the
' Catholic Church. She unites for us the broken threads of doc-
trine, makes the indistinct clear, the vague definite, and, by her
doctrine consoled, we clasp the hands of our dead, not in sepa-
ration and eternal adieu, but to meet again where life shall be
perfected with " the full-grown energies of heaven."

Would that Mr. Mozley had followed Bishop Wilberforce's
advice ! Samuel Wilberforce, in one of the most famous of his
sermons, urged Oxford undergraduates to " entertain no doubt,
to stamp it out as they would a spark in a magazine, and recoil

1883.] MOZLEY' s REMINISCENCES. 455

from it with horror " (vol. ii. p. 314). He adds : " Such advice is
useless." Why ? Is there anything so torturing- to the soul as
doubt? Who can forget the pathetic cry in Homer, " If our
fate be death, give light and let us die"? Men wish to know the
worst. But we suspect Mr. Mozley considered the advice de
trop in his own case, because he knew the issue to which candid
investigation must conduct him would be disagreeable. It is
sound advice to stamp out doubt, especially when immortal is-
sues are at stake.

As we closed these two volumes we asked ourselves the ques-
tion that Kingsley long ago asked Newman : What, then, does Mr.
Mozley believe?

He believes in the present occurrence of miracles. " There is
a kind of miracle which is not called a miracle, for no other rea-
son than that it seems only a succession of providential interfer-
ences " (vol. ii. p. 262). He does not think that the Scriptures
unsupported are sufficient foundation for the faith. He thinks
that the devotion to the Blessed Virgin is reasonable and proper.
He believes in the real presence of the Lord's Body in the Eu-
charist. He thinks the Assumption of Mary a probable doctrine.
He admits purgatory and the invocation of saints to be logical.
He admits that the evidence of the senses is so delusive that
" what we do know we cannot know rightly." This is more
logically expressed by Tennyson :

" We have but faith ; we cannot know,
For knowledge is of things we see "

that in the regions of the Infinite the puny reasonings that
apply to merely finite things can have no application. And will
not any one say of this man, as our Lord said of the young ruler
in the Gospel, " Thou art not far from the kingdom of God " ?
Yes, but there is no evidence to show that he ever reached it.
Mr. Mozlev refers to that remarkable book, Forster's Essay on
Decision of Character. Now, there is no kind of indecision so
fatal as indecision in spiritual things. It is easy to find excuses
that appear quite irrefragable to ourselves within our secret
souls, but we never knew one that would look even plausible
when put into writing. Mr. Mozley puts these inward musings
into words, and truly he is right in calling his present position
"a lame, and impotent conclusion." We repeat that he is the
mouthpiece of large numbers, and perhaps the late Dr. Pusey
would have agreed with his reasons. What are these reasons?
He says: " If I have not positively recoiled from the great ques-

456 MOZLEY' s REMINISCENCES. [Jan.,

tion I have never dreamed of facing it" (vol. ii. p. 316). Yet
he was willing with his half-conclusions to join the Church of
Rome, and actually applied to Newman for advice about it.
His reply was, Wait two years ; and Mr. Mozley adds : " No
doubt Newman's reply did urge upon me the spirit of self-
humiliation and discipline in which such an inquiry ought to
be conducted." Certainly, Cardinal Newman well understood
that a man who makes this momentous change ought to be
wholly convinced, not partly. That the mind tired of being
tossed upon the sea of doubt finds repose in submission to a
great authority is true, but this is not the entire feeling that
ought to induce conversion. One may submit perforce and yet
experience no real jjerdvoia, no radical alteration of the basis
of life in relation to the Infinite. Whatever Cardinal Newman
meant, he certainly expected Mr. Mozley to continue in the path
of investigation and preparation, whereas he only waited " for
an enlightened volition." Newman had said: "The Almighty
would give me the opportunity and the call as well as the power
and the mode of conversion." He himself was waiting " for fur-
ther light from his heavenly Guide." To doubt that such light
is given would be presumptuous as well as foolish. But how?
Not by any sort of compulsion, by any external manifesta-
tion, but, as Newman himself expresses it, showing us "one
step " and enabling us to take it by listening ever for the whis-
per of the Voice that saith, " This is the way ! " There is such a
time in all men's lives, and no doubt it is highly dangerous to
procrastinate then. Because a good thought, a heavenly desire,
coming into the mind is from above ; it is the whisper of the
Paraclete, and if not at once heeded will pass away, perhaps never
to be repeated. Worldly things, on the contrary, ought to be
rarely done without being twice thought over. We can under-
stand no state so unsatisfactory as waiting for this manifestation.
Mr. Mozley does not tell us what s/iaj>e he expects it to take ; but
his seems much like the case of the Pharisees, who refused to
credit Christ's teaching and miracles, but " asked from him a
sign from heaven." He says : " My call to Rome, if it ever should
be, must be one written in circumstances and be intelligible
alike to myself and to my friends." But if God gives us the
inestimable gift of faith it must be in his own way. Oftentimes
his methods are not intelligible to ourselves. We " love to see

and choose our path " in ignorance ; when true faith comes we
add : " But now lead Thou me on." We deny that " the call of
circumstances is all the great mass of mankind have ever had

1883.] MOZLEY'S REMINISCENCES. 457

to lead them to Rome " (vol. ii. p. 403). In most cases we have
ever known circumstances seemed to indicate quite the reverse.
To some, indeed, the wrench was so terrible that it was a real
crucifixion of the flesh, which led those who only judged from
appearances to doubt the man's sanity. " They are where they
are by force of circumstances," surely is untrue of the Wilber-
forces, Faber, Oakeley, Dalgairns, Coleridge, Ryder, and a host
more, but quite the reverse. Mr. Mozley thinks " it is the order of
Providence " that a man should accept unquestioning the re-
ligious belief in which he has been educated. " Is a man a worse
Christian for being a Christian after the manner of his fathers
and of those about him ? " (vol. ii. p. 404). Then what sense is
there in the command, " Go ye into all the world and make
disciples of every creature " ? Where is the raison d'etre of
missions? If it be "better that people in general should ac-
cept the religious forms and ideas, the words and customs, they
find," then what right has Mr. Mozley to seek to extend the in-
fluence or to propagate the doctrines of the Church of Eng-
land ? A Jumper or a Muggletonian has as good a theological
standing as he. We contend that every one born of woman is
bound to seek to find out what is truth. This is the entire gist of
the Gospel. If so what can we think of one who says " there
cannot be so much virtue or so much mischief in either the posi-
tive or the negative side "? (vol. ii. p. 404). Do we accept such
indecision in any transaction of life ? Is it not necessary in all
things, however trivial, to make up our minds? Who has de-
nounced such scathing censure against those " who are neither
cold nor hot "?

And this is where this ingenious author is " landed." It seems
to us that it is theologically nowhere. Mr. Mozley is less than a
half-believer in the Church of England and more than a half-
believer in the Church of Rome. His seems to be that heart
which Faber described as having " only a twilight of God about
it." We close these volumes with two reflections :

First. A deep thankfulness for that great awakening of Eng-
land which, beginning with Tractarianism, is ending in Catholi-
cism. It has swept away centuries of prejudices and prepared
minds heretofore inaccessible for the advent of the full and per-
fect truth. It has quickened thoughtful minds to perceive that
there is a something lacking even in the most advanced ritualism,
and they find that something in the Catholic Church. Matthew
Arnold correctly says of the movement : " The basis not being
solid, all they build upon it is fantastic." Yet, be it remembered,

458 " PAN is DEAD" [Jan.,

it has been a pioneer. All the work it has done in familiariz-
ing the public with the worship and ritual and doctrine of Ca-
tholicism would have had to be done by those who from educa-
tion and position could not have done it so well. Therefore
"for this relief much thanks."

Second. Reflecting on the nature of grace, we think Mr. Moz-
ley's book inculcates indirectly a very solemn warning. Grace
unimproved is like any merely natural sentiment- it loses its
power. Any of our faculties, if long disused, will lose their
wonted vigor. The fakir in India holds up an arm until he can-
not pull it down again. And a man may go on resisting spiritual
impressions (that is, the Holy Ghost] until they have no effect
whatever. It was said of Jerusalem : " Thou knewest not the time
of tliy visitation." To all men there comes such a time. And
any one who has had such visitations and rare opportunities of
knowing the truth, yet has only such shallow grounds for reject-
ing it as Mr. Mozley alleges, must dread the solemn statement,
" Now they are hid from thine eyes."

"PAN IS DEAD."

Now from thy throne divine,

Almighty Lord, incline
Thy ear to hear a suppliant sinner's cry.

Direct his poet-flight

To that tremendous night
Where in the straw reposed the Sovereign of the sky.

Give him the eagle's wing

To bear him to his King,
That, prostrate, he adore the Virgin's sacred Child

Him whom the seers foretold ;

Him whom the prophets old.
Him whom the Sibyl's voice, proclaimed the Undefiled.

The snow was on the ground,

And silent fear profound
Appalled the ruffian winds and taught them to be hushed :

While ocean's huddling waves

Seemed conscious in their caves
That by those holy feet their crests should yet be crushed.

1883.] " PAN is DEAD" 459

The mountains in repose,

Arrayed in spotless snows,
With all their woods and wilds were wrapped in silent dread.

They knew the day was near

When they should see with fear
Their grandeur quite eclipsed by His majestic tread ;

That, speaking on their slope,

The burning words of hope
Should issue from His lips to beautify the world,

To smash the rod in twain,

To break the bondsman's chain,
To hoist the bannered cross as oriflamme unfurled.

At Christ's auspicious birth

The gods that ruled the earth
Were smote with list'ningfear and dashed with terror, dumb.

In all the shrines of Greece

The gibbering augurs cease ;
The Druid groves of Gaul no longer dared to hum !

A wild, discordant cry,

A yell of horror, high
Broke from the Grecian wave and froze the hearer's blood :

"O grief of griefs !" it said,

" Our great god Pan is dead !
And, bound in night and chains, we welter in the flood."

NOTE. Perhaps the most singular fact in Plutarch is contained in his celebrated treatise,
" Why the Oracles cease to give Answers." A Greek vessel laden with goods for the Roman
market was becalmed in the isles Echinades and drifted with the current to the isles of Paxi,
when a voice was heard calling, " Thamus ! Thamus ! " in so loud a tone as astonished all the
crew ; one of whom, however, an Egyptian, coming forward, shouted in reply, "Here I am."
"When you arrive at Palodes," said the voice, " tell them that the great god Pan is dead."
A dispute arose amongst the passengers who were amazed at this occurrence as to whether
Thamus should obey this voice or not. He, however, secretly resolved if the wind was fair to
sail by and say nothing, but if a calm occurred and he had nothing better to do he should cry
out as he was ordered. Having arrived before Palodes, the wind fell and the sea was as smooth
as glass. Whareupon Thamus, standing on deck and facing the land, cried aloud, " The great
Pan is dead ! " He had no sooner said that than the most frightful howlings burst apparently
from several persons, who lamented aloud in tones of astonishment, etc.

460 THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. [Jan.,

THE POOR MILLIONAIRE.

Two days before Christmas Robert Lamson, the banker,
went down to Wall Street looking more careworn than usual.
He was one of New York's wealthy men ; yet it was many a
year since he had taken a holiday. To make money was his only
enjoyment; his eyes were blind to the wants of the poor; to
spend a dollar in charity caused him pain. Nevertheless, strange
to relate, with all his wealth he was haunted by the dread of dy-
ing a pauper.

Mr. Lamson was a widower with two children, Kitty and
Bob, and he had just parted from them after telling them that
this year he could not let them have a Christmas-tree, for he
considered it a foolish waste of money. " Why, your toys last
year cost a small fortune," he said. " For one doll alone I paid
a hundred dollars, and there was a hobby-horse which was al-
most as dear as a real live horse." And with these words he
had turned away, leaving his little ones mute and too astonished
to cry.

" Well, if mamma were here she'd let us have a Christmas-
tree and lots of toys," spoke Bob presently, while two big tears
trickled down his chubby cheeks. " Yes, but mamma is dead,"
answered Kitty, who was a couple of years older than her
brother.

" And she won't come back, will she ? " said Bob.

" No, but we can go look at her picture," said Kitty. And
with this she took Bob's hand, and together they went and stood
before the portrait of their mother, which hung in their father's
room at the foot of his bed. It was a beautiful, somewhat pen-
sive face, and it always surprised the children to find the large
blue eyes following them about the chamber; from whatever
spot they viewed the picture the eyes were watching them.
"Mamma loves to look at us," Bob would say, and Kitty once
fancied that the eyes moved. "Dear mamma! why won't she
come back?" sighed Bob just as a domestic entered to tell
Kitty that there was a beggar-girl in the basement who wished
to speak to her. Kitty answered, " Mamma will never come
back." Then, still holding Bob by the hand, she led him down
into the basement. There Kitty found a poorly clad girl, not

1883.] THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. 461

much older than herself, who had come to beg, not for money nor
for cold victuals, but for toys. " Almost anything- will do for
my brothers and sisters," spoke Mary Malone. " My father got
hurt a couple of months ago by a blast. Since then he hasn't
been able to earn anything ; and as he can't buy us any Christ-
mas gifts, I have come to beg a few."

" Well, walk up-stairs and I'll show you our old toys," said
Kitty. Accordingly, to the no small wonder of her father's liv-
eried flunky, the young mistress of the house conducted Mary
Malone up to an apartment on the third story called the nursery
closely followed by Bob, who kept lamenting all the way that
they were to have no Christmas-tree.

"Papa says we can't have any toys this year," spoke Bob,
while Mary cast her eyes about her in utter amazement.

" Well, surely you don't want more toys, do you ? " said the
latter. " Why, those nine dolls have no sawdust in them ; Kitty
and I took it all out," said Bob.

" Yes, and the biggest one, which has a complete bridal
trousseau," said Kitty, pointing to the doll which had tost a
hundred dollars, " has no arms and only one leg. Bob pulled
them off." " And I'm tired of my hobby-horse, for I've had
him a whole year," said Bob, pouting. " And the horse has no
tail, you see," observed Kitty, "for Bob cut it off with my
scissors." " And half the animals in those Noe's arks are bro-
ken," said Bob, pointing to a number of tiny arks scattered
about the floor.

Mary Malone smiled, then said : " Well, I'll be too glad if
you'll let me carry a few of these playthings home in my bag "
she had brought a calico bag with her.

" Indeed you may take as many as you like," said Kitty.

" And rny hobby-horse, too, if he isn't too heavy ; for he has
no tail, and I don't care for him any more," said Bob, giving the
horse a kick behind which caused him to rock violently.

" Oh ! what a fine Christmas-tree we shall have," exclaimed
Mary, as she gathered the toys together. " And we sha'n't have
any. I wish dear mamma would come back," sighed Bob.
" Well, I tell you what you might do," said Mary. " You might
come to my home Christmas morning, and there you'll see all
your old toys hanging on a pretty green cedar-tree, and my
brothers and sisters, and father and mother, singing and laughing
and having a merry time together." " Oh ! that would be good
fun," exclaimed Bob, clapping his hands.

" But what would papa say ? " said Kitty doubtfully. " Don't

462 THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. [Jan.,

tell papa a word about it," answered Bob, grinning. " It'll be
such good fun ! "

"Well, I should like to go," said Kitty. " Is it far? How
can we find where you live?"

" My home is only a few blocks from here," answered Mary
Malone. " Walk straight up Fifth Avenue to Fifty-eighth Street,
then turn to the left and inquire for Michael Malone's shanty.
It stands on a high rock. But I will meet you at the foot of the
rock ; you .will see me waving a broom."

" Fifty-eighth Street, on a high rock what a funny place to
live ! " said Kitty, smiling. " And you'll be waving a broom.
Well, I'll remember that." " Yes, waving a broom ; don't for-
get." And with these words Mary Malone shouldered her bag-
ful of toys and departed.

On the morrow, Christmas eve, the sky was overcast ; it look-
ed like snow, but no snow had yet fallen, and at three o'clock in
the afternoon Mr. Lamson ordered his carriage for a drive in the
Park. He took his children with him ; for although Wall Street
had extinguished in his sordid heart well-nigh every spark of
love except love of money, he still cherished a little feeling for
Kitty and Bob, especially for Kitty, who, young as she was, re-
minded him not a little of his dead wife.

During the day he had once or twice reproached himself for
having refused them a Christmas-tree. But whenever he had
been tempted to yield, back had come the dread of poverty, and
he had inwardly murmured : " No, no, I must not spend so much
money ; I am going to the poorhouse." During the drive he
spoke hardly a word and his countenance wore a mournful ex-
pression ; nor did Kitty and Bob talk as much as usual. But
nearly every person whom they met looked very happy and car-
ried a bundle under his arm, while out of the brown paper wrap-
per now the head of a doll, now the legs of a turkey, peeped out.
As they were driving homeward, however, the banker did smile
once ; it was when he saw Kitty whisper in Bob's ear, then
point toward a high rock which stood in the middle of some
vacant lots on Fifty-eighth Street. "Ay," he said, speaking
like one who thinks aloud and rubbing his thin, white hands
together " ay, those are my lots, and I own nearly the whole
block."

" Why, is that tall rock yours, papa?" said Kitty, opening
wide her big blue eyes. " Indeed it is mine," answered her
father; " but I wish it wasn't there, for I must blast it away, and
'twill cost me a great deal of money to do that. But then I own

1883.] THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. 463

nearly the whole block, Kitty nearly the whole block. Just
think of it nearly the whole block ! "

" Papa, I wish you would always look as you do now ; you
look so happy," spoke Kitty. " Happy ! " groaned the mil-
lionaire " happy ! O my God ! " Here he buried his face in
his hands and muttered something which his children could not
understand something about poverty and the poorhouse ; and
he regretted that the morrow was Christmas, for Christmas was
a holiday and he could not make any money on Christmas.

They had not been home more than half an hour when it
began to snow and the wind to blow wildly from the northeast.
It was just the weather to be indoors, seated before a blazing fire
and enjoying the sound of the tempest raging outside.

Bob and Kitty passed a good part of the evening in the large
conservatory, which was connected with the spacious drawing-
room by a flight of marble steps. Here they chatted together in
their innocent, childish way about their adventure of the morrow
morning, and how they might manage to steal out of the house
unobserved by their father or the servants. The fact that it was
snowing and blowing a hurricane, and that it had become intense-
ly cold, did not trouble them in the least. The air they were
breathing was as balmy as the air of June ; a Virginia mocking-
bird was singing on a magnolia-tree beside them ; over their
heads twined a network of grape-vines loaded with grapes ;
within a bower of orange-trees plashed a fountain with number-
less goldfish swimming round and round in the little lake into
which the sparkling waters fell ; while countless jets of gas made
the whole scene as brilliant as noontide. Indeed, older people
than Kitty and Bob might have been pardoned for forgetting that
it was midwinter when they were in such a little paradise as this.

While the children were thus whiling away the last hours of
Christmas eve Mr. Lamson was in the library examining some
accounts ; he found that he had made a great deal of money since
last Christmas, and he could not help thinking what a nuisance
it was to have the 25th of December interfere with business.
The thousands of hard-worked clerks who at this moment
were rejoicing at the coming holiday never entered his mind.
What was a clerk to Robert Lamson? Long years of prosperity
had caused him to look upon himself as a superior being; his
riches had intoxicated him with pride, and twice during the
winter much as he hated to spend money he gave a dinner-
party to which no gentleman was invited who was worth less
than a million. " And yet this infernal fiend never ceases to

464 THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. [Jan.,

pursue me," he said, groaning and starting up from the com-
fortable arm-chair. " In my office down-town, here in this cosey
chamber, even in my dreams at night, the fiend whispers in my
ear and says : ' Poverty is coming poverty is coming ! ' And I
hear the voice whispering to me now. Alas ! alas ! why can-
not my money drive it away? Why cannot my millions bring
me happiness ?" Here the banker ground his teeth and clutch-
ed a pistol which lay on the mantelpiece. But, thank God ! at
this very moment, while his finger was on the trigger, the library-
door swung on its hinges and Kitty and Bob appeared to bid
him good-night.

" Dear father, do be happy," said Kitty as she kissed him ;
for, young as she was, the child perceived the dark cloud on her
father's visage. And now while he pressed her to his heart the
awful temptation to take his own life passed away. Then, after
his little ones had gone to bed, he put aside his account-books,
locked up the pistol, and, seating himself in front of the cheerful
fire, he began thinking of the past of his early married life.
" When I was worth only a hundred thousand dollars," he said,
" oh ! then I was truly happy." And as the sparks flew up the
chimney scene after scene passed before his mind's eye : his wife
in all her bridal loveliness, their unpretentious home in a side
street, the birth of his children ; his first great success in business,
quickly followed by other successes ; then the death of his wife,
who had often begged him not to work so hard. " We have
enough, dear husband," she used to say. " Why become a slave
to money-making ? " And now for the first time Mr. Lamson
began to think that perhaps his wife might have been right.
" For no slave works harder than I work," he murmured. " My
brains are racked three hundred and sixty-five days in the year ;
I am grinding out of my mill a ceaseless stream of gold, and yet I
am not happy." While he was thus soliloquizing Bob and Kitty,
too, were living over again in dreamland blissful days gone by.
They beheld their mother's face bending over their cribs, and
they saw Santa Claus and their stockings crammed full of toys.
And all through this cold December night, when more than one
wretched mortal was freezing to death in the streets, the children
went on dreaming. But the happiest dreams come to an end,
and when at length Kitty opened her eyes, and discovered the
snowflakes striking against the window and heard the wind
howling, she lay for a brief space wondering what had become
of her mother's face and Santa Claus and the toys. Then gradu-
ally, as she grew wider awake, she remembered that her mother

1883.] THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. 465

was dead, that she was to get no toys, and then she remembered
that she had promised Mary Malone to go and see her Christmas-
tree.

Softly now, in bare feet and on tiptoe, Kitty stole over to
Bob's crib. But Bob was not easy to rouse : he clung hard to
his sunny dream ; he babbled aloud something about his mamma
and his hobby-horse, so that Kitty feared lest the nurse, who
slept in the next room, might hear him. But as soon as Bob was
fairly awake he got up and let Kitty dress him,' and by the time
he was quite dressed she had wrapped so very many things
around him to keep him warm, and had thrust his legs into such
a huge pair of rubber boots they belonged to his father that
Bob made a wry mouth and declared he was unable to walk, and
Kitty realized the unpleasant fact that it would be necessary to
carry him at least a part of the way. But Kitty was a plucky
little thing ; she was not to be daunted by this obstacle. " And
if it's cold out in the street, Bob," she said, " don't cry. We
haven't far to go, and we'll see such a pretty Christmas-tree."
Thus encouraged, Bob said : " I won't cry." And with this he
let her put her arm about his now enormous waist (he had on
two overcoats and three shawls), and as noiselessly as possible,
very slowly, too a cat might scarcely have heard them they
glided out of the bed-room and down the broad staircase.
Kitty's heart beat very fast when she placed her hand on the big
key, for the heavy hall-door sometimes made a noise when it was
opened.

" Now, Bob, be good, be brave," she said as she gave the key
a twist. Round it turned in the lock ; a moaning, whistling
sound followed, and in another moment a gust of wind and snow
was blowing furiously into the hall. Kitty found it impossible to
cl*se the door again. " Never mind, Kitty ; be quick. I'm get-
ting cold," said Bob in a whining voice. At these words Kitty
caught Bob in her arms and half walked, half rolled with him
down the stoop. It was a sight indeed to behold and not soon
to forget when presently Kitty faced the tempest. Her hat in a
jiffy was torn off her head and was whirling round and. round,
and up "and up, higher and higher, until it disappeared amid the
snowflakes, while her beautiful, long chestnut curls went stream-
ing upward after the hat, as if they wanted to catch it. But still
right gallantly she faced the gale; she struggled onward one
whole block in its very teeth. But with such a burden as Bob
she could not advance any further; and at the end of the block
she stopped and leaned, panting for breath, against the lamp-post.
VOL. xxxvi. 30

466 THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. [Jan.,

Nor by this time could anybody have told by her dress who she
was ; she might have been a beggar-girl for any sign of gentility
about her. She was all enveloped in snow, while at her feet lay
a curious white mound, impossible to recognize except for a
pair of large, tearful eyes turned upward imploringly on Kitty,
and a voice was whimpering: "Take me home! take me
home ! " Just at this critical moment a lamplighter and a police-
man made their appearance, and when they began to pity the
poor children and asked Kitty where she wanted to go to, she
promptly replied to Mike Malone's shanty in Fifty-eighth Street.
" Oh ! I know where that is," said the policeman. And now, as
soon as the good lamplighter had been given the necessary direc-
tions, he picked up Kitty and Bob as if they had been two feath-
ers, and away he trudged. But even for him it was laborious
work; deep were the drifts, bitter cold was the wind, and every
block seemed twice its usual length. "I see her! I see her!"
exclaimed Kitty after he had turned down Fifty-eighth Street.
" Who is it you see ? Your mamma? " inquired the lamplighter,
who was not sorry that his journey was near its end.

" I see Mary Malone waving the broom. Don't you see her ? "
answered Kitty. " Are we almost there?" spoke a low, smoth-
ered voice next to Kitty's ear. " Yes, Bob, I see the broom wav-
ing ; we are almost there," said Kitty. Great indeed was Mary
Malone's surprise and delight to greet them at the foot of the
rock. She had hardly expected them in such a snow-storm, and
she herself, too, was clad in a virgin robe of snow.

"Your sister is mighty glad to get you home, isn't she?" ob-
served the lamplighter, as he tramped up the narrow pathway
which led to the shanty, where he safely deposited his load.
Kitty thanked the honest fellow and told him that he was very
kind, while Bob wished him a Merry Christmas, which was re-
ward enough for the lamplighter, who turned on his heel and
departed.

Inside the humble dwelling all was light and warmth and
merriment. Michael Malone, with an ancient pipe in his mouth-
it had come over from Ireland was leaning on a pair of crutches
beside his wife ; seven children were linked hand-in-hand round
about a cedar-tree whose branches were loaded with toys, while
against the trunk of the cedar stood Kitty's hundred-dollar doll.
For a moment profound silence fell on them all when Mary en-
tered and introduced the young strangers. Then presently arose
a joyous peal of laughter and hearty words of welcome which
made Kitty and Bob feel quite at home. Their snowy garments

1883.] THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. 467

\vere taken off, their hands and feet were rubbed into a glow by
Mrs. Malone's willing hands, some hot coffee was poured down
their throats, and Bob, whose twinkling eyes, were roaming about
the room, declared that it was great fun and that he liked it
much better than his papa's house. And as he spoke a goat ap-
proached and poked him gently in the stomach, which greatly
amused him, and at once the goat and Bob were excellent friends.

As soon as Kitty and her brother had been made dry and
warm the distribution of presents commenced. And as each of
the little Malones got something he set up a cry of delight and
capered about the room in an ecstatic manner, to the great
amusement of his parents. Then by and by Bob likewise re-
ceived a present a broken elephant-which had once adorned a
Christmas-tree in his own palatial home. Bob thought that he
recognized the old castaway plaything, but immediately he raised
his shrill voice, too, and began to frolic and shout like the rest of
the children. The elephant seemed to be as good as new to
him ; and when finally the expensive doll with no arms and only
one leg was given to Kitty the whole household clapped their
hands and cried : " Hurrah for Santa Claus ! Hurrah ! hur-
rah !"

" What a happy morning this is ! " spoke Mr. Malone to Kitty,
as he drew her affectionately toward him and stroked her luxu-
riant brown tresses. "Yes, indeed," answered Kitty; "and
do let Bob and me come again next Christmas." " Alas ! " sigh-
ed Mr. Malone, shaking his head, " this is the last Christmas we
shall ever celebrate here." " Why ? " said Kitty. " Because
this rock on which I have built my shanty, and where all my
children were born, is soon to be destroyed ; it stands in the
path of improvement, and it must be blasted away." He had
hardly spoken when Kitty gave a start and pointed, with a
look of wonder and awe, toward a little window behind the
stove-pipe. She fancied that she had seen a ghostly face press-
ed against the glass ; and when she told what she had seen Bob
immediately declared that it was Santa Claus -.Santa Claus
coming with more toys. Every eye was fixed upon the win-
dow, when presently the shanty door swung open and a fig-
ure appeared all wrapped in snow and with great icicles dang-
ling from his long, white beard.

" It's Santa Claus Santa Claus ! I told you so," ejaculated
Bob. And now, while an indescribable hubbub was reigning
amongst the excited children, the white apparition spread out
its arms, and in another moment Kitty and Bob were tightly

468 THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. [Jan.,

hugged in its snowy embrace. " Oh ! it's not Santa Clans ; it's
you, papa," exclaimed Bob, who was not easily scared. " Yes,
papa, I know you," said Kitty. " My children! my children ! "
cried the happy father. " God be blessed and praised ! I have
found you. But what made you run away ? O my children !
my children ! " Here he embraced them again and again, while
. tears of joy rolled down his cheeks.

" Well, now, just take off your overcoat, sir, and make your-
-self at home," spoke Michael Malone. "Your children have
been having a good time and are none the worse for their early
visit to us."

" Yes, we've had a most merry time," said Kitty. " I de-
clare I never saw such a splendid Christmas-tree," said Bob.
" O papa ! you ought to have come sooner. And there's a goat
in the room, papa a real live goat."

" Indeed ! " said the banker, smiling, as he drew off his heavy
outer garment. " Yes, and his name is Nanny," said Bob. At
the sound of his name out came the goat from his corner, and,
after wagging his beard a moment, he gave Bob another gentle
poke in the stomach, whereupon everybody laughed, but no
voice was so loud and gleeful as Bob's.

" Papa, did you bring us any toys?" whispered Kitty, who
hoped that the deep pockets of her father's overcoat might be
filled with good things of some sort. "Alas! my child, I have
.come empty-handed. But it shall never happen again," replied
Mr. Lamson. " Next Christmas you shall have a thousand dol-
lars' worth of toys." " And I want a new hobby-horse," said Bob ;
"mine has no tail." "Well, papa, isn't the rock on which this
house stands the one that you said yesterday belonged to you ?"
pursued Kitty, lovingly stroking his beard she seemed to be
.kissing him with her hands.

" Yes, this is my rock," answered Mr. Lamson.

-" Well, papa, give it to me, will you ? "

"To be sure I will." "Then it's my rock, is it? Truly
mine?" said. Kitty, gazing earnestly in his face. "Yes, upon
my 'honor," answered her father. " Good ! good ! " exclaimed
.Kitty, clapping her hands. Then turning to Mary Malone,
" And now, Mary," she said, " I give the rock to you."

" What ! to me ? " ejaculated the latter, while the million-
aire's jaw dropped a couple of inches. But it was too late for
him to retract, to undo what he had done ; his child had only
jjiven away what belonged to her.

" Oh ! then we sha'n't have to move ? We may stay here in

1883.] THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. 469

our dear old home ? " said Mary, who was ready to cry for
joy. "Yes," answered Kitty; " and next Christmas Bob and I
will come and pay you another visit."

While she was speaking her father was trembling violently ;
his eyes were rolling wildly about, and louder than ever he
heard a voice whispering : " Poverty, poverty is coming."

The struggle with himself lasted for about a minute. Then
suddenly his countenance brightened, and, catching Kitty in his
arms, " It has gone ! it has gone ! I hear it no more," he cried.

" What has gone, papa?" inquired Kitty.

" Never mind," he answered, while he pressed her to his
heart "never mind. But I owe it all to you all, all." Then
turning to Mary Malone, who had been greatly surprised at his
agitation, " To-morrow," he added, " I will have the deed drawn
up. Henceforth this rock is your property, and may you live
long and happily upon it ! "

" Well, I mean to give the rock to my father," said Mary.
"Then it may as well be deeded directly to him," said the
banker. Here he took the poor man's hand, and, pressing it, he
added: "This rock, Mr. Malone, is a pretty weighty Christmas
gift. But since I gave it away a moment ago I feel like a differ-
ent being; I am no longer pursued by a horrible fear; I am ever
so happy." " As happy as I am, I hope," spoke the honest la-
borer.

" And I invite you, my friend," continued Mr. Lamson, " to
come and take your Christmas dinner with me ; and bring the
whole family don't forget." " May Nanny come, too, papa?"
said Bob. " Yes, bring the goat, too," answered the millionaire,
pinching Bob's cheek.

" I am afraid Nanny must stay behind to take care of the
house," put in Mr. Malone.

" Must he?" said Bob, with a look of chagrin. " Well, I like
Nanny ever so much, and you must bring him to see me very
soon."

While they were talking the jingling of sleigh-bells was
heard, and presently a flunky with a dazed expression thrust his
head into the shanty and announced to his master that his sleigh
was waiting for him below.

"And 'tis time for us to go to Mass," observed Mr. Malone,.
glancing at the clock. " So it is," answered his wife. " But the
snow is too deep for the little ones; they must remain at home."

" I'll carry you all to church in my sleigh ; it is big enough
to hold a regiment," said Mr. Lamson. This remark was greeted

470 THE POOR MILLIONAIRE. [Jan.,

by a burst of applause from the children. " And at three
o'clock," he added, " the sleigh will be here again, and I hope
that you will have rousing appetites."

Accordingly to Mass Michael Malone and his family went
in the banker's large, comfortable sleigh, and in the afternoon
at the appointed hour they found themselves at No. - - Fifth
Avenue. The servant who admitted them concluded that
Robert Lamson, Esq., had lost his wits to be inviting such peo-
ple to the house. Yet Mr. Lamson had not in years looked and
really been in such high spirits as now ; giving away the rock in-
stead of selling it selling it to make more money had broken
the spell of his gloom and marked the dawn of a new and better
life.

The hungry guests were not kept waiting long for dinner,
and when the dining-room was thrown open the scene which
burst upon their vision wrought a most vivid and lasting im-
pression on the youngest of the Malone family. In the midst of
a bower of evergreens stood the table, loaded with a feast such
as the child had never dreamed of ; the mocking-bird was sing-
ing merrily overhead ; the plates and dishes of silver and gold
threw back the light of a hundred wax candles ; and after gazing
around him a moment the little fellow cried out, with eyes as
big as saucers : "O papa! papa! is it here where Santa Clans
lives?" Whereupon Mr. Lamson enjoyed a hearty laugh and
said : " Yes, Santa Claus lives here." But this was only the
commencement of much laughter and merriment. Four turkeys
and six plum-puddings were devoured, and in the whole city of
New York there was not a happier Christmas party than this
one.

And from this day forth Robert Lamson was indeed a chang-
ed man. In place of racking his brains in Wail Street, instead of
.toiling to increase his enormous fortune, he devoted much of his
time to works of charity. He built cottages for poor families at
the sea-side; he erected model tenement-houses; he treated
poor children to excursions on the water; he slept soundly, he
enjoyed life, and never again did Kitty and Bob see a cloud on
, his face.

And whenever Kitty Lamson met her friend Mary Malone,
who grew up to be a fine young woman, she would stop and
have a chat about the merry Christmas morning when she and
her little brother had paid a visit to Mary's home, and when in-
nocent Bob had mistaken his own father for Santa Claus.

1883.] A NEW THEORY OF ^ESTHETICS. 471

A NEW THEORY OF AESTHETICS.

EVER since the time of Plato countless theories have been
broached touching the genesis of those strange and subtle feel-
ings which beautiful objects inspire. We have had metaphysi-
cal explanations and scientific ones. Aristotle expended some of
the finest efforts of his great intellect on the inquiry, and St.
Augustine clothed the mystic notions of Plato in a Christian
garb. German philosophers, including Baumgarten, Kant,
Hegel, Schelling, Winckelmann, and Lessing, have speculated
most curiously on the subject, and have tolerably succeeded in
investing it with a great deal of obscurity. Our own day has
witnessed a revival of the discussion, accompanied by a tendency
to put mere speculative views to a practical test. This has been
particularly the case in England, where Pater, Burne-Jones, and
the whole school of Preraphaelites have endeavored to re-es-
tablish the principles which had unconsciously guided Giotto
and Cimabue in their work. Curiously enough, it came to pass
that the least systematized school over there has given us most
practical results, and decorative art, which is a marked outcome
of the present revival, has thriven chiefly at the hands of the
poet Morris and his confreres. On the other hand, the most
elaborate attempt to analyze the assthetic feelings minutely and
to account for them on scientific principles originated with
those who profess no special connection with the progress of
art. While the tribe of Oscar Wilde posed in mediaeval atti-
tudes and raved about daisies and sunflowers and dados, Her-
bert Spencer, true to his faith in the doctrines of evolution,
strove to discover in the nervous system the elements of our
aesthetic emotions, and by synthesis to account for them in their
higher and more complex condition. Mr. Ruskin has stated
that it is no more possible to say why we receive pleasure from
some forms and colors than it is to say why we like sugar and
dislike wormwood. To this statement the philosophers of the
evolutionary school are unwilling to subscribe, and insist that it
is quite as easy to reduce [the most ideal emotion to its consti-
tuent elements as it is to account for any purely physiological
function of the human body. Indeed, one of the most pleasing
and ingenious writers of that school, Mr. Grant Allen, has
written a monograph on the subjecjt, entitled Physiological

472 A NEW THEORY OF ESTHETICS. [Jan.,

^Esthetics, wherein he seeks to prove that our most complex
aesthetic feelings are represented, on the objective side, by
minute changes occurring in the nervous tissues. Since this
treaties, of Mr. Allen's embodies and amplifies the views held by
Herbert Spencer and Professor Bain, we will endeavor, by a
brief outline of its contents, to exhibit the nature and purpose of
this latest contribution to the philosophy of aesthetics.

Mr. Grant Allen starts out with the principle that every sub-
jective condition of which we are conscious depends for its par-
ticular effect on some change wrought in the minute structure
of the nervous substance. In order, therefore, to appreciate the
depth and intensity of a pleasurable or painful emotion we must
inquire into the nature and extent of the nervous change which
accompanies it. And as pain is the commonest feeling. we expe-
rience, our author first addresses himself to an analysis thereof.
Every pain, .he contends, from the severance of a limb to a dis-
agreeable sight or noise, is accompanied by some disintegration
of nerve-tissue and herein lies the cause of the sensation. With
regard to pains of an acuter sort there can be no doubt of this,
but it is not so easy to perceive such disintegration when there
is question of a slightly disagreeable sensation. Yet it is most
probable that whatever affects us unpleasantly is connected with
the stoppage of nerve-function or repair. Brilliant lights, vivid
masses of color, and monotony of hue produce disagreeable feel-
ings, because they interfere with the due repair of the nerve-cells
in the retina. Such being the nature of pain, according to Mr.
Allen, we would naturally look for the sources of pleasure in an
opposite condition of the nerve-cells. Accordingly both Her-
bert Spencer and Mr. Allen refer our pleasurable emotions, from
the agreeable sense of satiety which an appetizing repast pro-
duces to that more subtle and elusive pleasure derived from
the contemplation of a Vandyke, to a healthful activity of the
nerve-cells. They distinguish two sorts' of pleasure, the massive
and the acute. The former consists in the sense of general well-
being which results from the healthy action of all the org-ans of
the body, and which, though not distinctly cognized as pleasure,
induces a sense of comfort to which we give expression when
we say that we feel well. We are then conscious of a subdued
undercurrent of pleasurable feeling which forms the background
of our emotional state. Such pleasure is called massive because
it affects no organ in particular, but diffuses itself in equable
currents throughout the system. Acute pleasures, on the other
hand, belong to particular organs and are the result of an activ-

1883.] A NEW THEORY OF ^ESTHETICS. 473

ity in each which is accompanied by a maximum of stimulation
together with a minimum of fatigue. Every organ is supplied
by a system of nerves which convey to it the vitality that en-
ables it to perform its functions effectively. When, owing to re-
pose on the one hand, an organ has undergone no wear and tear,
and on the other hand the supply of nervous force is uninter-
mittent, there results a high condition of vitality, the outlet of
which in action is accompanied by a keen sense of pleasure.
This is called acute pleasure, and it is evident that it can be
realized only in the case of those organs whose activity is in-
termittent. Hence pleasure is keenest after protracted inter-
mission, and grows less and less as the stimulation is more fre-
quently repeated. The greater the supply of nerve-force there
is to a .given organ the more acutely does it feel the pleasure
which a normal action entails, so that the amount of pleasure we
experience is in the direct ratio of the nerve-fibres involved and
in the inverse ratio of the frequency of excitation.

The main principles, therefore, upon which the new theory of
assthetics rests, as formulated by Herbert Spencer and Grant
Allen, are these : Pain is the subjective concomitant of destruc-
tive action or insufficient nutrition in any sentient tissue, and
pleasure is the subjective concomitant of the normal amount of
function in any such tissue. But not ever}'- pleasure which we
derive from a healthy stimulation of the nerves can be called ass-
thetic, and so we must differentiate the grosser pleasures from
those more delicate and ethereal ones that are justly entitled to the
designation. There are, first, certain pleasures connected with
necessary vital functions which, by reason of their having a pure-
ly useful end in view, we must exclude from the list of pleasures
as such, they being simply incidental to the work of our lives.
Whatever pleasure*, therefore, accompanies work, since it is
merely accessory to the main purpose of an action, is to be
eliminated from the list. The first, because the lowest, form of
pleasure we experience, apart from useful endeavor, is play, and
by pointing out the essential character of this exercise of our
faculties we will take one step forward in the task of differentia-
tion. Motor nerve-fibres not in action are in their highest state
of efficiency and are easily made to discharge their energy. If
the occasion of this discharge is purposeless i.e., not connect-
ed with a life-serving end the result is called play. This stor-
ing up of potential energy is most marked in childhood and
youth, when the nerve-cells are abundantly nourished and there
is consequently a most exuberant display of purposeless activity.

474 A NEW THEORY OF ^ESTHETICS. [Jan.,

Should the sensory fibres find themselves in a similar con-
dition of efficiency and repair we have no longer the muscular
activity involved in play, but a state of receptivity of which our
various organs of sense are the subject. It is in the cells which
supply nerve-force to those organs that the effects of intermittent
activity are most observable. When they are frequently or
monotonously excited the resulting sensation, which is per se
pleasant, becomes exceedingly disagreeable. We have now
reached a farther step in the process of differentiation, and find
that the aesthetic feelings belong to nerve changes that accom-
pany a state of receptivity. ^Esthetic pleasure is accordingly
defined by Mr. Allen as " the subjective concomitant of the
normal amount of activity, not directly connected with life-serv-
ing function, in the peripheral end-organs of the cerebro-spinal
nervous system."

This definition is not quite so formidable as it appears. It
means that the aesthetic feeling is awakened through the action
of the bulbous ends of the nerves which are connected with our
organs of sense, and which transmit the impressions they receive
to the supreme nervous centre the brain. As play is the pur-
poseless consequence (purposeless as opposed to life-serving) of
muscular activity, so art and the aesthetic pleasures are referable
to the passive changes which our organs of hearing and seeing,
especially, undergo. These facts agree with the view taken by
all writers on the beautiful viz., that the sentiment it engenders
is most remote from life-serving ends and freest from monopoly.
Professor Bain observes : " The objects of fine art and all objects
called aesthetic are such as may be enjoyed by a great number;
some, indeed, are open to the whole human race. They are ex-
empt from the fatal taint of rivalry and contest attaching to other
agreeables ; they draw men together in mutual sympathy, and are
thus eminently social and humanizing. A picture or a statue
can be seen by millions ; a great poem reaches all that under-
stand its language ; a fine melody may spread pleasure over the
habitable globe. The sunset and the stars are veiled only from
the prisoner and the blind."

This well accords with the functions assigned to seeing and
hearing in the production of aesthetic feelings, for both opera-
tions are far more taken up with purposeless activity than those
of any other organs of the body. The most fixed and pronounc-
ed of our aesthetic emotions flow, therefore, through the channel
of those two senses, and, by reason of the intervention of the in-
tellect, give rise to the aesthetic thrill. The solemn tones of the

1883.] A NEW THEORY OF ESTHETICS. 475

organ filling- the dim spaces of a cathedral harmonize well with the
subdued colors that fall on chancel, nave, and pillar, and produce
within us powerful emotions for which we would not exchange
the commoner though more dearly purchased pleasures of every-
day life. In this case there exists not only an adequate stimula-
tion of the fully-fed nerve-cells of both organs, together with a
minimum of fatigue, but such effect is enhanced by a sympathetic
co-activity of both. Here, however, we are confronted with a
difficulty which the invariability of function in the body would
seem to countenance. Since the nerve-cells are the same in all,
how is it that the same objective phenomena fail to produce
corresponding feelings in all ? It is true that the purely physical
functions of respiration and circulation are performed in the
same manner without regard to individuals, because these are in-
dependent of educational influences ; but those nerves which
serve the purposes of volition manifest a great diversity of struc-
ture. The cortical matter of the brain, for instance, which is
supposed to be connected with the higher functions of the mind,
differs materially in individuals, and so with regard to the nerve-
cells and fibres that stud the retina. In like manner minute
nerve-structures that preside over the sensations of hearing and
smelling exhibit marked differences of structure in different indi-
viduals. Hence it is that some are overcome by the stronger
perfumes of musk and ambergris, which are delightful to coarser
organs. And physiologists incline to think that as our means of
conducting minute explorations in the nervous structures con-
tinue to improve we will eventually be able to account for those
peculiarities of function which distinguish individuals and enable
some to enjoy with keenest relish what to less delicately organ-
ized nervous systems might appear flat and unprofitable.

In these differences between the nerve-organs of different in-
dividuals we find, according to Mr. Allen, the basis of taste.
Nerve-cells undergo organic changes which leave a permanent
impress behind, and if the stimulus which has aroused a set of
fibres into activity be normal and salutary the resulting organic
change is progressive and tends to the development of a correct
taste. If, on the other hand, perverse influences have been at
work organically shaping the cells and fibres, and throwing them
into a fixed condition of retrogressive vitality, we have as a re-
sult a depraved and perverted taste. Thus it is that the glare of
primary hues pleases the unduly-stimulated retina-rods of the
vulgar eye, whereas neutral tints and subdued colors alone satis-
fy the fastidious vision of the artist who has fed the nerve-cells

|| A NEW THEORY OF AESTHETICS. [Jan.,

of his retina with gentle and correct stimuli. This view, what-
ever its philosophical shortcomings may be, certainly possesses
the advantage of explaining those mysterious changes that affect
the taste of the public from time to time and constantly give rise
to new fashions in dress and decoration. Let a similar set of in-
fluences widely disseminated be allowed to work for a time on
the nerve-cells of a community, and a sympathetic change is
wrought in the prevailing perception of the beautiful. For this
reason we wonder how we could have ever brought ourselves to
admire the balloon-shaped garments of twenty-five years ago, and
accuse our progenitors of such hideous notions as could tolerate
the monstrous neckties of George IV. and Beau Brummell, or
the short-waisted dresses of our grandmothers. These no doubt
appeared quite beautiful at the time, since they were the out-
come of the influences which effected such changes in the nerve-
fibres of the retina as enabled the eye to regard them with favor.
As corroborative of this view we may advert to the greater
sensibility of the nervous system of women, and its consequently
greater susceptibility to the influences that produce vital changes
in the nerve-filaments of their various organs of sense. It is
impossible for a man, even for Worth himself, to enter into full
sympathy with a woman's feelings over a faultlessly-constructed
costume, simply because of the comparative inability of his
nerve-cells to respond to the delicate influences which produce
changes in the more finely organized nerve-fibres of the gentler
sex. This theory by no means does away with a fixed and abso-
lute standard of the beautiful, nor does it impart to the princi-
ples of taste a fleeting and capricious character. The intellect
presides over all conscious functions, and though it may ap-
prove, as in the case of savages, pleasing effects that offend the
more cultivated, the fault lies in that imperfect development of
the mind which experiences gratification through the operation
of coarse stimuli. Correct taste and improved understanding
progress part passu, and between them is established a consensus
which insures their inseparable advance or retrogression. This
fact the philosophers of evolution endeavor to explain by the
so-called principle of natural selection. The influences that
work changes in nerve-filaments are perceived and appreciated
by the intellect. If, by the reiterated impressions which they
make, they induce vital or organic changes in the nervous struc-
ture, the intellect is compelled to accord approval and the aes-
thetic thrill is experienced. Should the influences that deter-
mine nerve-change be debasing it is because they occur amid

1883.] A NEW THEORY OF ESTHETICS. 477

surroundings which have tended to lower the intellectual faculty
at the same time. Thus there is a constant consensus of intel-
lectual and aesthetic power, so that we have, by virtue of this
natural selection, correctness and delicacy of taste only where
the higher faculty of the intellect has learned to discern delicate-
ly and correctly.

We have additional proof of this in the variety of tastes
which characterize various epochs and nations ; for though the
civilizing influences which have brought our OAvn land and the
western countries of Europe to the van were profoundly differ-
ent, they have resulted in giving to each nation an intellectual
development of the same high order, notwithstanding this essen-
tial difference in character. And. as the intellectual bias of each
of the foremost countries of the world widely differs, so do its
artistic work and aesthetic susceptibility. Hence the raptures of
those who, constantly stimulated by 'pure richness of color on
canvas, in sky, woodland, and lake, stand speechless before the
paintings of the Venetian masters, and yet look coldly on the
works of G6r6me and Alma-Tadema, to whom perfection of form
was all in all. Not only does art in its highest sense follow a
fixed and necessary law dependent on intellectual development,
but the inferior order of decorative art consciously takes the cue
from genius and seeks to reproduce in its work the tone, color,
and sentiment of its more ethereal sister. " Let the reader cast
his eye about his room," says Mr. Allen, " and notice the pattern
and colors of the wall-paper, the carpet, and the hearth-rug ; the
mouldings of the cornice, the fender, and the gas-hangings; the
polish on the chairs, the table, and the coal-scuttle ; the gilding
on the curtain-rings, the mirror, the binding of the books ; the
very bevelling on the doors, the mantelpiece, and the wainscot,
and he will see that every one of them has a decorative pur-
pose." Not only that, but, he might have added, a decorative
purpose in thorough harmony with the higher art of the day
and as fully the outcome of our present art-intellect as the works
of Millais or Holman Hunt. In order to refer all this to its
physiological origin we have but to reflect that as there is a
unity pervading the intellectual activity of an epoch, so there is
a unity among the artistic forces then at- work, the result of ob-
jective influences acting upon the nerve-cells of our sense-organs
and approved by the higher voice of reason.

Bad taste is, then, the result of unhealthy stimuli working on
full-fed nerve-cells with the approval of a low emotional nature
and an imperfect intelligence, whereas good taste is the product

478 A NEW THEORY OF ESTHETICS. [Jan.,

of nerve-cells subjected to the action of salutary stimuli ope-
rating- on the same sort of nerve-cells with the approval of a lofty
emotional nature and a cultivated and discriminating under-
standing.

These definitions are in a measure provisional, for in our pre-
sent state of experimental knowledge it is impossible to deter-
mine all the conditions that enter into the production of either
subjective state in its lowest or highest form. It is evident, how-
ever, from the terms of the definitions that correct taste is the
offspring of sound art-education, and that such education in turn
depends for its completeness on the due supply of needed exter-
nal agencies and the fitness of the nerve-centres to respond to
their operation. As Mr. Allen says : " In every department the
aim of education should be so to train each individual that he
.may use to the best advantage the organism which heredity and
circumstances have given 'him." Attention is the most potent
factor at our command in the education of taste, since it is
through this operation that we compel the mind to a study of
the nature and tendency of the influences which our environ-
ments exert over nerve-cells. The necessity of attention is more
conspicuous in the training of our aesthetic faculty than of any
other, since every appreciation of the beautiful is the aggre-
gate result of a great number of faint and almost imperceptible
impressions of pleasure and pain. These seldom rise into the
foreground of consciousness, and consequently require for their
recognition a close and concentrated attention such as no
other psychical change demands. This has been the invariable
experience of accomplished artists, and it is doubtful whether the
study of the deepest philosophical problems entails so much
concentrated mental effort as the pursuit and capture of those
faint and fugitive impressions which leave their trace for a mo-
ment and speedily wing their way to a higher and more con-
genial home. Hence the true artist who has seized and trans-
lated the subtle features of an object often fails to gain recogni-
tion from those of his own day and generation, but is compelled
to wait for a discriminating posterity to do justice to his work.
Thus the intellect in the last analysis is the true educator of art-
taste, for to it belongs the determination of those stimuli which
are permitted to exert their influence over our nerve-cells. The
question here arises as to what constitutes the cause of difference
between individual tastes, and the answer which the Spencerian
school is prepared to give has certainly none of that vagueness
with which writers generally upon this subject may be charged.

1883.] A NEW THEORY OF AESTHETICS. 479

When nerve-fibres are constantly subjected to the action of
similar stimuli a corresponding organic change is wrought : an
individual organism is built up, between which and the stimuli
that produced it a profound sympathy is established. As a con-
sequence of such sympathy a readier response is made by the
nerve-structure to the influences which had so often and so fa-
vorably impressed it on former occasions, and a fondness is con-
ceived for all objects in which those exciting influences reside.
In this manner the law of emotional association is established
in each individual and an individual taste is engendered about
which there can be no dispute. Thus an upland view, with its
airy and distant surroundings, delights those whose eye has been
accustomed to take in at a glance extended horizons with their
vast foreground of plains and valleys ; glimpses of blue water re-
vealed through a network of foliage delight others to whom
such a stimulus is endeared by long association.

" We grow at last," says Mr. Allen, " to love the special touch of our fa-
vorite masters, and the recognition of their style, or of some delicate imi-
tation of it in particular points, gives rise to an emotional thrill of fa-
miliarity. In any modern composition a dash of Claude or of Vandyke,
a reminiscence of Mendelssohn, a Dantesque or Virgilian touch, comes
back to us with a glow of delight. Tennyson's ' faint Homeric echoes'
or occasional Miltonic ring carry with them clustered memories of older
poets. The thoroughly aesthetic mind is stored with such scraps of recol-
lection, and projects them even into its appreciation of nature. A meadow
scene is admired because it is just what Cuyp would have loved to paint ;
a bit of still life is in the very style of Sneyders ; a head and figure are
Reynolds himself; a half-length in the gloom is a perfect Rembrandt."

Thus there is a law of association for each individual, which
is the result of suitable stimuli long supplied to the same nerve-
centres. When sickness attacks the frame or sorrow attaints the
mind those centres fall into direct sympathy with the devitalizing
influences in question and cease to respond to the usual stimuli.
Hence neither the absolute beauty of a scene nor such beauty as
belongs to it by virtue of association can rouse the underfed
nerve-cells into activity, and, though the intellect may assent to
the conditions of the beautiful, the emotional side of our nature
remains unaffected. When the nerve-cells are delicate in struc-
ture and finely organized they are neither subject, on the one
hand, to violent disintegrative action nor, on the other, to those
agitating pleasures which result from strong stimulation applied
to coarser nerve-filaments. On anatomical and microscopic in-
quiry we accordingly find that the nerve-cells concerned in the
functions of hearing and seeing are of the most delicate struc-

48 D A NEW THEORY OF ^ESTHETICS. [Jan.,

ture, are most finely organized, and that consequently the plea-
sure which results from their activity in the highest planes is of
the purest and loftiest order. So delicate are the nerve-tissues of
our auditive organs that they respond with painful alacrity to
the slightest disintegrating influence. Hence squeaking noises
fill us with discomfort ; the crowing of a cock near by becomes
intolerable, whereas when heard at a distance it possesses all the
charm with which early associations have invested rural sounds.
The laughter of some people exerts so violent a disintegrative
action on the auditory nerve as absolutely to prejudice us against
them, no matter how worthy they may be, whilst the silvery ring
of other voices draws us to them as if by magic. If, however,
long-continued, violent stimulation has abnormally affected the
nerve-cells of audition they not only can stand the action of the
coarser stimuli but actually find pleasure therein. The bag-
pipes discourse more melodious music to some than do the warb-
lings of a Minnie Hauk, simply because association, the result of
long-continued exposure to braying sounds, has established a
consensus. between the stimuli and Corti's organs.*

It is this consensus that enables the educated ear to appreci-
ciate the melody of a sentence, and to reject, for no assignable
reason, the discordant combination of sounds that enter into an
inharmonious composition. No doubt the rhythmic flow of
Johnson's rounded periods had much to do with their accept-
ance among a community in which the sensuous element pre-
dominated over the intellectual. However much we may to-day
admire the lofty sentiments contained in Rasselas, we are not dis-
posed to allow its measured cadences to win our ears, for we now
guide ourselves by a more delicate criterion of harmony than the
monotonous swing of similarly lengthened phrases. It is this
advance in the quick perception of delicate harmonies that lifts
modern poetry above the artificial metre of the Queen Anne
poets and gives a wider scope to the development of individual
poetic genius. It too often happens that in measuring the value
of a poem we are misled by the subtle influence of its concealed
music, while we imagine that its intellectual traits alone possess
a charm for us and determine our judgment in its favor. It may
hence be inferred that the nerve-changes produced by sound,
whether the same be the coarse echoes of a bass viol or trom-
bone or the delicate, high-register notes of a cultivated voice, are
mainly influenced by association in the production of the plea-
sure they occasion. And what has been said of hearing may with

* Small bodies situated in the cochlea of the ear and concerned in the recognition of mu-
sical tones ; so-called after the anatomist Corti.

1883.] A NEW THEORY OF ^ESTHETICS. 481

more emphasis be repeated of the sense of seeing, for sight neces-
sarily holds a loftier rank in the hierarchy of aesthetic causes.
Sounds are limited in number and address our organs far more
intermittently than sights. Sculpture, painting, and architecture
are understood and appreciated by the eye, and the countless
beauties of nature reach us through the same organ. How va-
ried are the objects that meet our gaze at every step ! In dress
we admire the dyed cloths of the East, silk, laces, furs, jewelry,
and embroidery. In pottery we have Greek and Etruscan vases
to delight us, as well as Palissy and Wedgwood ware, the goblets
of Cellini, and the many-tinted glasses of Venetian make. In na-
tural scenery we find woods, valleys, rivers, lakes, and the num-
berless effects of sky and water. - All the pleasurable emotions
derived from these sources depend on the normal stimulation of
the optic nerve, just as their opposites result from its excessive
activity and consequent fatigue.

Insufficient stimulation of the optic nerve leaves an impres-
sion akin to fatigue, and pain is the result. Hence though black
color produces no stimulation, we tire of it as quickly as we do
of the dazzling effects of an unbroken surface of snow. Between
these extremes, therefore, we must seek out the aesthetic effects
of color according- to the normal and harmonious effects it pro-
duces upon the optic nerve. The novelty and pungency of the

analytic colors blue, green, yellow, orange, red, and purple lie

at the bottom of the pleasurable feelings for which we are in-
debted to color. Green and blue surfaces are the least irritating,
as spectral analysis proves, and hence the eye can look out upon
green meadows and the dense foliage of emerald groves with de-
light, or gaze upwards at the unbroken azure of the sky or afar
on sapphire seas and never feel fatigue. Crimson, purple, and
orange are powerful stimulants to the optic nerve, and hence en-
ter sparingly into grand effects of nature. A flower of brilliant
hues, a cockatoo among the branches, or a butterfly in the merry
sunshine are just stimulant enough to impart a warm effect to
a scene. And Nature, a mother beautiful and benign, has dis-
tributed her gifts with such judicious hand that just enough
of the powerfully stimulating colors are commingled with the
gentler ones to proclaim her handiwork a joy for ever. All
color- harmony, then, consists in such an arrangement of tints as
will give the various portions of the retina stimulation in the
least fatiguing degree, with intervals for the repair of nerve-cells.
But we can pursue this most inviting part of the subject no far-
ther. Enough, we hope, has been said to give the reader an idea
of the principles on which rests this new theory of aesthetics.
VOL. xxxvi. 31

482 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Jan.,

ST. PETER'S CHAIR IN THE FIRST TWO CENTURIES.

PART THIRD.

IN the Second Part of the present article a summary of the
primitive Catholic theology was given. It was stated that this
theology, prevalent in the second and third centuries, was not a
system introduced by a false development, an alteration, or a
supplanting- by new inventions, of apostolical Christianity, but
was a collection of pure, unchanged traditions received from the
apostles. In proof of this statement we have pointed to the evi-
dence from prescription, and the continuous testimonies of writ-
ten documents which remain now extant from the earliest period
of Christian history. The presentation of evidence in proof of
our general thesis and particular parts of it having been already
made, we will not say completely, but as fully as we intended,
in a long series of articles under different titles, there is still left
a remainder, which we propose to supply in this last part of the
present article, which will conclude the whole series.

Returning now to the summary mentioned above,* the por-
tions of it for which we propose now to give the evidence of
early testimonies are these : i. The Catholic doctrine of the
Trinity. 2. The Incarnation. 3. Original Sin, and Redemption
through the merits and grace of Christ. 4. The Sacraments as
the instruments of grace. 5. The real presence of Jesus Christ
in the Eucharist through the ministry of a priesthood, empow-
ered to consecrate, offer, and communicate to the faithful the
Body and Blood of the Lord under the species of bread and
wine.

The two centuries to which our attention is confined, we
have already warned our readers, are not precisely the first two
of our common reckoning, but the period embracing a little
more than two hundred years which elapsed between the begin-
ning of St. Peter's pontificate and the middle of the third cen-
tury. We intend to cite only a few decisive testimonies from
documents of this period, including the canonical Scriptures,
not, however, laying any stress of argument on the inspired,
but only on the human and historical, authority of the sacred
books.

* THE CATHOLIC WORLD for August, 1882, pp. 624-626.

1883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 483

The mystery of the Trinity is the first and fundamental mys-
tery of the Catholic faith professed and taught by the Roman
Church from the beginning, and by all the other apostolic and
episcopal sees of Christendom, as the doctrine received through
the apostles from Jesus Christ.

The mystery of the Trinity includes the doctrine of the
Unity of the Godhead, of which it is the explication, revealing
what cannot be discovered or demonstrated by pure reason the
subsistence and inward relations of the one divine essence in
three persons. The Greek term Trias occurs for the first time
in any extant Christian writer in Theophilus of Antioch (A.D.
1 80), and the Latin term Trinitas in Tertullian. This term in its
Greek and Latin forms may have been in earlier general use, but
was certainly employed as the exact expression of the Catholic
dogma soon after by Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Cyprian,
and the other writers of that age. Whenever the word began
to be used, the doctrine which it expresses was taught by Jesus
Christ and the apostles, professed in the original Creed of the
church, universally taught to the faithful and believed by them
as an explicit and necessary article of the faith. The mysterious
verities contained in this doctrine were not purely speculative
ideas proposed as objects of wonder, sublime enigmas for the
trial of faith and obedience. They are essential to a proper con-
ception of the entire Christian system, both dogmatic and practi-
cal. They are necessary for a proper knowledge of Christ and
the way of salvation, of the whole order of supernatural grace,
and of the specific character of the eternal life of the blessed in
the immediate vision of God, which is the consummation of
creation and redemption. Faith in this doctrine imprints on the
spiritual life of Christians its peculiar character, and it is not
only the primary object of belief, but the soul of Christian wor-
ship, which is directed formally toward the Three Persons of
the Trinity, in their hypostatical distinctness and essential one-
ness, adoring and glorifying the One God, Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit.

The Godhead of the Father may be taken for granted. The
Godhead of the Son and of the Spirit can be proved of each one
distinctly, from which results the plurality of persons as a conse-
quence of the proof of the divinity of the Son taken apart, andi
the complete doctrine of the Trinity when the proof of the divin-
ity of the Spirit has been added. Besides, the distinction and
equality of the Three Persons under one proposition can be prov-
ed by another separate class of testimonies.

484 ST. PETER'S, CHAIR [Jan.,

St. Matthew affirms the divinity of Jesus, the Son of Mary,
whom he declares to be also the Son of God, when he affirms
that he is the Emmanuel i.e., the God With Us foretold by
Isaiah, conceived from the Holy Spirit; and at the same time he
testifies to the divinity of the Holy Spirit as the author of the
supernatural and divine work wrought within the Virgin Mo-
ther (St. Matthew i. 18-23). In his account of the baptism of Je-
sus he presents clearly the Three Persons, the Father declaring
that Jesus is his Son, the Son himself, and the Spirit as the Sanc-
tifier of the humanity of the Son (iii. 16, 17). He narrates the
saying of Jesus himself : " No one knoweth the Son but the Fa-
ther : neither doth any one know the Father but the Son " (xi. 27),
in which he plainly teaches that the intelligent and intelligible
essence of the Son is identical with that of the Father, equally in-
finite, and incomprehensible by any created intellect. He records
the confession of Peter declared by Jesus to have been made by
a divine revelation : " Thou art Christ, the Son of the Living
God " (xvi. 1 6). Also, another saying of Jesus : " The blasphemy
against the Spirit shall not be forgiven " (xii. 31). He records
the commandment of Jesus to the apostles after his resurrection :
" Go ye, therefore, and teach all nations ; baptizing them in the
: name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost "
.i(xxviii. 19).

St. Matthew is a witness to the teaching of Jesus Christ him-
-self, and of the apostles during the first period of the existence
-of the apostolic church.

St. John is a witness to the same, and to the doctrine of the
..church up to the close of the first century. It would be super-
ihious to cite passages from his Gospel, Epistles, and Apoca-
: lypse, or from the Epistles of the other apostles. That God is
. presented as revealed under three distinct names, as Father, Son,
. atad Holy Spirit, in the sacred books of the New Testament, is a
, plain, obvious, indisputable fact. The baptismal formula alone
sis. an absolute proof that these Names represent three eternal dis-
tinctions and relations in the one divine essence, which are not
nominal merely, but real and personal, each person designated
being distinct from and equal to the others. A distinction of
names without any personal distinction in the Real Being de-
noted would be too trivial and unmeaning to be made the cha-
racteristic formula of Christian profession. The names them-
selves, being placed in the same line, under the same proposition,
-and without any indication of inequality, necessarily express
.equality in the Persons designated. Baptism was a profession of

1883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 485

faith. The formula of baptism was the nucleus of that Creed the
profession of which distinguished Christians from the unbeliev-
ing 1 Jews and from the heathen ; expressing the belief in One
God explicitly revealed and believed on as the ever-blessed
Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The original and univer-
sal Creed of the Apostles, in its various forms, afterwards fixed
in one common symbol by the earliest oecumenical councils, was
constituted in its principal essential elements by the more ex-
panded confession of the Three Names of God contained in the
baptismal formula. In this Creed catechumens were carefully in-
structed before baptism, and during the solemn administration of
the sacrament they were interrogated, and they answered, con-
cerning the articles of the Creed, "which they repeated with the
priest, and were baptized into the faith which they professed.

The doctrine of the Incarnation is inseparably connected in
the Christian faith with the Trinity. It presupposes and re-
quires the distinction of the Persons of the Father who gives and
sends his onlv-begotten Son, and of the Son who is sent, of the
Father who is not incarnated, and of the Son who is the Word
made flesh and dwelling among us and dying for us, and rising
from the dead to lead the way into the heaven which he has
opened for us. It presupposes also the equality of the Father
and the Son, and is inseparably connected with the distinct per-
sonality and the divinity of the Holy Spirit.

The revelation of the Trinity was primarily made by the
promise of the mission of the Son from the Father to assume and
redeem human nature, which mission is completed by the mis-
sion of the Holy Spirit from the Father and Son, as the Life-
giver to the human nature of the Son and to all those who are
made through and with him the sons of God the Father. It is
the Messiah, son of Adam, Abraham, David, and Mary, Jesus the
Christ and Saviour, truly conceived and born in a real human
body animated by a real rational and human soul, from a Virgin
Mother by the Holy Ghost, who is set forth by the prophets and
apostles as the Eternal Son and Word. The only-begotten Son
of the Father and Jesus born of Mary, the Son of Man, are iden-
tically one and the same person. The Son of God is truly man,
is born and dies on the cross. Jesus, the son of Mary, is truly
God of God, Light of Light, Begotten not made, of the same
substance with the Father. It is impossible that the infinite, un-
changeable divine nature should become a finite, human nature.
Such a conception is more "barbaric " than any other heretical
travesty of the truth ever invented, and is on a par with the

486 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Jan.,

gross, childish notions of pagan theogonies. It is equally impos-
sible that a finite, human nature, composed essentially of a gene-
rated body formed from created matter and a created soul,
should become the infinite, uncreated, divine essence. True and
proper divinity cannot be predicated of a human person. The
Son of God is a divine person. If a human person had been
born of Mary and called Jesus, this Jesus might have been the
greatest of prophets and the legate of God, full of the Spirit of
the Son, and the instrument of his divine operation. But he
could only have been a son of God by adoption and grace, not
by nature, and divinity could not have been predicated of him.
The Eternal Son, and the son adopted in time, would have been
two distinct and separate persons. The Son of God and the
Son of Man, being set forth as one and the same person in the
apostolic writings and in the Creed, having human attributes
and divine perfections, a life without beginning and one which
began, human understanding and divine intelligence, a divine
will and a human will, operating divine and also human works,
must be regarded as One Person, the Second Person in the Trin-
ity, subsisting in two natures, God in eternity who became man
in time.

This is the mystery of the Incarnation, explicitly taught to
the apostles by Jesus Christ, preached by them as the great
supernatural fact on which revealed and historical Christianity
is based, confessed from the beginning by the Roman Church
and all the apostolic churches together with the churches affili-
ated to them.

This is what Peter, inspired by God, confessed at Csesarea
Philippi when he was christened by this new name of Peter,
which designated the position to be given to him and his suc-
cessors in his Roman See, as the principal and indefectible sup-
port, through an unfailing faith in the genuine doctrine of
Christ, of the whole fabric of the church and Christianity.

The preaching of the Gospel, or glad tidings of salvation
through Jesus Christ, presupposes that all men are in need of a
Saviour, not only on account of the personal and actual sins
which they are liable to commit, but on account of a fallen state
of their common nature which is the consequence of the sin of
Adam, from which they need to be redeemed in order to attain
heaven, and from which they can only be saved through the in-
carnation, obedience, and death of Jesus Christ.

St. Paul, who was, with St. Peter, the principal teacher of the
Roman Church, upon which these two apostles " poured out

1883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 487

all their doctrine with their blood," inculcated this doctrine of
Original Sin in the most explicit manner in his Epistle to the
Romans :

" Why did Christ, when as yet we were weak, according to the time, die
for the ungodly ? For scarce for a just man will one die : yet perhaps for
a good man some one would venture to die. But God commendeth his
charity towards us : because when as yet we were sinners, according to the
time, Christ died for us. . . . Wherefore as by one man sin entered into
this world, and by sin death ; and so death passed upon all men in whom
all have sinned. . . . But death reigned from Adam unto Moses, even over
them that had not sinned after the similitude of the transgression of Adam,
who is a figure of him that was to come. But not as the offence, so also
is the gift. For if by the offence of one many have died : much more the
grace of God and the gift, in the grace of one man Jesus Christ, hath
abounded unto many. And not as it was by one sin, so also is the gift. For
the judgment was indeed by one unto condemnation : but the grace is of
many offences, unto justification. For if by one man's offence death reign-
ed through one : much more they who receive abundance of grace, and of
the gift, and of justice, shall reign in life through one, Jesus Christ. There-
fore, as by the offence of one, unto all men to condemnation : so also by
the justice of one, unto all men unto justification of life. For as by the
disobedience of one man, many were made sinners : so also by the obedi-
ence of one, many shall be made just " (Rom. v. 6-19).

Apart from all questions of criticism and exegesis which can
be raised concerning the exact rendering of words and phrases
and their exact sense, in this passage, it is obvious at sight that
St. Paul teaches the doctrine which has been stated above that
is, of Original Sin : a doctrine held by the Synagogue as well as
by the Christian Church, the vestiges of which are found among
all nations, which is attested by the whole tradition, Jewish and
Christian, and, under some theological form or other, confessed
by all in the present time who call themselves Christians, except
a small minority on the extreme left.

In another Epistle (i Cor. xv. 21, 22) St. Paul utters a sen-
tence which may be taken as a summing-up of the whole Chris-
tian religion :

" For by a man came death, and by a man the resurrection of the dead.
And as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all shall be made alive."

In the same context the apostle sets forth Adam and Christ
under the title of the First and the Second Adam, the two heads
of humanity, through whom Paradise has been lost and regained.
The earliest Christian writers present the same conception, and
affirm the doctrine which was afterwards so solemnly defined

488 Sr. PETER" s CHAIR [Jan.,

and universally proclaimed when it was denied by Pelagius.
Jlistm, the philosopher and martyr, says :

'*' " Christ was baptized for the sake of the human race, which through
Adam had fallen into death and the fraud and seduction of the serpent "

(Dial, cum Tryph^)

Irenseus :

" Christ gave salvation to us, that we might receive in Christ Jesus
what we had lost in Adam " (Hcer., 1. iv. c. xviii.)

Tertullian :

" In the beginning man was entrapped into breaking the commandment
of God, and, being given over to death on account of his sin, the entire
human race, tainted in their descent from him, were made a channel for
transmitting his condemnation " (De Test. Am'm., iii.)

Origen :

" Every soul which is born in the flesh is polluted by the uncleanness
of iniquity and sin ; wherefore it is said : (Job xiv. 4 secundum LXX.)
No one is pure from uncleanness, not even the infant whose life on the
earth is of one day " (Homil. xii. in Levit.)

The Sacrament of Baptism is a witness to the universal faith
in the doctrine of Original Sin. It testifies to the need of re-
generation in Christ, on account of the loss of supernatural life
incurred by the whole human race in the sin of Adam, which is
only restored by the renovation of the Holy Spirit through the
grace of the Redeemer.

The belief in baptism as the Sacrament of Regeneration was
equally universal with the belief in the need of the sanctifying
grace of the Holy Spirit for the purification of the soul from
original and actual sin and the infusion of a new life by a spirit-
ual resurrection from the state of death. It is just as evident
that this doctrine of regeneration through baptism was derived
from the teaching of the apostles as it is that regeneration by the
grace of the Holy Spirit was an apostolic doctrine.

St. Paul fully and at great length teaches the complete abro-
gation of all Jewish sacraments as inefficacious types and signs,
so that it is evident a priori that no similar sacraments can have
been instituted in the Christian Church.

John the Baptist declared that the baptism of Jesus Christ
would be a baptism as much better than the rite administered
by him as the Lord himself was superior to his servant and
precursor.

" He that sent me to baptize in ivater said unto me : He upon whom

1883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 489

thou shalt see the Spirit descending, and remaining on him, he it is that
baptizeth with the Holy Ghost " (John i. 33).

Jesus said to Nicodemus : -~' >

" Unless a man be born of water and the Holy Ghost, he cannot enter
into the kingdom of God " (ib. iii. 5). >Vk/

He said to the apostles :

" Go ye into the whole world, and preach the Gospel to every creature.
He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved " (Mark xvi. 15, 16).

St. Peter exhorted the multitude on the Day of Pentecost :

" Do penance, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus
Christ, for the remission of your sins : and.you shall receive the gift of the
Holy Ghost " (Acts ii. 38.)

St. Paul wrote to Titus :

"When the goodness and kindness of our Saviour God appeared; not
by the works of justice which we have done, but by his mercy he saved us,
by the laver of regeneration, and the renovation of the Holy Ghost " (Tit.
iii. 4. 5)-

The doctrine of baptism was understood in one, and only one,
sense in the church, and in the sects which professed to believe
in the apostolic doctrine, during the earliest age. The argument
from prescription suffices to prove this. It is proved also from
the controversy with those heretics who denied remission of
the more grievous sins to those who fell away after baptism, and
from the more merciful yet really severe penitential discipline
of the Catholic Church, as well as from the alleged reasons of
those Catholics who denied the validity of heretical baptism.
All take it for granted that regeneration and full remission of
sins were given in baptism.

But, besides these proofs, everything which is extant of the
writings of the earliest age in respect to baptism directly proves
the same thing.

Justin Martyr, in his first Apology, thus explains the Chris-
tian sacrament of baptism :

" As many as are persuaded and believe that what we teach and say is
true, and undertake to be able to live accordingly, are instructed to pray
and to entreat God with fasting for the remission of their sins that are
past, we praying and fasting with them. Then they are brought by us
where there fs water, and are regenerated in the same manner in which we
were ourselves regenerated. For, in the name of God, the Father and Lord
of the universe, and of our Saviour Jesus Christ, and of the Holy Spirit,
they then receive the washing with water. For Christ also said : ' Except ye

490 ST. PETER'S CHAIR [Jan.,

be born again, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. . . .' In or-
der that we may not remain the children of necessity and of ignorance, but
may become the children of choice and knowledge, and may obtain in the
water the remission of sins formerly committed, there is pronounced over
him who chooses to be born again, and has repented of his sins, the name
of God, etc." (Apol., c. Ixi.)

So also Clement of Alexandria :

" He is perfected by the washing of baptism alone, and is sanctified
by the descent of the Spirit ? Such is the case. The same also takes
place in our case, whose exemplar Christ became. Being baptized, we are
illuminated ; illuminated, we become sons, are made perfect ; being made
perfect, we are made immortal " (Padag., 1. i. c. vi.)

Tertullian says :

'' Happy is the sacrament of our water, in that, by washing away the
sins of our early blindness, we are set free into eternal life. . . . The spirit is
corporeally washed in the waters, and the flesh is in the same spiritually
cleansed. . . . The unction runs carnally, but profits spiritually, in the same
way as the act of baptism itself too is carnal, in that we are plunged in
water; the effect spiritual, in that we are freed from sins" (De Bapt., c. i.
et passim}. "The flesh is washed, that the soul may be cleansed from all
stains; the flesh is anointed, that the soul may be consecrated; the flesh
is signed, that the soul may be fortified, etc." (Res, Cam., c. viii.)

St. Cyprian writes :

"The blessed apostle sets forth and proves that baptism is that wherein
the old man dies and the new man is born, saying : He saved us by the wash-
ing of regeneration Tit. iii. 5" (Ep. ad Pomp} "In baptism remission of
sins is granted once for all " (De Oper. et Eleemos., 2).

That those who lapsed into sin after baptism could be re-
stored to grace and obtain forgiveness through the power of the
keys left to the church by Jesus Christ was universally believed
in the earliest age by Catholics and by those heretics who de-
nied the power of the church to remit certain sins and absolve
certain sinners.

Tertullian, while still a Catholic, wrote :

"That most stubborn foe never gives his malice leisure ; indeed, he is
then most savage when he fully feels that a man is freed. . . . These poi-
sons of his, therefore, God foreseeing, although the gate of innocence has
been shut and fastened up with the bar of baptism, has permitted it still
to stand somewhat open. In the vestibule he has stationed the second re-
pentance, which is opened to such as knock. . . . Therefore, since you know
that after the first bulwarks of the Lord's baptism there still remains for
you in confession a second reserve of aid against hell, why do you desert
your own salvation ? " (De Pan., vii. xii.)

1883.] /A r THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 491

St. Cyprian says to the lapsed :

" I beseech you, most beloved brethren, let each of you confess his sin
while he who has sinned is still in the world, while his confession can be
received, while satisfaction and the remission given by priests is acceptable
to the Lord " (De Lapsis, xxix.)

Origen :

" He on whom Jesus has breathed, as he did upon the apostles, and
who can be known by his fruits to have received the Holy Spirit and to
have become spiritual, inasmuch as, like a son of God, he is moved by the
Spirit of God to all those things which reasonably ought to be done , he
remits those sins which God would remit, and retains those which are in-
curable " (De Orat., xxviii.)

'* If the sinner himself becomes his own accuser, while he accuses him-
self and confesses, he throws off his sin and at the same time is freed from
everything which causes disease. Only, consider very diligently to whom
you shoidd confess your sin " (Horn. ii. in Ps. xxxvii.)

It is not necessary to go into a more minute and complete
examination of the early tradition concerning the number and
nature of the sacraments. The apostolic and primitive doctrine of
sacramental grace%being once proved identical with the Catholic
doctrine of a later age, the rest is easily settled, and reference
can be made to books treating of each particular sacrament by
itself. The exposition we have given of the original and genu-
ine Christian idea of baptism suffices to establish the sacramental
principle as the basis of the genuine and Catholic doctrine of the
justification, sanctification, and salvation of individual believers
through the grace of Christ applied by the Holy Spirit. The
new birth of regeneration, through a sacrament committed to an
apostolic priesthood, which can only be lawfully administered
and received in the true church, initiates the Christian life with-
in the society of this true church, under its jurisdiction which is
symbolized by the keys given to the church in the person of St.
Peter. The same sacramental principle must pervade the whole
Christian system, and all its sacraments must be generically simi-
lar.

There is one, however, having a specific difference from all
the rest which places it high above them all, inasmuch as Jesus
Christ, who is only virtually present by his divine operation in
the others, is really and substantially present in this one. More-
over, this sacrament is also a Sacrifice, and from relation to it
the Christian priesthood in all its grades derives its special cha-
racter. It was the chief privilege accorded to the believer who
had been baptized and confirmed, on the earth, as a foretaste of

492 Sr. PETER'S CHAIR [Jan.,

the celestial banquet awaiting him in the kingdom of God. Sin
excluded him from it; penance and absolution, of which extreme
unction is a supplement, restored him to its enjoyment; holy
order conferred the character of priesthood, which consists
chiefly of power to consecrate and offer the Sacrifice of Christ's
Body and Blood ; the sanctity of marriage is derived from the
supernatural union between Christ and his spouse the Church,
of which the Holy Eucharist is the principal sign, pledge, and
medium. This admirable sacrament is a synopsis of all faith and
religion. Christ is in it, as our Sacrifice and our Life, either in
figure or reality. If it is a bare sign, representing his body and
blood sacrificed for us, and the spiritual union with him effected
by a living faith, then the great act of Christian worship in the
apostolic and primitive church was only a commemorative ob-
lation, and the sacramental grace of communion was merely a
virtual and operative presence of Christ. But if it is really the
Body and Blood of the Lord, then Jesus Christ is really offered
to God and received by the communicant in the Holy Eucha-
rist.

The passages relevant to the topic in thedCrospels and other
canonical books are too familiar to all to need citation. In their
literal and high sense they confessedly contain the Catholic doc-
trine. The question is respecting the way in which they were
understood by those who came immediately after the apostles
and the Christians of the apostolic age. A great deal of evidence
has been given in previous articles of this series, and in others on
the Tradition of the Church of Jerusalem, showing the primitive
doctrine of the Holy Eucharist as a sacrifice and a sacrament.
We will add now a few citations proving that this doctrine was
identical with the Catholic doctrine of later ages viz., the doc-
trine of the Real Presence.

St. Ignatius says of the heretics called Docetas :

"They abstain from the Eucharist and the prayer (i.e., the Liturgy),
because they do not confess that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Saviour
Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins, which the Father in his benignity
raised to life again " (Ep. ad Smyrn., c. vii.)

St. Justin Martyr:

"And this food is called among us the Eucharist, of which no one is al-
lowed to partake but the man who believes that the things which we teach
are true, and who has been washed with the washing that is for the remis-
sion of sins and for regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has en-
joined. For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these ;
but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Saviour, having been made flesh by

1883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 493

the word of God, had both flesh and blood for cur salvation, so likewise
have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of his
word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished,
is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh " (i Apol., c. Ixvi.)

St. Irenseus :

"Giving directions to his disciples to offer to God the first-fruits of his
own created things not as if he stood in need of them, but that they
might be themselves neither unfruitful nor ungrateful he took that cre-
ated thing, bread, and gave thanks, and said, This is my body. And the cup,
likewise, which is part of that creation to which we belong, he confessed to
be his blood, and taught the New Oblation of the New Covenant; which
the church receiving from the apostles, offers to God throughout all the
world, to him who gives us as the means of subsistence the first-fruits of his
own gifts in the New Testament, concerning which Malachi, among the
twelve prophets, thus spoke beforehand : I have no pleasure inyou,saith the
Lord omnipotent, and I will not accept sacrifice at your hands. For from the
rising of the sun unto the going down of the same,, my name is glorified among
the Gentiles, antf in every place incense is offered to my name, and a pure sacri-
fice ; for great is my name among the Gentiles, saith the Lord omnipotent
(Mai. i. 10, ii), indicating in the plainest manner, by these words, that the
former people shall 'Indeed cease to make offerings to God, but that in
every place sacrifice shall be offered to him, and that a pure one ; and his
name is glorified among the Gentiles. . . .

" The Oblation of the church, therefore, which the Lord gave instruc-
tions to be offered throughout all the world, is accounted with God a pure
sacrifice, and is acceptable to him ; . . . and the Lord, wishing us to offer
it in all simplicity and innocence, did express himself thus : Therefore, when
thou offer est thy gift upon the altar, and shalt remember that thy brother hath
aught against thee, leave thy gift before the altar, and go thy way ; first be
reconciled to thy brother, and then return and offer thy gift (Matt. v. 23, 24).
. . . And the class of oblations in general has not been set aside ; for there
were both oblations there, and there are oblations here. Sacrifices there
were among the people ; sacrifices there are, too, in the church; but the
species alone has been changed, inasmuch as the offering is now made, not
by slaves, but by freemen. . . .

" For it behooves us to make an Oblation to God, and in all things to
be found grateful to God our maker, in a pure mind, and in faith without
hypocrisy, in well-grounded hope, in fervent love, offering the first-fruits
of his own created things. And the church alone offers this Pure Oblation
to the Creator, offering to him with giving of thanks from his creation.
But the Jews do not offer thus ; for their hands are full of blood ; for they
have not received THE WORD WHO IS OFFERED TO GOD (al. through whom
it is offered to God).* Nor, again, do any of the conventicles of the here-
tics. . . . How can they be consistent with themselves when they say that
the bread over which thanks have been given is the Body of their Lord,
and the cup his Blood, if they do not call himself the Son of the Cre-
ator of the world, that is, his Word? . . . Then, again, how can they say

* The first reading is adopted by Massuet, the great Catholic commentator on Irenasus.

494 S T - PETER'S CHAIR [Jan.,

that the flesh, which is nourished with the Body of the Lord and with
his Blood, goes to corruption, and does not partake of life? Let them,
therefore, either alter their opinion or cease from offering the things just
mentioned. But our opinion is in accordance with the Eucharist, and the
Eucharist in turn establishes our opinion. For we offer to him his own,
announcing consistently the union of the Flesh and the Spirit. For as the
bread, which is produced from the earth, when it receives the invocation
of God, is no longer common bread, but the Eucharist, consisting of two reali-
ties, earthly and heavenly, so also our bodies, when they receive the Eu-
charist, are no longer corruptible, having the hope of resurrection to
eternity " (.Adv. Hcer., 1. iv. cc. xvii. xviii.)

St. Cyprian, in his Testimonies against the Jews, proposes
twenty-four theses to be proved. The tenth is, " that a New Law
was to be given " ; the sixteenth, " that the ancient sacrifice
should be made void, and a new one should be celebrated "
proved chiefly from the prophecy of Malachi ; the seventeenth,
" that the old priesthoo.d should cease, and a new priest should
come who should be for ever " by which he intends to desig-
nate Christ as the founder of a new line of priests after the order
of Melchisedech, as is manifest from the text and many other
passages in his writings. He continually affirms that there is
a priesthood in the church appointed by God in which bishops
hold the chief place under one president, the Roman pontiff; that
this priesthood has no lawful existence outside of the Catholic
Church ; and that it is a part of the office of the priesthood to
offer the Sacrifice of the New Law, which is the Body and Blood
of Christ, and to give the same sacramentally to the faithful.

"When he (the Lord) says that not even the least things are done
without God's will, does any one think that the highest and greatest things
are done in God's church either without God's knowledge or permission,
and that priests that is, his stewards are not ordained by his decree ? "
(Ep. ad Cornel, con. Htzret?)

" Since some, either by ignorance or simplicity in sanctifying the cup of
the Lord, and in ministering to the people, do not do that which Jesus
Christ, our Lord and God, the founder and teacher of this Sacrifice, did and
taught, I have thought it as well a religious as a necessary thing to write
to you this letter. . . .

"Also in the priest Melchisedech we see prefigured the sacrament of the
Sacrifice of the Lord. . . . And that Melchisedech bore a type of Christ
the Holy Spirit declares in the Psalms, saying from the person of the
Father to the Son : Before the morning star I begat thee : thou art a priest
for ever after the order of Melchisedech ; which order is surely this coming
from that sacrifice and thence descending; that Melchisedech was a priest
of the most high God ; that he offered bread and wine ; that he blessed
Abraham. For who is more a priest of the most high God than our Lord
Jesus Christ, who offered a sacrifice to God the Father, and offered that

1 883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 495

very same thing which Melchisedech offered that is, bread and wine, to
wit, his Body and Blood f . . .

" In Isaiah also the Holy Spirit testifies the same thing concerning the
Lord's Passion, saying : Wherefore are thy garments red, and thy apparel as
from the treading of the -wine-press full and well trodden ? Can water make
garments red, or is it water in the wine-press which is trodden by the feet
or pressed out by the press ? Assuredly, therefore, mention is made of
wine, that the Lord's blood may be understood, and that which was afterwards
manifested in the cup of the Lord might be foretold by the prophets ivho an-
nounced it. The treading, also, and pressure of the wine-press is repeatedly
dwelt on ; because just as the drinking of wine cannot be attained to unless
the bunch of grapes be first trodden and pressed, so neither could we drink
the Blood of Christ unless Christ had first been trodden on and pressed, and
had first drunk the cup of which he should also give believers to drink. . . .
" If Jesus Christ, our Lord and God, is himself the Chief Priest of God
the Father, and has commanded this to be done in commemoration of him-
self, certainly that priest truly discharges the office of Christ who imitates
that which Christ did ; and he then offers a true and full sacrifice in the
church to God the Father when he proceeds to offer it according to what
he sees Christ himself to have offered " (Ep. ad Ccecil. de Sacram.
Cat. Dotn.}

" As the prayer goes forward we ask and say, Give us this day our daily
bread. And this may be understood both spiritually and literally, because
either way of understanding it is rich in divine usefulness to our salvation.
For Christ is the bread of life ; and this bread does not belong to all men,
but it is ours. And according as we say Our Father, because he is the
Father of those who understand and believe, so also we call it our bread,
because Christ is the bread of those who are in union with his body. And
we ask that this bread should be given to us daily, that we who are in
Christ and daily receive the Eucharist for the food of salvation may not,
by the interposition of some heinous sin, by being prevented, as withheld
and not communicating, from partaking of the heavenly bread, be separated
from Christ's body, as he himself predicts and warns: / am the bread of
life which came down from heaven. If any man eat of my bread, he shall live
for ever : and the bread which I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.
When, therefore, he says that whoever shall eat of his bread shall live for
ever, as it is manifest that those who partake of his Body and receive the
Eucharist by the right of Communion are living, so, on the other hand, we
must fear and pray lest any one who, being withheld from communion, is
separate from Christ's Body should remain at a distance from salvation ;
as he himself threatens'and says : Unless ye eat the Flesh of the Son of Man,
and drink his Blood, ye shall have no life in you. And therefore we ask that
our bread that is, Christ may be given to us daily, that we who abide
and live in Christ may not depart from his sanctification and body " (De
Orat. Dom.)

That there can be no lawful priesthood, no authoritative
teaching, no lawful administration of sacraments, no real church,
outside of the strict, ecclesiastical unity of the One, Catholic

496 ST. PETER" s CHAIR [Jan.,

Church, is continually affirmed by St. Cyprian, as we have for-
merly proved by citations. One more may suffice in this place :

"Whoever he may be, and whatever he may be, he who is not in the
church of Christ is not a Christian. Although he may boast himself, and
announce his philosophy or eloquence with lofty words, yet he who has
not maintained brotherly love or ecclesiastical unity has lost even what he
previously had been. Unless he seems to you to be a bishop, who when a
bishop has been made in the church by sixteen co-bishops strives by
bribery to be made an adulterous and extraneous bishop by the hands of
deserters ; and although there is one church, divided by Christ throughout the
whole world into many members, and also one episcopate diffused through a har-
monious multitude of many bishops, \ in spite of God's tradition, in spite of
the combined and everywhere compacted unity of the Catholic Church, is
endeavoring to make a human church, and is sending his new apostles
through very many cities, that he may establish some new foundations of
his own appointment" (Ep. ad Anton., xxiv.)

The doctrinal authority of the church as the proximate rule of
faith is indissolubly connected with this idea of strict ecclesiastical
unity. This is evident in itself, and abundant proofs have here-
tofore been given that this was the ancient way of conceiving the
idea of the faith in its objective sense viz., as something commit-
ted to, and transmitted by, the Teaching Church in a sure and
unerring manner. We add one more citation from Origen, the
peculiar value of which, on account of the known character of
this great man, need not be enlarged upon :

"Therefore, inasmuch as many among those who profess to believe in
Christ disagree, not only in lesser and the least matters, but also in
great and the very greatest ones that is, either concerning God, or con-
cerning the Lord Jesus Christ, or concerning the Holy Spirit; and not only
concerning these, but concerning other beings also, who are creatures, to
wit, either concerning the Dominations or the holy Virtues it seems to
be necessary for this reason first of all to lay down a certain line and a
manifest rule in regard to every one of these topics, and then afterwards to
investigate also other things. For as we have ceased to seek among all
those Greeks and barbarians who in great numbers have promised to show
it to us, but have given instead only assertions of their own false opinions,
the truth, from the time when we have believed that Christ is the Son of
God and have been persuaded that we must learn this truth from him : so,
also, as there are many who think that the opinions which they hold are
the doctrines of Christ, and some of these hold opinions which are diverse
from those of the men who preceded them, but the ecclesiastical preaching
handed down by the order of succession from the apostles is preserved, and is
permanent even to the present time in the churches ; that alone is to be believed
as the truth which in no point varies from the ecclesiastical and apostolic
tradition " (Periarchon, i. 2).

This rule of Origen, which is indisputably the same rule fol-

1883.] IN THE FIRST Two CENTURIES. 497

lowed by all the early Catholic writers, shows the demonstrative
value of the testimonies we have cited from their works and the
greater number which we have omitted for the sake of brevity,
in proving that the doctrines taught by them had always been
held in the church, unaltered, since the days of the apostles.
They are not proclaiming private and personal opinions, but de-
claring what they have received, and what is everywhere receiv-
ed, as the teaching of their predecessors, who received it from
the apostolic founders of the churches. Moreover, the language
of the apostolic writings is itself similar in all respects to their
own in regard to the great matters under discussion. It can be
understood in their sense, it is most easily and naturally and har-
moniously interpreted in the same sense. All the doctrinal state-
ments in the apostolic and the early ecclesiastical writings match
each other in texture, quality, and color. Their comparison is
like the placing side by side separate pieces of some costly stuff
which show that they have all been cut off from the same bale
of goods or have come from the same fabric.

The doctrines which relate directly to God, those which are
called the doctrines of grace, and the ecclesiastical doctrines re-
specting the church, the hierarchy, and the sacraments, are all in-
terwoven together, they make parts of one system, they rest on
the same foundation and have one origin. Nowhere is there the
faintest trace of that pale, disembodied spectre, that ghost of
Christianity, which is regarded by many sincere and estimable
men as the evangelical system. It is vain to search for it among
the graveyards of the first centuries. The illusion flies before
pursuit and vanishes from every place where it is sought. There
is no such thing in ancient historical Christianity.

We are admonished to draw to a close without further delay.
In our firm conviction, it is demonstrated that one who is not
prepared to fall back on pure rationalism must believe that salva-
tion for the human race and each individual belonging to it is to
be found in Christ alone through the regeneration of the Holy
Spirit ; and that one who believes this is bound for the same rea-
sons to confess also that this salvation is only in the Catholic
Church, through her faith and sacraments.

In conclusion we must add one word for the benefit of those
who, looking at the Christian Idea of the Fall and the Redemp-
tion of man only through the dark, cloudy atmosphere of Luthe-
ran and Calvinistic doctrines, are repelled by its unreasonable
aspect, and disposed to fall back upon pure rationalism or give
up the search for truth in discouragement. The doctrine of ex-
VOL. xxxvi. 32

498 ST. PETER'S CHAIR. [Jan.,

elusive salvation through Christ, his faith, and his religion, can-
not be correctly apprehended without taking into consideration
that universal mercy and grace of God which overflows the ap-
pointed boundaries of divine institutions. And, again, the doc-
trine that all men are in a lost condition through the transgres-
sion of their first common head, from which they are redeemed
only by the grace of their second head, the Lord Jesus Christ, so
that natural reason and virtue do not suffice, but a supernatural
revelation and grace are necessary, cannot any better be correctly
apprehended without a key to the mystery, which Catholic theo-
logy can alone furnish. It is necessary, namely, to understand
the distinction between that gratuitous, supernatural destiny of
rational creatures accomplished in the immediate vision of God,
and the one demanded by the exigency of nature, in respect to
which nature suffices to itself in due dependence from its Au-
thor.

Let not any one suppose that the Catholic theology consists
only in a certain number of doctrines held by Protestants with
the addition of a few more positive dogmas. Protestantism has
lapsed into rationalism by just and necessary sequence from its
own principles, and by a just reaction against its dogmas. There
is no way out of the difficulty by means of a modification of its
doctrines. Tincture of Catholicism or Tincture of Rationalism
will not combine with it to make the truth. No form of it can
be reconciled with either history or reason. On the contrary,
the Catholic religion is both historical and reasonable. But those
who have been thrown off into rationalism and scepticism can
only find out this, fact by studying carefully both the historical
evidence that the Catholic Church is from Christ, who is from
God, and also the rational exposition of its doctrines as contain-
ed in sound theology and sound philosophy. This is precisely
what the Successor of St. Peter in the nineteenth century, con-
tinuing the preaching of his predecessors of the first two centu-
ries, is continually exhorting all men to do who have an upright
mind and are seeking for the Truth.

1883.] A LEGEND OF CHRISTMAS EVE. 499

A LEGEND OF CHRISTMAS EVE.

As a child the world's Redeemer

Clasps his Mother's hand to-night,
And his infant brow is shining

With that radiance, softly bright,

Making once t in Bethlehem's stable cold and darkness fire and
light.

As a child among the children

Of his Father's house he stands
When the Christmas-trees are kindled

By the busy angels' hands :

Swiftly on glad mission speeding, to and fro, the white- winged
bands.

Echoeth through the courts of Heaven

Sound of unchecked childish mirth,
Keeping, with a soft- voiced clamor,

Holy day of happy birth

When a child, to win man's loving, came the Lord of Heaven to
earth.

Stands his tree among the others,

Tall and strong and very fair ;
Sweetest scent of earthly forests

Filling all the heavenly air,
Lifting, as it were, in incense, grateful earth's adoring prayer.

But scarce lighted are the tapers

On the Christ-child's cross-boughed tree,

And the angels, as they pass it,
Scarcely seem its want to see
Through the myriad lights that sparkle like the sun upon the sea.

And the hosts of little children,
Happy-hearted, scarcely mark

500 A LEGEND OF CHRISTMAS EVE. [Jan.,

In the light of Jesus' smiling
That his tree alone is dark ;

That where lights should burn the brightest, shineth but the
tiniest spark.

Till one little soul that, nestling

Lovingly at Mary's feet
Finding thought of earthly mother

In her hand's caresses sweet

Questioning words of childish wonder doth with grieving heart
repeat :

" Why hath none our Lord's tree lighted ?"

Soft he speaketh, unafraid.
Then unto him Mary answering :

" Tender heart, be not dismayed,

Though thy tree like star be gleaming, and my Son's seem dark
with shade.

" All thy tapers God's dear angels
Set with heavenly love aglow,
But the flames my Son's to kindle

Must be born on earth below,
Must ascend from each soul's altar bought with love so long ago.

" Every thought of him uprising
From a loving human heart
Swift shall make dark-seeming taper

Into golden shining start ;
So he wills his earthly brothers in his Christmas shall have part.

" Every kindly thought for others,
Every loving action wrought,
Every sigh of soul's contrition,

Shall with kindling flame be fraught,

And the burning candles symbol earthly love in deed and
thought.

" Lonely were my Son in heaven,

And his Heart unsatisfied,
Did to-night amid earth's gladness

Rise no thought of Him that died,

Rise no thought of her that worshipped Bethlehem's manger
straw beside.

1883.] A LEGEND OF CHRISTMAS EVE. 501

" Royal gifts to men he giveth,

And his angels on them wait ;

But the Lord of men and angels

Chooseth ever humblest state,

And in lowliest heart that loves him seeks his own love's thirst
to sate.

" So he chooseth that not angels

Light to-night his Christmas-tree :
Heavenly service for his brothers,

For himself earth's charity ;

And the brightness of his Christmas measure of earth's love
shall be."

On the Christ-child's tree the tapers

With a glow, e'er deep'ning, shine
Prayers of grateful heart ascending,

Sin o'erthrown in some soul's shrine,
Loving thought in noble action grown more like to love divine.

Then the Christ-child, smiling softly,

Gazeth in his Mother's eyes,
Listening to the angels' singing

Sounding through the starlit skies.
" Gloria in excelsis Deo" as of old the strong words rise.

With the song of angels mingling

Earth's glad Christmas harmony,
And the Peace of God descending

In hearts warm with charity,

While far down the streets of jasper shines the Christ-child's
Christmas-tree.

502 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

OUT OF THE WEST,
ii.

A FEW letters were exchanged fewer, through Margaret's
prudence, than Edmond's wishes would have dictated, and al-
most ceasing during Lent. At Easter, however, he received one
that made up for all. During a " mission"" held in Chicago Mar-
garet's period of thought and prayer had culminated in the
decision that she must be a Catholic, but of this she had been
unwilling to speak until fully assured that she was answering to
her conscience only. She had been receiving instruction during
the latter part of Lent, and now wrote to ask his prayers for her
at her baptism at Easter.

Edmond's first impulse would have carried him to be present
at the holy ordinance ; but self-denial, now becoming a second
nature, restrained him, and he contented himself for all outward
expression with a letter that made Margaret say after reading it,
" Well for me that this did not govern my decision." For his
unspoken feeling glowed on every impulsive page, and he stood
fully betrayed to her now, though he thought himself silent still.

On Low Sunday a missionary who compassed the Gruenwald
settlement once in six months came around to it, and Edmond
again confessed and received. It was his duty and pleasure to
convey the good father a part of the distance to the next station,
and on the way made a full confidence of his wishes and diffi-
culties. "If your own admiration has not over-drawn this
young woman," said the priest, " you will do well to marry as
soon as a support is assured you. She will consent to share
your rude life and speedily help you rise above it. But do not
be rash. In any case you are both young enough to wait, and
a good many obstacles before marriage are a great help to hap-
piness in causing people to ignore trivial difficulties after it."
" Ought I to speak now, or shall I still maintain this painful
silence?" asked Edmond. "There can be no wrong, since your
friend is a Catholic, in declaring your hopes and wishes concern-
ing her, especially as you are in danger of having deeply en-
listed her own feelings," said the priest ; " and you might be in
such event wrong to withhold them, leaving her to uncertainty
or trial, as a modest woman fears to give her love unsought. But
do not seek any pledge or bond from her. If your mutual at-

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 503

tachment is not strong enough to bear delay it had better fail,
and no pledge would then be a safeguard, but, on the contrary,
an odious bond. And in this, as in all else, seek chiefly to fulfil
the will of God."

One thing alone prevented Edmond from putting the priest's
advice into immediate execution. If Margaret had been reti-
cent as to her religious feelings before her baptism, her reserve
on these subjects vanished now. Beautiful letters came up to
Gruenwald, full of a happiness that seemed too holy to disturb ;
and, awed by an experience that he was content thus to share,
Edmond forbore to hint at his own " selfishness," as he named
it to himself. Indeed, in the full, pure confidence of this woman
his own soul seemed to grow, .and his replies cheered and
strengthened her in their sympathy. No happier days can come
to man or woman than those in which they forget themselves
for the love of God.

And now busy working days were hard upon them. Plant-
ing and weeding, and the hardest manual labor that Edmond had
ever known, made rest at night sweet even on his rude bed, and
the long, toilsome days cut the very nights short.

Margaret's summer terms were always the hardest, for the pre-
parations for the fall promotions were then most oppressive, and
the warm weather often came on with violence. Glad was she
on a Friday afternoon in July to lock her desk for a two months'
rest. To Edmond's dismay he had not been able to make any
suitable arrangement for Margaret's visit, but before this became
an embarrassment he was relieved in one way by Margaret's
own second thought. It had been in real innocence and unsel-
fishness that she had offered to come, and much later it suddenly
occurred to her to think of the people at Gruenwald and what
construction they would put upon it. Before the blush that this
brought to her cheek had subsided she had written excuses to
Edmond declining the visit. It gave him relief, from the same
fear that Margaret would be placed in a false position in refer-
ence to himself, but it required more than the energy of his out-
door work to drive away the disappointment that he felt.

Margaret went steadily to some sewing that she had to ac-
complish clothing to be finished for the coming fall ; but the
loan of use of a sewing-machine in the absence from town of a
neighbor during the summer completed the task only too soon
for Margaret's mood, and there were three days of comparative
inoccupation in which Margaret put some severe question's to
herself.

504 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

Compelled to face her own feelings toward Edmond, fright-
ened at having given her heart unasked, yet suspicious, from his
own repressed feelings, of their existence, without understanding
his silence, the girl often blushed and sought to occupy her
thoughts in every other way. One day in her searching self-ex-
amination, trying to see if there were any sin in it, she laid the
matter fully before God in a visit to church, asking only that his
will be done.

With a peculiarly light heart she returned home, to find Mrs.
Barbour seized with sudden illness that for the next ten days
fully occupied Margaret, on whom devolved the double duty of
nursing and keeping the house. About the middle of August, as
the landlady was slowly rallying and feebly taking part again in
the housework, Margaret was rather startled by an announce-
ment from her. " I must go away," said she ; " the doctor says I
must says I'm all 'run down,' and if I mean to build up I must
do it outside o' these walls, 'n I've been thinking 't if I c'n get
Nancy Page to run this house f'r a fortnight I s'll go off up to
the woods and see that young man 't lives like a bear, 'f he'll
have me, and live wild awhile myself. There's nowhere else to
go, for I haven't a soul west o' Connecticut to look to except
you, Maggie, 'n you'll have to go to take care o' me, and we'll
carry up enough to pay for everything 't '11 really cost him, and
between us we'll contrive to save as much trouble as we'll make."

Mrs. Barbour had clearly been thinking, and to the point,
with very imperfect material that she had fished from both young
people rather than received as communication from either.
Certainly there could be no impropriety in receiving an elderly
friend at Gruenwald in Edmond's own house, and, coming as an
invalid, Margaret's presence as nurse, companion, or friend was
natural. So one beautiful August afternoon, the .matter having
been settled by correspondence, Edmond postponed the mowing
of his last field, set his man at other work, and went down to the
Gruenwald station, glad, in spite of his extreme misgivings about
their comfort, to meet his best friends among women in America.

There was near Mrs. Barbour's an auction-room, in which
that good woman might have often been seen on a Saturday
morning, as she returned from market, looking out for bargains
that she by close watching often secured. She was shrewd, and
the auctioneer often favored her as an old customer ; and now, in
view of several things that she turned over in her own mind, she
had* purchased there and brought up with her a nice bedstead.
Empty ing- a straw-filled mattress of last year's use, now ready for

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 505

renewal, she packed it with a pair of pillows and some bedding,
and despatched it on the freight-car with her trunk, shared in the
packing room with Margaret, and a barrel of provisions, deli-
cacies in comparison to Edmond's usual fare, pretended to be
necessary for her own use.

To the small crowd assembled at the Gruenwald station the
good woman appeared the invalid that she had been, and the
bringing of the bed furthermore removed any thought that
could have connected the visit of her attendant with Edmond
particularly, she needed so much care and luxury.

" You see, young man, I've took up my bed and walked, like
the Bible cripple ! " was Mrs. Barbour's greeting to Edmond,
whose growing stock of English failed to compass the phrase,
and who was occupied in solving the problem of conveying so
many people and goods over the two miles- of rqugh road in his
ox-cart. Margaret insisted on walking, " tired of sitting so many
hours on the train," and Mrs. Barbour on the trunk, with the sec-
tions of bedstead and the bedding, were all that could be convey-
ed at one trip. The barrel must wait for another day and trip.

A strange world opened upon these city women. After a few
rods, passing the station and a building that combined the
blacksmith's shop, grocery, and post-office of this region, the
road struck into woods whose growth was nearly primeval. It
belonged only to the railway company, whose uses thus far re-
quired but the few cleared acres lying immediately about the
station, and, held in reserve for more extended business, it was
for no individual's interest to clear.

A panorama of rich, varied foliage above and a dense tangle
of undergrowth below stretched out before them for nearly
three-quarters of a mile. Then a turn of the road brought them
upon one of the settlements, and again a plunge into nearly un-
broken forest. After the heat and dust of the city, and the noise
and whirl of the railway, the contrast was so extreme, the picture
so beautiful, that an involuntary hush fell upon them. At inter-
vals gleams from the sun, now low in the west, would throw a
golden hue upon the green, and a hum and whirr of insect-life
or murmur of some wood's brook alone broke the silence, or
seemed rather to blend with it.

Then they came to a larger stream, and so rude a bridge
crossed it that Mrs. Barbour preferred to dismount rather than
risk the jolting and pitching of the cart, which was extreme, in
crossing it. Another half-mile through woods again, and just as
both women were perceiving their fatigue they came out of the

506 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

thick growth to an opening- which presented a picture that drew
forth their enthusiastic exclamations. " How beautiful ! " said
Margaret, with flushed face and sparkling eyes. " O my ! "
was Mrs. Barbour's sententious praise.

The woods from which they were emerging belted the foot
of a low hill near whose base they stood ; other hills, higher and
more abrupt, but picturesquely grouped, were more distant, and
showed three ravine-like valleys opening away between them,
these in a northeasterly direction. To northwest and quite near
rose a series of rocks, half-hill, half-cliff, just now a luxurious
tangle of wild growth and rock-faces alternately, and, though it
shut away all distance for a portion of the horizon, it was de-
lightfully suggestive of shelter. To the westward a few cleared
acres intervened, and then the ever-present forest closed the
circle again, g

Between the low hill and the cliff that suggested shelter lay
a pasture from which the hay had just been mown ; but this level
was so small that a log-house crowning the knoll or little hill-
top seemed to lie at the very foot of the rocks in cosey protec-
tion. It was a larger house and far more neatly built than many
hereabouts, and Hans Werber had truly some eye for beauty in
adding a wing or large bay-window to eastward, and in the angle
formed by it and the house-front had constructed a rustic
veranda, whose supports rising from the ground were draped .in
vines clinging gracefully and trained in festoons between at the
top of the posts. This natural cornice was striking indeed. A
bit of ornamentation over the doorway on the south side was
well enough carven and in harmony with an arched rustic win-
dow-frame over a window on the same side, and a well-executed
date of the year of its construction, set in the gable, completed
the most striking details of a picturesque building, apart from
the neat placing and finishing of its heavy timber corners.

The stumps which usually marred the cleared portions were
now hidden by the beauty of ripening harvests, and the distance
behind the house to northward glowed in lights from the sunset.
The cliffs kept the sun's rays from the house for a part of the
afternoon, but the barn, lying more to north and east, caught
these late beams and in itself made a pleasing addition to the
house on the knoll. A line of fencing, along which a vine was
growing, made a pretty foreground to right, and a well and its
sweep to left completed the picture.

They paused a few moments to enjoy it, and admiration grew
with every new perception. But Edmond's face grew sad. As

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 507

if by intuition he felt how terrible an anti-climax was before
them, and the more beautiful the exterior appeared the more
painful he knew that the inner contrast would be.

And so it was. " We wanted to turn round and run right
out doors again and stay with the squirrels," said Mrs. Barbour
afterwards in description.

The interior consisted of a large single room ; for the smaller
room, built on and unfinished by Hans Werber, had not yet had
a door cut to connect it with the large apartment. The window
at the front, with another at the west, were the only ones, and
the north end of the room farthest from the entrance was nearly
dark at all times and occupied with six bunks or berths in tiers
of three. There, too, a clumsy ladder placed beyond the chimney
led to the loft above, taking space uselessly from its position,
and everywhere marks of untidiness prevailed. The long bench
and few stools that served for seats, as well as the table, were
spotted with grease-marks, new and old, so that the women hesi-
tated to sit upon them ; no sign of towel or white cloth was visi-
ble, and soon it was clear that Beta's dish-washing was effected
without either, as without soap. The longer they looked the
worse such details became in discovery.

Beta was old and must always have been dull or deficient in
intellect. She showed little interest in the arrival, and went on
preparing the supper for Edmond and the hired man without
thought of an extra allowance until Edmond discovered and
corrected the error. The meal concluded, and dishes washed by
a summary process of dipping, the poor old creature hastened to
her loft for the night, while Edmond, aided by Jacob, the hired
man, set up the bedstead and filled the straw bed, and then re-
treated for the night to the barn, where the hay was quite as
comfortable as in the bunks.

Rest for Mrs. Barbour was almost necessary, as she was
really tired from her journey and worse than fatigued by the
untidiness.

The day began at an early hour with old Beta's descent and
preparation for breakfast. Edmond, coming softly to the door
for fear of disturbing his guests, found both of them alert and
refreshed by the sleep begun at so early an hour. A shade of
embarrassment hanging over the party was dispelled by seeing
old Beta, after disposing of her dishes, as the night before, leave
the house as if the labors of the day were over. Margaret,
timidly inquiring if any little changes or cleaning they might
make would hurt Beta's feelings, brought out the truth that the

5o8 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

old creature had gone to the woods to amuse herself, according
to custom, until near dinner-time, and that she had no sensibilities
to be injured by any labors of theirs about the house.

At the thought of a housekeeper's morning toils being con-
cluded by, instead of commencing with, breakfast, so keen a
sense of the ludicrous overcame Mrs. Barbour that her pent-up
feelings of dismay and abhorrence vanished in this, as she broke
out in a peal of laughter that became contagious, and the house
rang with the merriment of three people who had been suffering
silently before. Edmond confessed to his distress having been
increased tenfold at the thought of their sharing or even seeing
it. Mrs. Barbour and Margaret entered freely into a discussion
of simple measures of improvement, and Edmond, without farther
apology, hastened to the hay-field, greatly relieved, to the last
day's haymaking. With ample assistance it would have been a
small matter, but with Jacob's aid alone the day was likely to be
consumed.

Hardly was Edmond outside the door when Mrs. Barbour
mapped out a scale of labor within that would have daunted a
less vigorous person than Margaret, to which the latter lent her-
self with that enthusiasm that accompanies the visible results of
toil. There was an amount of picking up and clearing out of
accumulated rubbish to which Mrs. Barbour was not equal, but
while Margaret attacked the enemy on this side the elder woman
could not remain idle. Seeming to gather strength with interest,
Mrs. Barbour sat down to a scouring of tin with the aid of
some grease and wood-ashes, with which she supplied as well as
possible the total want of soap in the establishment. To have
seen the veteran housekeeper in action then, with expressive
muscular indications of nostril and mouth, would have suggested
the old figure of "the war-horse scenting battle afar off."

The warfare was fairly begun, Mrs. Barbour still scouring,
Margaret standing on the table with turbaned head, striving to
detach cobwebs and dust overhead with a broom of brush, when
a large, well-made man entered the door without other ceremony
than an admonitory knock.

" Heavens and earth ! " said Mrs. Barbour nervously, " com-
pany so quick?" when to her dismay the large gentleman, bowing,
replied in admirable English : " Not at all ; a servant, not a visi-
tor. I am Herr Brenner's friend, Dr. Klein, and he thought as
I was to pass the railway I might perhaps bring from the station
a portion of the contents of the barrel, if they can be divided."
" You'll just save the butter and meat, then," said Mrs. Barbour

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 509

eagerly. " I gave them up as lost when I heard that young man
say ' hay-field ' to-day. Just unhead the barrel, and you can take
off the very top what's not melted of five pounds of butter, and
a joint of beef, with as fine a fowl as ever crowed, next below.
I thought of them every time I turned over in bed last night."
" Then we have little time for making acquaintance," said the
doctor, smiling. " To the rescue ! " he added gaily, hunting up a
basket and meal-bag from localities evidently familiar, "and I
suppose the sooner my patients are dismissed the better your
prospects of dinner," turning, as he concluded, good-humoredly
to Margaret. She now, recovered from her surprise, cordially
invited him to join them at dinner, in the provision of which he
was to play so important a part.

Before eleven o'clock the doctor reappeared on horseback,
bearing a well-filled basket and so large a proportion of the other
contents of the barrel in the two ends of the bag slung across
the horse behind the saddle that another trip would convey the
whole. The two women, who had been taking what Miss Bar-
bour called " a resting-spell," were quite ready to prepare the
meal, Margaret judiciously pressing into service old Beta, now
returned from the woods.

Edmond had lingered a little at noon in the field to finish
the final spreading and turning of some hay, so rapidly drying
that there was a prospect of harvesting the whole before dark.
A pleasant welcome awaited him at home, the usually silent, un-
tidy interior seeming strangely changed even by one morning's
work alone.

The smell of roasting meat and other unwonted odors of
cooking came to his fasting stomach with strong appeal, and
chatting merrily, as if with old friends, were Dr. Klein and the
guests.

" The gods are propitious toward you to-day, Brenner," was
the doctor's greeting. " They must regret some of their frowns
on preceding ones," said Margaret, thinking of what she had
found there, and remembering how quickly all the wretchedness
would return with their departure.

Pitying old Beta, whose gaze on the banquet was painful to
witness, Margaret, preparing a portion of the best, carried it to
her at the hearthstone, as she sat waiting her later meal, at the
beginning -of the repast. The action was so simply, gracefully
done that it won Margaret the firm friendship of two, Beta and
the doctor.

" Miss Chester," said he, " were I infirmarian I would ask

510 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

you to be head-nurse, or were I king you should be a chief coun-
sellor." He had been filling the table with mirth at a burlesque
description of what he found in the morning, pretending that
Edmond's house had been invaded, and that he had arrived only
in time to prevent its being spirited away, and that by magic
he had converted strangely bewitched dishes into the present
tempting viands. But his manner was quite serious when he
addressed her as just described, and complimentary to a degree
that drew out blushes.

Edmond, in view of the time allowed before dinner and
awaiting the drying hay, made a little longer nooning indoors.

Beta accepted a little instruction from Margaret in the art of
dish-washing, something being sacrificed from the trunk to sup-
ply the want of towels, and Mrs. Barbour settled to well-earned,
much-needed rest. Dr. Klein left for his afternoon visits with a
sense of having experienced a rare social pleasure, so animated a
conversation had Edmond and Margaret sustained with him on
topics of a kind rarely entered into with members of this com-
munity.

Edmond went to the field, and Margaret sat down for a long
hour's thinking. For a time it was planning such alleviations of
Edmond's condition as would be of value after their departure,
then drifted into her impressions on arrival, which were, " I could
never become part or parcel of this." ; but with the experiences
of the day, and renewed pleasure in Edmond's society, she cau-
tioned herself now : " I must be careful not to be stirred by too
much pity." Then, arousing herself for allowing her thoughts to
follow in such a channel so long, she resumed the practical train,
and tried to work out the problem of doing a great deal on a
small capital.

At four o'clock Margaret was minded to walk about the pre-
mises, which would have been her very first inclination in the
morning had not the less agreeable tasks seemed to sternly shut
away any mere pleasuring. Now she felt quite free to go out,
and Mrs. Barbour, whose propensities and habits were renewing
force with her rested condition, preferred to stay and superin-
tend Beta's tea-getting.

" I can't touch a morsel," said she, " if I don't see how it's
done " ; and it ended in her " doing " the most that was " done."

Meanwhile Margaret went out in the clearing, and presently
met Edmond and Jacob bringing a load of hay up to the barn.
Inviting her to ride on the fragrant load, Margaret accepted a
pleasure unknown for many years. Then, returning with them

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 511

beside the empty cart, Edmond proudly pointed out a field of
ripening grain that was all that heart could desire.

"The neighbors," said he, " pronounce it the finest crop
grown here since Hans Werber's second year, when the same
grand plough broke the ground. It ought to do something to
add a trifle to the nest-egg laid by for the fifty acres, besides what
is required of it toward the general support of the farm."

Besides hay and grain little else was planted, and Margaret
commented on the absence of a kitchen garden and vegetables
for the table. " Those articles require close watching and weed-
ing," said Edmond, "at a time when I have to economize strength
and labor, like everything else, and I am learning better to dis-
pense with mere luxuries than I once thought possible."

He said this so cheerfully that Margaret looked at him in
surprise. Was this the same young man that had viewed life
as barely endurable a few months since, and was ready to fol-
low any one's lead who appeared to advise, even to take a
woman's counsel ?

To other suggestions there was the same prompt response,
always self-denying, but cheerfully so. Still, any one who had
known Edmond before his coming to America would have been
sorry to see how thin he had grown, and Margaret's eye often
detected an underlying sadness when his face was at rest and
he was unconscious of being observed.

Once in the field Margaret found a rake, and in amusing her-
self rendered such actual service that the last load was housed a
full half-hour before it otherwise would have been.

" If you are not too tired, Miss Margaret," said Edmond, " we
might climb the rocks here, and I could show you the beginning
of those tempting fifty acres."

Up they went, the little clearing presenting new points of
beauty the higher they rose, until they reached the point that
appeared from below the highest to shelter the house. Then by
a foot-path branching abruptly to northwest and five minutes'
walking they attained a point commanding a fine outlook, from
whence also the noise of a stream could be distinctly heard.

" It is the same stream that you crossed so far below," said
Edmond, " but it makes a long curve yonder to north and
east, only these trees hinder your seeing into what a curve this
bold little hill has forced it. But there is the spot for a mill
yonder " and he pointed to a distant lower level " and I had
to bring you up here to see it." " We have often to work our
way up-hill, only to see into what we might earnestly long to

512 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

possess," said Margaret ; then, as a thought suggested old Bible-
reading, she said, condensing, " Moses, and Nebo, and the pro-
mised land." " Which he was only permitted to see and not
allowed to enter," said Edmond. " Let us hope that your simile
may not prove prophetic." And presently his face settled away to
the expression of hidden care that Margaret had begun to detect.

But now it was time to descend to tea, Edmond pointing out
the line of the fifty acres and showing why they ought not to be
divided ; and when they reached home the smell of real tea sa-
luting their nostrils produced an effect on the man of many pri-
vations that he could ill conceal.

"What feasting!" he cried. "You are spoiling me." And
Margaret, divining the pain of obligation, jested on Mrs. Barbour's
addiction to the beverage, and with many playful sallies brought
him back to the full enjoyment of the moment.

Next day Jacob had to go to another settler's haymaking, and
Edmond was able to bring up the remaining contents of the bar-
rel and show to Margaret and Mrs. Barbour the cleared land in
detail. To /his they would not, however, lend themselves until
certain interior improvements/ be'guh the day before were com-
pleted, and on this occasion Beta'.was. not suffered to make her
escape to the woods until she had shared the toil. To watch the
changes effected by these' two women in her regime was to
watch an ancient barbarism vanish bejfore a vigorous civilization.

On the third day of such house-cleaning Miss Barbour pro-
fessed herself sa-tisfied, with such limited material as they had to
work upon and with, and Dr. Klein, coming in for his daily chat,
pretended that the house had been transformed to-day into a
temple, that the women were priestesses, the smoking viands
offerings to deities, even the smell of the teapot suggesting an-
cient incense. " Then we will consider you one of the enraged
gods," said Margaret, " and possibly appease your wrath with a
chicken-wing seasoned by amiable motives in the offering," and
went on from waging mimicries to themes of higher interest
until the trio drifted off into fogs which set Mrs. Barbour dozing.

Dr. Klein had not been able to persuade his wife of the aris-
tocratic Von to call upon Margaret, but she had sent her a very
gracious invitation to visit her, excusing herself from not vary-
ing from the habit of years from delicate health. Mrs. Barbour
was included, but had the wisdom to decline, as Margaret would
have done but for the urgent solicitations of both gentlemen,
who wished her to see the doctor's fine entomological collec-
tion.

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 513

The visit was unimportant, except for the " bugs," natives of
these woods, and for which the doctor showed his appreciation
by his remarkable care and, to a certain extent, " training " of liv-
ing specimens.

On the homeward route there was a moment of conversation
between Margaret and the doctor that indicated the understand-
ing that had insensibly arisen between them. " I have never
seen a character more rapidly developed, a man more quickly
changed, than our friend Edmond," said the doctor. " When he
came here he was so untaught in any of the rough ways of life
the best-natured fellow in the world, but most unpractical his
beginning reminded me of nothing so much as of a child learning
to walk. He leaned on anything, on any one, as the child seizes
the first support, chair, or hand that is stretched out. I never
pitied any one more in my life." " There must have been some-
thing to work upon, a character to develop," answered Mar-
garet. "These circumstances and hardships would never have
made a strong man out of a weak one." " You are right," said
the doctor; " to use your own expression, trials 'develop but
do rtbt create character.' To return to our friend, I remember
how the curl of his fastidious lip forgot its lines and became
first enduring, then courageous ; for our friend is truly coura-
geous. He used to find fault with, now he always excuses, old
Beta. But there is something that has for some months been
underlying the courage itself, and I am sorry to see that it is a
hard battle for him." Here the doctor paused, and when he
continued it was so gravely that Margaret forgave what he said
while he was speaking, seeing that he was so truly Edmond's
friend. " I think," said he, " that I have this week detected the
symptom that has baffled me so long. He is being crushed
himself in trying to crush out hopefulness that he dares not
cherish. I only hope that it may not ultimately fail him, or that
he may not break down physically under the strain meantime.
His spirit will not now yield, but without hope his body will."

Margaret understood while hardly daring to understand, nor
was response really possible. Dr. Klein had not intended to ask
a question, but to give information of vital import to the friend
that he loved so well, and to whom he could not imagine a wo-
man like Margaret remaining indifferent. Nor would he have
wounded her delicacy willingly ; but, deeply anxious for his friend,
whom he prized beyond any other near him, he was anxious, if
possible, to foster in his own heart a hope that was deeper in its
sympathy than he could well express.
VOL. xxxvi. 33

514 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

With some hesitation Margaret said : " It is the bitterest
thing to see a friend suffer without being able to console or share
the sorrow."

Her tones and her averted face assured the doctor that she
was not indifferent to what he had been saying ; and this was all
that he had a right to consider now, and he became in turn con-
soler.

" You may be sure," said he, " that your visit up here will
cheer our friend wonderfully and do him, I trust, a lasting good ;
and for the rest, when one's heart is set to do good the way
rarely fails to be opened sooner or later." "Especially if one
puts one's whole trust in God," said Margaret, turning to her
habitual refuge ; " it's half-measures that ruin us in faith as in
every other thing."

And now came the last day of the visit. Mrs. Barbour in-
troduced the subject unconsciously avoided by the others, and
Edmond, hastening to conceal his deep chagrin, spoke hurriedly
of taking down and packing the bedstead.

" Thank fortune," said she, " there's so much less bag-gage
going over the road ! " and to the astonished man declare* that
she had "brought it up on purpose for him and hadn't house-
room for it anywhere." The contents of the barrel, with all their
show of housekeeping, were still sufficiently economized to
leave some luxuries for him, and the house was a picture, in com-
parison with its state at their introduction.

" Do you know, Herr Brenner," said Margaret a little formal-
ly to recall him from his touched condition, " I have wondered
repeatedly why Hans Werber should have made such ample
provision for company or a family, all of one sex. Surely a mix-
ed party could never^occupy those six berths at the end of the
room. Would not three have been better, with the bed-room in
the wing or bay ? And a north window in place of three of those
shelves would really transform this room by its light and venti-
lation." " Admirable ! " said Edmond. " My first luxury shall be
the purchase of a window and the demolition of half the berths."

Then they entered into an estimate of the cost of cutting a
door into the room and finishing it in simplest fashion, Mrs.
Barbour helping by naming a carpenter who was always buy-
ing and selling sash at second-hand, and offering to look out for
chances. Edmond felt now capable of doing the most of the
work himself, and " Klein was a capital carpenter and aid," as a
good surgeon often chances to be.

After this a walk was proposed, as had happened in the late

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 515

afternoon for several days past. " The last walk," said Mrs.
Barbour with cruel emphasis ; some way or other she had an air
of dissatisfaction, and made to herself a gesture that she was
wont to use when her bread wouldn't rise or in other cases of
failure.

Her words struck pain into both young hearts, each charged
in its own way with a load with which each was bravely strug-
gling. If Margaret had doubted the strength of her feelings or
their nature, Dr. Klein's hints of danger to Edmond had reveal-
ed them to her in the glow of woman's pity. It caused them to
'walk on in silence.

Without especial purpose they chose their way up the hill
again. Any one looking on at the -ascent would have admired
Edmond's fine figure, always slightly in advance of Margaret,
but only sufficiently so to give her the continual help over rough
places that was naturally required ; any one looking at her and
listening to their not lively conversation would have said she
takes up the thoughts that he begins to express and carries them
out as if they commenced in her own mind. A conclusion might
readily have been reached : How well suited this pair are to
climb together continuously !

In reality each one was striving to show the least possible
selfishness toward the other, and to do nothing that could make the
parting harder. It was impossible, though, but something of the
mutual feeling should be evident to both, yet each strove for the
other's sake, and the woman in modesty as well, to repress all
contemplation. But with Edmond the subject was " never five
minutes out of mind." He had before the visit counted on
speaking, in accordance with the priest's counsel ; but the lines
betrayed by Margaret's tell-tale face on arrival had silenced him,
and he was even now saying to himself, " It would be too rude ;
she could never bear it here."

They reached the summit and sat down on a fallen trunk
overlooking the distance of the three ravines and across the val-
ley of the mill-stream. To Edmond but one overwhelming
thought was present : " Parting must be like dying," and he
could not speak at all.

Showers had been falling but a few miles away and threaten-
ed to approach. As this prospect recalled to them the prudence
of descent, they rose to go, when Margaret's attention was at-
tracted to a distant rainbow.

She thinks that she had begun to say something about the
" emblem of hope " ; but she will never know what that unfinished

516 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

sentence would have been, for Edmond, turning- quickly, stooped
to see it from under a projecting branch that hid it, and she, as
quickly turning to see if he were looking, found her face in sud-
den, accidental contact with his, and, like sparks from the bosom
of a parent flame or drops of coalescing oil, these two long-united
souls were betraying and betrayed in the embrace that no one
could have pronounced voluntary. Certainly it was without in-
tent or deliberation.

But once occurring, each drew back, Margaret with blush-
ing, drooping face, Edmond self-reproachful and terror-stricken.
"What have I done?" said he remorsefully. "O Margaret!
can you ever trust me again? "all his pain pouring into the
tones as he repeated in self-reproach : " What have I done ? "
" Found a rainbow," said she when words were possible ; and see-
ing him but half-reassured, she presently continued, still deeply
blushing, but now too pitiful for him to dwell on self : " I believe
that the best thing has happened that could ; now, whatever
comes, we know ourselves as we are."

What sweet knowledge to the pure-hearted, to taste which
once rewards every denial of vice has been the testimony of the
ages, and which every man forgoes in other indulgence !

" But this poverty, my misery what right have I to enlist any
woman's love ? " said he, pouring out in quick, brief phrase the
pent-up pain of months. " Let that be my care, not yours," she
replied gently. " If I am not afraid, surely you need not fear for
me. Besides, I think a great deal of the misery capable of alle-
viation by very simple measures, since it is a case of Margaret
instead of Beta," she added, with an inflection of tone that forced
a smile from him.

That their great relief and joy should find expression in one
more renewal of what had been nearly involuntary was but
natural ; but even as they embraced these old young people re-
membered the mortality they had thrown aside for a few raptur-
ous moments, and began their return.

Edmond became eloquent in the description of what he had
concealed, realizing the very ideal of woman, ardent and pure as
he was, and Margaret now became conscious of mingling love
and admiration that she had not hitherto known.

" And now," he said, " just as we are revealed to each other,
as a little happiness might be tasted, we must part. O Mar-
garet ! how can I let you go ? " " Let us rather be thankful
that we part in the joy of hope than in that silent, cruel pain ;
it will give us courage," was Margaret's response. " We are

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 517

young and can wait," she added ; for he had now told her of the
priest's counsel, and she quoted it suitably. Once again, once
only, did they embrace, and that after words that meant the
sanctity of betrothal, though neither asked nor gave a promise
words as noble and full of respect, almost, as of love. And then
they went back to the world again, the world being Beta and
Mrs. Barbour.

Mrs. Barbour was at that climax of preparation at the mo-
ment of their arrival when delay "just spoils the hot cake," and
was too eager to display such trophies achieved under difficulties
to be critical of observation. It is highly improbable that, with
their deeply underlying thoughts, a word of praise would have
been accorded the poor, patient, toiling woman, had not her own
remarks drawn forth their tardy but now overdone praise.

Fully suspicious during the meal, Mrs. Barbour's very posi-
tive glances from one to the other after tea were too plainly
directed to be longer evaded. Summoning the very best Eng-
lish that he was yet able to command, Edmond, taking Marga-
ret's hand, said to the elder woman : " Dees dear friend haf pro-
mise to be more as a friend ! "

An indescribable sound of good-natured disparagement is-
sued from the lips of the good woman addressed, best explained
by her rather original comment, made quite as much to herself
as to those whom she addressed: " Got yer eyes open at last?
I never could SQZ why kittens and lovers take so much time to it.
'S fur me, 'twouldn't take me two minutes any time to know my
mind " ; from which we may safely infer that the intricacies of
love were still a mystery to Mrs. Barbour.

But now, her mind relieved of what had really oppressed her
for a long time, the warm-hearted woman was not wanting in
conorratulation better suited for translation to Edmond than her

first forcible comparison. " My children," said she, "the old wo-
man knew yer better 'n yer knew yerselves, and couldn't see any
way out o' the trouble yer were in but to get yer together and
see 'f 'twouldn't out 'n some fashion, 's 't has, and I'm more
pleased 'n to find a hundred-dollar bill. " And though so large a
note was not often apt to dazzle her vision, she spoke truth in-
deed. Margaret had grown into her heart as few had done, and
her suspicion that this girl's happiness was going to connect it-
self with Edmond's was of much longer standing than Marga-
ret's own.

Mrs. Barbour once in their confidence, there ensued a long
discussion of ways and means, and a fearless investigation of the

518 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

rather gloomy future, though both declared that waiting for
years with hope would be less painful than a short renewal of
the recent past. It was allowed that, without fixing any positive
time, should Edmond's affairs prosper for two years they might
venture to marry, especially if the growth and prosperity of the
whole settlement kept pace ; but when the words " two years "
were spoken a silence fell on all the group, it seemed such
waiting, and Mrs. Barbour spoke for all when she said :

" Two long, lonesome years in all this " " all this" recalling
the condition to which it was to be expected the house would
return presently. It was clear to all, however, that in the pre-
sent uncertainty nothing better could be counted on, and that
a small misfortune would make a greater delay still. " Let us
trust in God and do our best," said Margaret cheerfully, and
then, as had happened for two or three evenings, Edmond took
up his violin.

He had been playing with his back toward the open door,
quite too absorbed in an improvisation to notice his friend Dr.
Klein, who came softly in. " This is farewell," said the doctor
mentally, used to following Edmond's musical moods, and hear-
ing almost with pain the sad notes that marked its commence-
ment. He read in Margaret's eyes the appeal that it made to
her, but he was puzzled to divine a look behind the tears, so
bright and triumphant that it made him wish to see Edmond's
also.

But now the music spoke for him. A thread of melody be-
gan interweaving the sad accompaniment, that grew fuller and
more prominent until the minor of the one was lost in the swelling
major that was now the theme in full, and gradually brightened
without ever becoming gay. But it was ever so tender, so full
of pathos, that it could only have grown out of an intensity of
happiness, and it told the doctor all that he was longing to hear.

" It is farewell indeed," mused the doctor again, " but it is
parting in hope, and a very full hope. Can it be ? Has it hap-
pened?" he eagerly asked himself. Just then the music ceased,
and Edmond, speaking low to Margaret, said in German: "Adieu,
dear child, but never more divided." Dr. Klein stepped quickly
forward, and, kissing Edmond on both cheeks in a i'ashion new
and strange to Margaret, said : " Tell me, dear friend, that there
is joy that I ma}' share." And for response Edmond drew Mar-
garet to his side.

For a moment the doctor's utterance was choked, then, with
their clasped hands enfolded in his generous palms, with coming

OUT OF THE WEST. 519

speech he poured upon them a wealth of congratulation and
blessing-. To the two years' delay he shook his head. " Fix no
time," said he. " If this swegt hope alone will bring back the lost
color and vigor that care and a joyless life have robbed from
these young cheeks and the once strong limbs, I will not com-
plain ; but they must recover quickly in the year to come, or I
shall summon this child to aid my skill." And Edmond, exhila-
rated with his new happiness, declared that now he had so much
to live for he should live with all the strength of a happy soul,
and that health could not. fail to follow.

In this bright moment Beta and the tiresome life seemed an
inconvenient trifle only. But this could not last. Their parting
on the morrow we, veil, and the correspondence that was true
consolation, and in which each aided the other to endurance and
exertion. There were letters, too, to be written to the two home-
circles so distant and so different.

Margaret's family was of a common New England, undemon-
strative type, in which the real affection is so veiled that one
would be troubled to believe in its existence but for some un-
usual occurrence in life which will at least call forth a clannish
allegiance or determination to " stand by" at need, and in other
cases really awakens a regard that seemed dormant.

When Margaret wrote to them of her conversion to the
Catholic faith their letters gave her greater pain by their very in-
difference than keen reproaches would have awakened. " You
have always chosen for yourself ; you must choose now," was the
sum of their response, yet without any intended hint of wilful-
ness. It was a kind of divesting themselves of responsibility
that indicated want of interest as well, and it seemed as if they
didn't care enough about her to feel badly ; for they scorned
"Romanism," and since Margaret's Western life had brought her
in contact with more demonstrative people she felt that there
was something that she had craved and missed her whole life
through.

She could look back and count the few kisses ever volunteer-
ed, with anything like warmth, by any member of her family or
similarly bestowed on each other. She had seen her father and
mother embrace each other once after the death of a child ;
doubtless they did so at other times, but never so frequently as
to be observed by their children, repression being the rule in this
class of New England households, and emotion a weakness to be
concealed.

520 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

For some time Margaret had been at pains to write more fre-
quent and affectionate letters herself, and now she succeeded in
pleasing herself better than ever in what she said, although she
was obliged to own : " I have always the misfortune to appear be-
fore you in some unfavorable light in the marked events of my
life, and shall do so peculiarly in having engaged myself to a
poor young man whose fortunes have to be made under circum-
stances of peculiar difficulty, and whose qualities I can hardly ex-
pect to place before you in as attractive a light as they appear to
me."

But there was something cumulative in Margaret's continued
attempts to win affectionate expression, and her mother and bro-
ther Francis at last wrote with sufficient kindness to sound very
well in Margaret's translation to Edmond.

But the warm German letters that he sent her as soon as re-
ceived were truly food for such a nature as Margaret's long-
hungry being. With their blessing his parents welcomed the
choice of their beloved absent son, and in endearing terms ex-
pressed their love for him and longing to see him happy in his
exile. The old father augured good from the name of Edmond's
betrothed, fondly dwelling on the memory of a little lost child
who had borne it, and saying so tenderly, "And thou, my son,
givest us another Margaret," that no woman's heart could have
resisted the adoption.

Most suitable and affectionate were the congratulations of
Edmond's brother and sister, and some quotations having been
made from her own letters to him a little later, they were won
to a correspondence of their own which was lasting and helpful.

This went far to alleviate the trials of the following year
and more. For fifteen months they worked and waited in a
way that gives little to dwell upon in detail. In result Mar-
garet had been again promoted, this time to the post of assistant
in the high-school, the former administrant having married a
professor in a Western college, and the increased salary had for
eight months told perceptibly on the little savings.

Edmond for his part rejoiced in the harvests of two most fa-
vorable years and the yield from two more acres of cleared land,
though, unlike some of his neighbors, he was sparing of his tim-
ber, always counting its greatly increased value when a saw-mill
should be able to convert it into boards. The oxen had been
sold and replaced by a better pair, and a horse added to the
stock, and this year a calf that had been bought for a merely

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 521

nominal price was growing up, Edmond hoping that by the time
a small dairy could be established some one. more capable than
Beta could be coaxed to manage it.

The bank-deposit had grown only by eighty dollars' deposit
and interest, for the remaining receipts had to be used for labor,
seed, tools, and the changes in stock just named. This was slow
progress, but it did seem as if the question of a living, just a liv-
ing, was established, and that it might be decent and comfortable
with the presence of a woman like Margaret.

The}' had met once only during the fifteen months. In Mar-
garet's long summer vacation there was a four weeks' visit made
by her in companionship of an ailing child of twelve, one of her
pupils, who grew strong and well fn the woods, and rejoiced to
join Margaret in the hay-field and at the stump-burning, which
last work, persevered in with enthusiasm, removed the ugliest
feature in the landscape and made the land about the house
quite sightly.

Her efforts to make things presentable indoors were greatly
encouraged by the removal of the three berths and substitution
of a larger window than either of the others, and the finishing,
though somewhat rudely, of the bay room, now brought into use
by a connecting door and containing Mrs. Harbour's gift, the
bedstead and fittings.

Margaret herself brought up an addition to the table furni-
ture in some dishes and cooking utensils purchased in sundry
excursions to the auction-room with Mrs. Barbour, and the
place had now become a world of interest to both women. Her
little store of soap and towels was almost luxurious under the
circumstances, but Edmond could object to nothing in view of
her present comfort or the store that was to be her own in the
future.

But that future the young man sought to hasten, now that
the problem of living was*solved, and he chafed at Margaret's
prudential wish to wait out the second year, as at first proposed.
His restored health could no longer admit the old excuse, not
even his supporter, Dr. Klein, being able to urge his need of the
care that was so great the year before ; but his plea was so ardent
that Margaret found herself obliged to be very firm indeed to
return to school without promise of speedier nuptials.

It was 1 in the very early days of December that Edmond re-
ceived notice from the clerk at the land-office that speculators
were now looking up the land about Gfuenwald, and that there
would probably be no extended delay in purchasing. It was the

522 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

renewal of temptation to him, but his thought of every increased
responsibility kept him steady and he waited for Margaret's
counsel.

" Dear Edmond," she wrote in reply, " I have long thought
that I should like to own some land myself. Why not? And
you have lived in America long enough to know that both house
and land belong to the wife often, who is considered as deserv-
ing something in the matrimonial partnership. Were you able
I should have liked to receive this as your gift, but since it is I
who am able I should be very sorry to let this be lost to you.
Between you and me no question of money can make any dif-
ference, so let me secure this for us now, and some day we will
arrange the ownership."

The " some day " was riearing more rapidly than either of
them expected. Professor Neaie's wife, whose place Margaret
had filled, found herself at New Year's a mother and a widow in
one short week, without means for more than a few months' sup-
port, and friendless except for her mother, who was in part de-
pendent on her daughter's aid. It was to this household of
misery that Margaret now seemed a veritable angel. Such of
her limited out-of-school hours as she could devote were given
to the Neales during the crisis of the professor's illness and death
and the birth of the child, and to her the desolate women turned
as their sole friend and counsellor.

With the convalescence of Mrs. Neale came the question of " a
living," and it was found that, after the settlement of the profes-
sor's trivial accounts, less than six months' maintenance was af-
forded with the most frugal management. Mrs. Neale had lost
her position as teacher, but, with a resolution like Margaret's
own, determined to seek a place in the lower schools, and, with
her mother to attend the child, recommence the strife, though
greatly at disadvantage. This resolution she confided to Mar-
garet one evening, while Margaret, fn negotiation for the land,
had received a letter from Edmond of unusual persistence, and
showing greater discouragement at the delay of their marriage
than he had ever exhibited.

" I seem to be winning bread that should be this woman's,
and refusing to make that which Edmond has a right to demand
of me," said Margaret in self-accusation ; and returning to Mrs.
Neale, whom she had left an hour before, she announced to that
surprised woman her intention of resigning her own post.
" Next week," said she, " the school-committee will meet, and we
must do what we can to secure the place for you for the spring

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 523

term ; you have the means of living until the close of this, and
at Easter we will change places." Then she wrote to Edmond
before sleeping a letter destined to cheer him in a very despon-
dent moment. He had taken cold and was ill, and Beta quite
laid up and useless from similar causes, when the joy-giving
missive came giving consent to their marriage at Easter.

Again did life brighten, and many of the following winter
hours were shortened by toil destined to make the house inte-
rior more sightly or comfortable. A neater finish was bestowed
on the bed-room by the purchase of some smooth planking for
the upper part, while a really pretty rustic wainscot met this
work, constructed of neatly-joined small logs. Overhead EcK
mond's skilful hand and delicate taste wrought a ceiling of the
same material, but in fine branches, radiating prettily from the
centre to.the corners of the room, and a graceful pendant of pine
cones at the point of union was adapted to the hanging of a
lantern or remained simply ornamental at will.

Some most desirable drainage also received attention, and
Edmond worked on thus at innumerable improvements in the
enthusiasm of immediate hope. Margaret had few remaining
preparations to make, having set soberly about the most needful
ones some time before, and having, in her visits to the auction-
room from time to time, secured a judicious and valuable outfit
at small cost. The fortnight's interval between the close of
school and Easter was therefore almost one of leisure.

The latter half of Holy Week Edmond spent with her. It
was naturally a quiet, serious moment, and though it could but
be to them a moment of anticipation as well, there were grave
discussions of their not brilliant future and a full look at the
shadows as well as lights of the picture.

It was at this time that a photographer boarding at Mrs.
Harbour's requested Edtnond to sit for his picture, less from
his striking beauty than the belief that he had after long search
found a long-desired model for a leading artist for whom he
worked. This painter had been seeking a face and form from
which to paint an ideal Hamlet, and, fully agreeing as to the type
of face, the photographer saw it before him when Edmond ap-
peared. Not a little was the theory of these men strengthened
when they learned that Edmond's maternal grandfather, whom
he greatly -resembled, had been a Dane.

It resulted in several pictures for the artist, besides a study or
two from the life, and for Margaret's wedding gift there was a
fine full-length figure in photograph framed, and a head and

524 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

bust in crayon was sent later to Gruenwald when the painting
had won laurels for the artist and he was not ungrateful.

They were married on Easter Monday at eight o'clock in the
morning, Anna Davison remaining with Margaret before the
departure from home, and aiding the arrangement of a soft
gray dress with delicately-wrought collar and cuffs, her own
gift to the bride.

" She looks just like a dove," said Mrs. Barbour, peeping in
at the toilette, " and," brushing out an unwonted tear, " she's
just as sweet as one, 'n if that young man don't turn out as he
promises " Here words failed, and she fled.

Not all Mrs. Barbour's coaxing could tempt Margaret to the
extravagance of a black silk. "Remember the want of soap and
towels," said Margaret laughingly, " and think how many
would be swallowed up in one dress like that." And. then she
coaxed the elder woman to a satisfied inspection of crockery and
hardware that had been accumulating all these months and stood
packed in cedar wash-tubs, and so diverted her thoughts from
the luxuries.

One of the Davison brothers was best man to Edmond, who
had at first asked Zelter ; but he, being impecunious at the mo-
ment and unable to contribute any other gift, could only offer
the outpouring of his talent, and excused himself that he might
preside at the organ, and so it happened that the music was
such as had never been heard in the small near church which
they sought as humble folk and from past association.

The morning sun was as beautiful as if it were falling through
stained glass, making slender rays upon the high altar as Ed-
mond and Margaret knelt together before it and were made
one, and at the moment of benediction, stealing through another
window, threw a charming wealth of light and warmth upon the
kneeling pair that was hailed as a happy omen. At the same
moment Zelter, who had at suitable intervals been sending down
notes that suggested all that was stirred in him in tones like an
orchestra of sweet-voiced birds, gave way to a joy-song that had
been hovering all through the subdued, half-pathetic preludes,
and filled the air with sorriething as jubilant, as triumphant as
the favorite " March " of Mendelssohn. It wouid have honored
the nuptials of a prince !

The breakfast at Mrs. Barbour's was their banquet, with little
silver and no cut glass, and Zelter and the Davisons and two of
the boarders alone for guests ; for these poor working-world peo-
ple had to economize time as well as money, and so it happened

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 525

that while Mrs. Neale and many of Margaret's pupils were at
the church they had to hasten to newly opening school.

But there were some flowers from some of these scholars
that brightened both table and the little parlor, and the pupil
who had accompanied Margaret in her last visit to Gruenwald,
and been annoyed by want of a clock, sent a very pretty one
now to supply that deficiency. And Herr Bensen, who would
have been at table with them were he in the city, had sent
a very attractive, generously-filled work-box. And there were
some piles of cotton articles, the material for which was joint-
ly contributed by the Davison brothers, who were young dry-
goods dealers ; and a rheumatic, eccentric old gentleman, one of
the guests at breakfast and a warm- friend of Margaret's, express-
ed himself in a barometer, many yards of red flannel, and a book
of practical hints for fever-and-ague districts. Mrs. Neale had
insisted on Margaret's acceptance of some valuable clothing in
colors to which she never meant to return.

Mrs. Barbour, who had been constantly aiding Margaret in
little motherly ways, had despoiled herself of some heavy silver
spoons that she once meant to keep while she lived, as well as
some china and a teapot that had been her grandmother's, and
were of greater value to a collector than either of the women
dreamed. However, they were sure to be as highly prized and
cared for from better motives growing out of mutual regards
and obligations, and so became in the giving and receiving very
valuable indeed.

At noon the young couple went away to Gruenwald, Edmond
having been obliged to make two trips with the express-wagon
to get their accumulated treasures safely bestowed on the freight-
car. It was a matter of several days' transportation to convey
them all from the Gruenwald station to the woodland home in
the forest ; but once there, how the interior was made to bloom
with the few needed pieces of furniture !

A sightly table replaced the rude affair banished to the barn
until increasing prosperity should allow a dairy and pans that
would need it. Some chairs, treasures too from the auction-
room, neatly covered by Margaret, stood invitingly here and
there one an arm-chair, the picture of comfort while ample
shelves, built by Edmond during the winter, shone and smiled
with bright tin and clean crockery. Neat curtains hung beside
the windows, and in a corner a cone-trimmed bracket support-
ed a vase which Margaret promised should never want wild
flowers in their season ; while prettiest of all were the shelves

526 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

of a little bookcase holding Margaret's treasures, and hanging
over it the framed full-length photograph of Edmond.

In the little bed-room the bedstead and a crucifix with its font,
brought from the German home, with a neat curtain to cover
hanging clothes, were all ; but " there shall be a bureau when we
are rich," said Margaret, and contented herself at present with
neatness. And Edmond's rustic adornment was furniture in it-
self.

A week after the marriage Margaret received from her home
friends a check for fifty dollars with apologies for delay, and
with this she paid in full for her land, one-half of which she had
left on mortgage.

At first her time was fully occupied with settling and organ-
izing the housework ; but as the systematized care of things di-
minished labor and the advancing season brought beautiful out-
dooring, Margaret often found herself in the field beside Ed-
mo.nd, rendering him real assistance in light and not unsuitable
duties that often fall to boy or girl on a farm.

Like Beta, too, she was constantly tempted to run to the
woods. . " In the beautiful, green, still wood " she was often sing-
ing from one of Edmond's compositions " Im schonen, griinen,
stillen Wald " which dawned upon his fancy first one holiday in
a Suabian forest. Even apart from the high summer of love in
life that made all charming now, Margaret's enthusiastic love of
nature would have brought her satisfaction. She had thought
her former delight in these woods the result in part of contrast,
and from the rest and change of city life ; but now they were her
daily living, and she found that she never tired. So she would
sit, when at liberty, singing under the shade of mighty trees, or
where less closely woven boughs let golden sunlight stream in
broken splendor on varied undergrowth, vine tangles, or fern-
beds. There were moments when the perfect silence was sub-
lime and no sound could have fallen from her lips.

" It was as if all the world were praying," she said once,
" and most of it was praise."

Thanksgiving formed a large part of her own praying. In
other moods and moments, when the movement of some harm-
less, unscared animal stirred the leaves beside her, or the faint
hum of insects in warm days or the song of dwellers overhead
unchecked her own musical fountains, her voice would fill its
own space in her dear " beautiful, green, still wood." These
happy, happy days, when life was golden summer, every real
need supplied, and some luxurious wants ministered to, and,

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 527

filled with resolution and with hope, no special dark anticipation
could be pictured !

" I always knew how well I loved you," said Edmond one
day, " but I never dared dream how well you could love me,"
was his tribute to some revelation of her deep feeling now, so
perfect had been her repression before marriage.

Happy the husband, thrice happy the wife, whose harvests
grow with time in such wise, and whose perfect innocence in
youth merits the experience denied all others !

One late October day, the crops gathered in and having a little
leisure, they made festival, and in a day's excursion visited the
nearest of the three ravines, towards which Margaret's eyes had
often turned with longing, the other two being unapproachable
even by foot-path. To this, however, there was such access, and
there they spent a glorious day, their first full holiday. An early
frost had started the first blaze of autumn glory and arrayed its
gorgeous contrast on sombre backgrounds of russet and ever-
green. The summit of some high rocks was hollowed into the
semblance of a seat, to cushion which with mosses and autumn
leaves, and enthrone Margaret thereon, was Edmond's care, and
an overhanging vine was drawn down for a canopy. Under this
graceful shelter they wove the woof of a hundred lives into the
warp of one, fancying themselves in every delicious existence of
which either was capable of dreaming; but the old imaginations
were so tame that they were soon abandoned, as, looking to-
ward the sheltering rocks of their distant home, they each con-
fessed that present living in that dear spot made the other de-
vices pale and lifeless.

" I am glad that we are going home," said Margaret, as the
lengthening shadows marked the time, "yet the day has been
beautiful." And truly it had been one in which, as Edmond de-
clared, " the soul and the senses might revel together."

However hard the field-work by day, now that Edmond was
sustained by well-prepared food and in greater variety, and so
cheered and comforted by his happy home, he was rarely too
tired to play for a while on the dear violin, and the house rang
nightly to its tones. It seemed a living thing, a part of them-
selves.

" We called it our dear child," said Margaret, " until one
came, for it was of ourselves and spoke to us. Truly it was a
happy, happy year."

There had been some little acquaintance between Margaret
and the Gruenwald folk at the settlement near the station, but it

528 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

had bsen chiefly in kindnesses shown by her to the sick. Soon
after their marriage our friends had thought best to accept an
invitation to one of the merry-makings held in simplest fashion
among these settlers, Edmond, as usual when present, contribut-
ing the music. The dancing was occasionally varied by games,
not unlike those once in vogue in rural districts of New Eng-
land, into which promiscuous kissing entered.

Margaret, having grown up in a city, had never seen anything
of this kind except among children, far less joined in such. A
rough fellow named Schopfer, rather tolerated even in this
limited society than sought, half stupid with beer, pretended to
think that Margaret was playing, and, " seeing his chance," em-
braced and would have kissed her. But this was hindered by
the prompt, almost involuntary, action of Margaret, who, feeling
quite as attacked as she would have done in wood or field, drew
her well-shaped hand smartly across the fellow's face and left a
stinging blow. Then, feeling her rising color and tears, she went
out at the nearest door, quickly followed by Edmond, who had
not seen the action, but who heard what had happened in a con-
fused report of several voices. His nature would have allowed
little time for thought, and he was turning to seek Schopfer when
Margaret detained him. " Stay a moment," said she ; " I will go
with you and speak for myself."

They returned to the house, where the people were gathered
in a group, discussing the matter still. One of the women turned
to Margaret, saying in eager explanation : " You are not to
mind; it is only a custom," while a man remarked, "Schopfer
shouldn't have done it," and a second woman pronounced
Schopfer to be " a brute any way, and he was drunk then."
One voice remarked, " Brenner has brought us a fine lady like
Frau Von, the doctor's wife," which reached the ears for which
it was really intended, but most of the crowd said : " Shame on
Schopfer ! The frau was not playing."

At first tremulously, with gathered firmness as she continued,
Margaret spoke : " My friends, I am very sorry that anything so
unfortunate should have marred this pleasant occasion, which I
know was in part meant as a welcome to me. For my own ac-
tion I can only say that I did not understand your custom and
was frightened as if I were on the road ; nor do I like it now. It
always seemed to me that a woman's lips were sacred to the
kisses of her family or her husband ; her form no other should
touch ; and if I thought this growing up a Protestant maiden,
a hundred-fold do I think it as a Catholic woman. Nor can

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 529

' playing ' make it different. Still, if it is your ' custom ' and
you like it, I have nothing to say of that."

Here one of the women said, " We do not all like it," and an-
other, " It's a disgrace," but a third whispered " jealous," which
silenced both. Margaret resumed :

" I have come among you in a spirit of true friendliness, to
be one of yourselves, to be a good neighbor, as far as may be, in
trouble or in sickness, to live your life, and in no way set my-
self above you ; but that does not require me to submit to an ac-
tion that is to me wrong and indecent, and I know now that you
will never expect it of me. But having said this, you will no
longer misjudge me, and Schopfer, I am sure, is already so sorry
for the pain he has caused me that there need not be another
word spoken between us. Let us all be friends, but courteous,
respectful friends, as well as kindly ones." And turning in a
very graceful manner to Schopfer, she held out the hand that had
given him his lesson a little rosier, perhaps, for that which the
fellow, pushed on by his wife, had the sense to take and stammer
out what served as an apology.

Then, discreetly renewing the dancing, no more ring-plays
were introduced during the evening. Tacitly abandoned when-
ever Margaret was present, these games fell into disuse, and the
festivities improved in tone, as Margaret, feeling the severity of
the lesson she had given, considered herself doubly bound to in-
troduce and sustain more refined pleasures among them.

This became easier as with passing time Margaret's word
was nobly fulfilled among them. Schopfer's own child, hurt by
the felling of a tree, was one of the first to receive Margaret's
.ministrations as nurse, to its great benefit and its parents' full
gratitude. But her best work was on Sundays.

Longing eagerly as she did for the religious privileges so
irregularly administered here, she did her best to foster the re-
ligious feeling of the community. Sometimes, drawing children
about her, she would ask them questions out of the catechism,
coaxing one or two of them to learn the answers for her for an-
other Sunday's meeting ; then, finding out which women were most
faithful, she would modestly urge their working at home with
their children and bringing them to her for farther instruction
when they met on Sunday. By a skilful concealment of her own
part, and allowing it to appear as the work of others, she won
over some of the most influential people, both men and women,
to come together with regularity, and gradually several classes
were formed by taking the best instructed and watching their
VOL. xxxvi. 34

530 OUT OF THE WEST. [Jan.,

teaching of the little ones and most ignorant. So that when
the priest came around at the next Easter following Marga-
ret's arrival he found a number of well-prepared children, to
whom he promised means of a journey soon to a town where
they received confirmation.

Before the close of her first year of marriage all Margaret's
labors were increased in difficulty of execution by the birth of
the first child, a fine little fellow, very like Edmond, except his
eyes, which were the dark ones of his mother instead of the Ger-
man blue ones. Now more than ever was Beta of some real
service, devoting herself so fully to the care of the baby that lit-
tle else could be expected of her, and evidently ..finding a labor
that pleased her.

At the end of a second year a little daughter increased the
family group, who promised to be a great beauty some day, and
not quite two years later another boy was born. This harvest
of children, which brought great happiness with them, was the
best harvest that could be shown at the woodland home, at least
for the last two years, for during those the crops had been but
average, and one year before decidedly poor. So far from add-
ing to the deposits in the bank, Edmond had been obliged to
draw out twenty-five dollars.

The fifth year was one of great prosperity, weather favoring
all operations, and the yield abundant even to careless farmers.
To Edmond's skill there was ample response, and in restoring
the money drawn out in the spring he would have doubled it
but for expenses contingent on Margaret's rather long sickness
after her fourth confinement, and Beta's sickness and burial.

It would have been a trying convalescence for Margaret but
for the timely visit and aid of Mrs. Barbour, who found a new
existence opened to her in the interest inspired by the family of
children. She stayed three weeks at the crisis, and tided over a
hard moment of domestic trial, under the old plea of resting.

Dr. Klein was another faithful friend. These years of ac-
quaintance only drew the three into a closer circle of mutual en-
joyment, narrowed by the impossibility of extending it to those
of less intelligence. It was through the doctor now that the pair
kept up their knowledge of an outer world. From him came
the news of the day, political, social, and especially scientific.
Every discovery, from the latest development of the solar spec-
trum to the newest researches in polar regions, were carried as
precious treasures to be shared with his friends, at whose hearth-
stone he had become a third inmate nearly. Poor Madame Von

1883.] THE SPHINX. 531

would as soon have entered upon the study of Arabic as the con-
templation of themes that delighted Edmond and Margaret and
kept the little dwelling an intelligent centre, and life was to her
a series of memories and the nursing of small ailments of her
own.

The first boy, now a sturdy little fellow running about the
fields beside his father, had been named Franz, for his grandfa-
ther across the sea and with loving thoughts on the part of Mar-
garet of her brother Francis. The little girl was Elisa, for Ed-
mond's mother and sister he had tried to have it Margaret in
vain. The next boy was a junior Edmond, and when the next
proved a son also his parents had but a single thought for his
name Waldemar Klein. " Now," said the honored doctor, " I
am no longer childless."

TO BE CONTINUED.

THE SPHINX.

"LE REPOS EN EGYPTE."

ALL day I watch the stretch of burning sand,
All night I brood beneath the golden stars ;

Amid the silence of a desolate land

No touch of bitterness my reverie mars.

Built by the proudest of a kingly line,
Over my head the centuries fly fast :

The secrets of the mighty dead are mine,
I hold the key of a forgotten past.

Yet ever hushed into a rapturous dream

I see again that night a halo mild
Shone from the liquid moon ; beneath her beam

Travelled a tired young Mother and her Child.

Within my arms she slumbered, and alone

I watched the Infant. At my feet her guide
Lay stretched o'er- wearied ; on my breast of stone
Rested the Crucified.

532 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE.

PART IV.

SCENE: Exeter Hall, London. TIME : 18 .
PERSONS REPRESENTED.

AMERICAN DELEGATES. ENGLISH DELEGATES.

Rev. Bishop Latitude, Methodist Rev. Dr. Chosen, Presbyterian.

Episcopal. Rev. Dr. Sophical, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Topheavy, Baptist. Rev. Dr. Ballast, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Flurry, Presbyterian. Rev. Dr. Whistle, Independent.

Rev. Dr. Liberal, Congregationalist. Rev. Washington Dipwell, Baptist.

Rev. Dr. Bounce, Lutheran. Rev. Luther Knockpope, Wesleyan.

Rev. Dr. Jocund, Methodist Episco- Rev. Amen Hallelujah, Primitive

pal. Methodist.

Prof. Augustus Synonym, having Prof. Jeremy Ratio, holding the

the chair of Lost Arts and Occult chair of Algebraic Inequalities,

Sciences, College. etc., etc., University.

Together with a large, enthusiastic, and somewhat demonstrative audience.

PROF. SYNONYM said that sturdy Protestant, Mr. Knockpope,
had, as Conference would remember, objected to the introduction
of "Latinized phrases" in argument. He (the speaker) would
not be the apologist of the Church of Rome with respect to her
use in her services of a tongue generally unknown to the laity,
although in so doing she but followed the example of the Jewish
Church, the mode of conducting whose services was explicitly
laid down by God himself. And, indeed, in the ancient Jewish
services and the Roman Mass the reason was identically the
same why it was not necessary for the vulgar tongue to be
used namely, that the act of worship was sacrificial and per-
formed by the priest in behalf of the people. The act of worship
was, however, assisted in by the people by their devout contem-
plation of the proceedings at the altar. The Romish Church
had the advantage over the Jewish in that in the Mass the peo-
ple saw, and heard the voice of, the officiating priest or celebrant,
and by practice (and many, indeed, by a knowledge of the Latin)
.fully knew what was done and said ; while in many of the Jewish
services the people neither saw nor heard the priest, and were,
naturally enough, unconscious of what was done and said in their

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 533

behalf. It, however, fell, somewhat within his province to show
that as a philological expedient the retention by the Romish
Church of the Latin tongue in her services was justifiable. The
fact was well recognized among scholars, continued the learned
professor, that words, the " signa audibilia" had existed before
sound-signs, the " verba audibilia" Warburton had shown that
writing originated in pictures. Hence as ideas had changed
the symbols of those ideas had changed with them, which was
the ultimate cause of the idiosyncrasies observable in all living
languages. Richardson, in section ii. of the preface to his Eng-
lish Dictionary, while viewing the changes to which all national
languages are subject, had declared : " The lexicographer can
never assure himself that he has attained the meaning of a word
until he has discovered the thing, the sensible object res qua
nostros sensus feriunt the sensation caused by that thing or object
of which that word is the name." That learned author had di-
vided the meaning of words into the literal, metaphorical, and
consequential senses, and had actually made the almost inappre-
ciable distinction of the metaphorical application of the literal
meaning. (Laughter.) In view of the evident appreciativeness
of Conference he would quote at greater length from the pre-
face to the standard work named : " While investigating, then,
the meaning and consequent usage or application of words,"
continued the professor, referring to the said authority, " I have
considered it a duty incumbent upon the lexicographer to direct
his view (i) to the etymology and literal meaning ; (2) to the
metaphorical application of this meaning to the mind ; (3) to
the application consequent or inferred from what is metapho-
rical." (Renewed laughter.) He would propose to Conference
some words of the ancient vernacular, and leave it to them to
apply the rules laid down by the learned Richardson in their in-
terpretation. Conference would perhaps be astonished to hear
that St. Peter and another disciple were stated to have brought
suit against their divine Master. Yet so it to-day stood written.
(Sensation.)

REV. WESLEY LOVEFEAST demanded to know where.

PROF. SYNONYM (smiling complacently). " In the Bible."
(Immense stir.) He would also show from the same authority
that Christ was upon another occasion threatened with a suit.
(Loud calls to order.) He begged time to explain. He referred
to Wickliffe's Bible, in which was found the following : " But
Symound Petir suede Jhesus and another disciple "; * as also :

*Wick., Jon c. xviii.

534 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

" And a scribe neighede and said to hin>, Maistir, 1 shall sue thee
whider ever thou schalt go." *

A marked change, the professor said, was here seen to have
taken place in the mode of conveying the idea to follow ; a
change which would be succeeded by others as long as the signa
audibilia words were dependent on the vagaries of human will
in choosing its vehicles of expression. Perhaps twenty per cent,
of all words r in the vernacular either carried with them, at the
expiration of each second or third century, new meanings or be-
came totally unmeaning or obsolete. No one could tell to what
age God had decreed that the church should descend. The
world was as yet but six thousand years old ; still, all traces of
the primary language of the race had disappeared. The exist- '
ence of the Hebrew tongue, in which the Jews yet read and sang
their services, had alone preserved a knowledge of revealed
truth. Hence the Church of Rome preserved its doctrines in a
tongue not exposed to the transformations experienced by all vul-
gar languages. Other extracts from Wickliffe would strengthen
the conviction which seemed to be forced on the impartial mind
of the wisdom of this precaution. Thus the familiar object
which was now known as a rock was in that early translator's
day designated by a term both singular and amusing, as the fol-
lowing would show : j

" And whanne gret flood was maad, the flood Was hulid to that house,
and it myghte not move it, for it was foundid on a sad stoon." t

The same term " sad," which was then the equivalent of fixed
or sure, was used in the following verse :

' But the sad foundament of god stondith, hauynge this mark, the lord
knoweth which ben hise." \

Other extracts might be given equally calculated to create aston-
ishment at the changes observable in the English language with-
in a few centuries. Thus :

"Ye generacioun of eddris : how moun ye speke good thingis whanne
ye ben yvele ? for the mouth spekith of the plentee of the herte " ;

and :

"No man sigh euere god, no but the oon bigetun Sone, that is in the
bosum of the fadir, he hath teeld out." ;

* Wick., Matt. c. viii. \ ibid. Luk c. vi. \ Ibid. Luk c. vi.,

Ibid. Matt. c. xii. | Ibid.j

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 535

Some words in the same translation were now well-nigh, if not
wholly, obsolete, as in

"And sche bare a knaue [knave] child that was to reulynge all folkis
in an yrun gherde " ; * and " Which man hadde hous in birielis and neither
with cheynes how myghte ony mon bynde hym. For ofte tymes he was
bounden in stockis and cheynes and hadde broke the stockis to small
gobetis." t (Laughter.)

DR. BALLAST thought this subject had been sufficiently ven-
tilated.

DR. BOUNCE inquired what bearing all this had upon church
unity.

DR. BALLAST renewed his protest. These digressions were
not only unprofitable but perplexing. He thought Conference
was getting out of gear. He appealed to the chair to restrain
this disposition to discuss all subjects save that before the
house.

DR. CHOSEN seconded what was said. It seemed absurd that
so simple a question as that ostensibly under debate should af-
ford an opportunity to each gentleman to air his specialty before
Conference.

THE CHAIR said if Dr. Chosen took exception to the minutes
he must move a distinct resolution.

DR. CHOSEN thought the chair did not fully understand his
remark.

THE CHAIR replied that he did.

DR. CHOSEN said all he wanted to know was what liberality
of discussion was considered pertinent to the issue.

THE CHAIR regarded this as equivalent to moving a vote of
censure, and thought enough had been said.

DR. CHOSEN said he would move that a committee be ap-
pointed to examine the minutes, and that all therein in the judg-
ment of said committee impertinent to the issue be expunged.

THE CHAIR said the motion was not in order and would not
be entertained.

DR. LIBERAL, with an air of wonder, asked, Did the gentleman
(Dr. Chosen) aim to circumscribe debate?

THE CHAIR conceived it to be his duty to discourage any
such attempt. (Cheers.)

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL pointed out that, with respect
to the rule of faith, the confusion extended beyond the questions
of canonicity, interpretation, diversity of meaning consequent

* Wick., Apocalips, c. xii. f Ibid.

536 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

upon structural changes in language, and of obsoletism. Learn-
ed Protestants had gravely questioned the intrinsic value of the
present authorized translation. That eminently orthodox publi-
cation, the EdinburgJi Review, in an article on the revision of
the English Bible, speaking of the heretical doctrines of Dr.
Colenso, had said :

*' Those who constantly charge Bishop Colenso with being led astray
by the English version ought surely to be forward in placing a more cor-
rect and trustworthy translation in the hands of those to whom the ' Peo-
ple's Edition ' of his destructive work now becomes so easily accessible." *

And again :

" Upon Dr. Wordsworth's t showing the Apocalypse at any rate ought
to be retranslated, if there were any real desire on the part of the authori-
ties of the Church of England to place every inspired Scripture in a satis-
factory translation in the hands of the laity. Indeed, Dr. Wordsworth's
admission as to the present authorized version of the Apocalypse amounts,
to all intents and purposes, to a distinct confession that in its present con-
dition it is not Scripture." \

The same Review had said :

" It is manifest that if a royal commission were to be set on foot for a
revision of the authorized version of the Scriptures its attention would
have to be directed to two principal points (i) the settlement of the text
with which the existing version should be compared, and (2) the altera-
tions to be made in the translation itself from grammatical and exegetical
considerations."

And further :

" Dean Alford, in Dr. Guthrie's Sunday Magazine, writes: 'A formidable
list of passages might be given in which our version has confessedly mis-:
rendered the original or has followed a form of ^the original text now well
known not to have been the original form. . . . As matters now stand we
are printing for reading in the churches, we are sending forth into the
cottages and mansions, books containing passages and phrases which pre-
tend to be the Word of God and are not." ||

Bishop Ellicott*!" had declared:

" Believing the Bible to be a special, direct, and inspired revelation from
God, we have yet not used the means now at hand of ascertaining the
exact language in which that revelation is vouchsafed."

The Edinburgh Review was even more emphatic :

* Edinburgh Review, No. 249, July, 1865. t Archdeacon and Canon of Westminster.

\ Edinburgh Review, No. 249, July, 1865. Ibid. [ Ibid. If Aids to Faith, p. 422

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 537

" It is difficult to imagine a stranger case of retailing the Word with
petty adulterations * than that exhibited by the upholders of the present
authorized version." t (Sensation.)

REV. WESLEY LOVEFEAST rose to order. He wanted to
know if this did not transcend the proper limit of debate.

THE CHAIR, while doubting their policy, could not question
the admissibility of the expressions used.

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL, with reference to the chair's
censure, begged to suggest that if Protestants could repudiate
the power by which the canon of Scripture was decided, they
certainly were at liberty to dissent from the philological and exe-
getical findings of a royal commission of translators.

REV. AMEN HALLELUJAH, after announcing that his curricu-
lum had embraced but English grammar and " Church Disci-
pline," wished to know where he and the large class whom he
represented stood, when, not only left in doubt regarding the
extent of the canon, the rule of interpretation, and the meaning
of such English words as " birielis " and " gobetis" (laughter),
they were also assured that the translation on which, in their
ignorance of Hebrew, Greek, and Sanscrit (laughter), they had
been accustomed to rely as infallible, was a bungle ?

THE' CHAIR replied that the right of private judgment, which
was the platform upon which all Protestants, learned and un-
learned, must stand, was the only authority to which the brother
could be referred in the emergency named by him.

DR. JOCUND observed that by this rule men, just in propor-
tion as they were learned, shallow, or ignorant, were likely to
become high, broad, or heretical. (Laughter.)

DR. BOUNCE inquired whether the late revised edition did
not clear up many of the misconstructions which had been cited.

REV. AMEN HALLELUJAH thought not. He objected to the
revised version for several reasons, one of which was that he
could not preach from it in view of the absence of the verses
which heretofore he had used as texts. His chief objection to it,
however, was because of the deliberate effort on the part of the
translators to harmonize it with the Douay, or authorized Rom-
ish, translation. So far as his examination of it had gone, he had
found that very many of the hitherto disputed readings had
been conceded to the Catholics. He deemed it a dangerous
book to be placed in the hands of the laity.

BISHOP LATITUDE (Dr. Jocund in the chair) desired to speak

* Compare 2 Cor. xi 17. f Edtn. Review, No. 249, July, 1865.

538 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

briefly in support of the Topheavian theory to recall Conference
once more to that admirable compendium of theology. (Hear,
hear.) The fact that the practices of the church which was ad-
mittedly a unit had fallen into desuetude had prepared him to
find that its ecclesiastical polity had also been abandoned. He
had good authority in his own church for entertaining this view.
The great founder of Methodism had seemed to understand that
so much of the Evangelical Church as he had established, in
part apology for its unscriptural unity, should set up a novelty
in episcopal ordination. John -Wesley had stood for many years
against the solicitation of his lay preachers in England, who had
desired him to ordain them. At length Thomas Coke, a pres-
byter of the Church of England, but then in America, under
date of August 9, 1784, had written a letter to Mr. Wesley at
Bristol, the opening sentence of which was as follows : " The
more maturely I consider the subject the more expedient it ap-
pears to me that the power of ordaining others should be receiv-
ed by me from you by the imposition of your hands." This
letter had had the desired effect ; and Mr. Wesley, after having
in a private chamber and in secrecy, contrary to primitive and
modern usage, first ordained two laymen, Messrs. Whatcoat and
Vasey, deacons, and then elders immediately, they at once assist-
ed Mr. Wesley in ordaining Dr. Coke bishop. Dr. Whitehead
who, by the way, was selected to deliver the funeral oration over
Mr. Wesley's remains in his Life of Wesley * had said :

" Mr. Wesley's episcopal authority was a mere gratuitous assumption
of power to himself, contrary to the usage of every church, ancient or
modern, where the order of bishops has been admitted. There is no pre-
cedent either in the New Testament or in church history that can justify
his proceedings in this affair. And as Wesley had received no right to ex-
ercise episcopal authority either from any bishops, presbyters, or people
he certainly could not convey any right to others ; his ordinations are
therefore spurious and of no validity." t

When this, continued the speaker, became known to the Con-
ference, one of that body exclaimed :

"Ordination among Methodists! Amazing indeed! . . . And so we
have a Methodist parson of our own ! and a new mode of ordination, to be
sure, on the Presbyterian plan ! . . . Who is the father of this monster, so

* Whitehead's Life of Wesley. John Whitehead, M.D., author of the discourse delivered at
Mr. Wesley's funeral. Boston : Hill & Brodhead. 1846.

t Ibid. " No doubt the three gentlemen ( Whatcoat, Vasey, and Coke) were highly grati-
fied with their new titles, as we often see both young and old children gratified with gilded toys
though clumsily made and of no real worth or valuable use except to quiet the cries of those for
whom they are prepared " (ibid.)

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 539

long dreaded by the father of his people and by most of his sons ? Who-
ever he be, time will prove him a felon to Methodism and discover his
assassinating knife sticking fast in the vitals of its body. This has been
my steadfast opinion for years past, and years to come will speak in
groans the opprobrious anniversary of our religious madness for gowns
and bands." *

REV. AMEN HALLELUJAH rose to a point of order.

THE CHAIR (Dr. Jocund) requested the gentleman to state
his point of order.

REV. AMEN HALLELUJAH said his objections were general.
Like the reverend bishop's speech, they had no point. (Laugh-
ter.)

THE CHAIR said that, though 'the bishop was in order, ac-
cording to the bishop's showing the Methodist Church was
egregiously out of order. (Laughter.) Perhaps this was the
point Brother Hallelujah had in view. If so, the Chair saw it,
and thought it a good one and too prominent to be comfortably
sat down on. (Laughter.)

BISHOP LATITUDE, resuming, said another preacher, writing
to a friend, had exclaimed :

" I wish they had been asleep when they began this business of ordina-
tion ; it is neither Episcopal nor Presbyterian, but a mere hodge-podge of
inconsistencies."

The Rev. Charles Wesley, writing to Dr. Chandler in 1785, had
said:

" I can scarcely yet believe it, that in his eighty-second year my
brother, my old intimate friend and companion, should have assumed
the episcopal character, ordained elders, consecrated a bishop, and sent
him over to ordain our lay preachers in America ! . . . He has renounced
the principles and practice of his whole life, acted contrary to all his decla-
rations, protestations, and writings, robbed his friends of their boastings,
realized the Nag's Head ordination, and left an indelible blot on his name as
long as it shall be remembered."

To his brother John he had written :

" Before you have quite broken down the bridge stop and consider ! . . .
Go to your grave in peace ; at least suffer me to go first before this ruin be
under your hand. ... I am on the brink of the grave ; do not push me in
or embitter my last moments. Let us not leave an indelible blot upon our
memory, but let us leave behind us the name and character of honest
men." t

Mr. Wesley's intention might or might not have been to

*Ibid. -Hbid.

540 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

make Dr. Coke a bishop. Coke declared that it was. The
Discipline on this head asserted that Mr. Wesley preferred
the episcopal mode of church government to any other, and
solemnly set Thomas Coke apart for the episcopal office and
delivered to him "letters of episcopal orders," commissioning
him to ordain Francis Asbury to the same "episcopal office."
And, as the Discipline went on to say :

"The General Conference held at Baltimore did unanimously receive
the said Thomas Coke and Francis Asbury as their bishops, being fully
satisfied of the validity of their episcopal ordination." *

The letter addressed by Mr. Wesley to the brethren in North
America, from Bristol, under date September 10, 1784, had,
however, expressed his intention in these words : " I have ac-
cordingly appointed Dr. Coke and Mr. Francis Asbury joint
SUPERINTENDENTS over our brethren in North America."
The letters of " episcopal orders " said to have been given to
Dr. Coke were never exhibited by him ; and as to Mr. Asbury 's
ordination, he had expressly stated : " I was ordained a superin-
tendent, as my parchments will show." Indeed, it should not be
forgotten that when Mr. Wesley heard of the assumption of the
new title by Dr. Coke, and also, very inconsistently, by Mr.
Asbury, he wrote to the latter :

" How can you, how dare you, suffer yourself to be called a bishop ?
I shudder, I start at the very thought. Men may call me a knave or a
fool, and I am content, but they shall never, by my consent, call me a
bishop. For my sake, for God's sake, put a full end to this."t

DR. SOPHICAL inquired, why was this transaction alluded to?
Did the reverend bishop question the validity of his own ordi-
nation ?

BISHOP LATITUDE said he did not ; though if he did he
should do so in good company. Coke himself had doubted the
validity of the ordination received by him at the hands of Mr.
Wesley ; for he had upon a subsequent occasion urged Bishop
White, of the Protestant Episcopal Church, to ordain preachers
whom he (Coke) had ordained. This he had done in a letter
written at Richmond under date April 24, 1791, in which he had
said : " I don't think the generality of them " (the ordained min-
isters) " would refuse to submit to a reordination." And in a
letter previously written to the Bishop of London from Manches-

* Doctrines and Discipline of the MetJwdist Episcopal Church, chap. i. T 2.
t Letters on the Organization and Early History of the Methodist Episcopal Church. Rev.
Alex. McCaine. Boston : T. F. Norris. 1850.

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 541

ter, March 29, 1790, he had said : " I am inclined to think that if a
given number of our leading preachers, proposed by our Gene-
ral Conference, were to be ordained and permitted to travel
through our connection to administer the Sacrament to those so-
cieties who have been prejudiced as above, every difficulty would
be removed." * If further proof were needed of Dr. Coke's dis-
satisfaction with his ordination by Mr. Wesley, it could be found
in Dr. Coke's letters to the Earl of Liverpool and William Wil
berforce that to the latter having been written in 1813 solicit-
ing their influence towards his consecration to the episcopacy for
work in India.

DR. SOPHICAL renewed his objections. What edification, he
asked, was to be derived from a narration of these facts?

BISHOP LATITUDE said the facts implied that the father of
Methodism had anticipated Dr. Topheavy in his theory. He
had seen that as a Scriptural unity was not found in the church,
the Scriptural rite of episcopal ordination should be discontin
ued. Coke's distrust of his ordination had shown his apprecia-
tion of the novelty practised by Mr. Wesley.

DR. BALLAST called for light. Mr. Wesley, in his letter to
Dr. Coke, Mr. Asbury, and the brethren in North America, had
said : " Lord King's account of the primitive church convinced
me that bishops and presbyters are the same order, and conse-
quently have the same right to ordain, "f How was this to be
reconciled with his other letter, in which he, a presbyter of the
Church of England, had said in substance : " Men may call me a
knave or a fool, and I am content, but they shall never, by my
consent, call me a bishop " ? He (the speaker) assumed that
Bishop Latitude was prepared to prove that Mr. Wesley was
wrong, and that the offices of bishop and presbyter were distinct,
such being now the view held by the bishop's church.

BISHOP LATITUDE said it would be unbecoming in him to
essay to prove Mr. Wesley in the wrong. He would content
himself by showing that his own view, which was radically dif-
ferent from that of Mr. Wesley, was right. Bingham (to refer
once more to that author) had said the order of bishops was set-
tled before the canon of Scripture was concluded,:}: and had
quoted Origen to show the primitive distinction between bishop
and presbyter.

" Origen," Bingham had asserted, " takes notice of the distinction above
ten times in his works, which those that please may read at large in Bishop

* Ibid. t Ibid. \ Bingham, Antiy., book ii. c. i. 3.

542 THE COMED Y OF 'CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

Pearson. I shall only recite two passages, one out of his homilies upon
St. Luke, written while he was a layman, where he says that ' digamy ex-
cludes men from all ecclesiastical dignities, for one that is twice married
can neither be made bishop, presbyter, nor deacon.' " *

The reverend bishop, continuing, appealed to Ignatius.f who
had said :

" Do all things in unity under the bishop presiding in the place of God,
and the presbyters in the place of the apostolic senate, and the deacons, to
whom is committed, the unity and service of Christ " ;J

and to Clement, who had written :

" There are here in the church the different degrees of bishops, pres-
byters, and deacons, in imitation of the angelical glory." |

DR. SOPHICAL again pronounced this whole digression unpro-
fitable to the last extent. Let Conference at once grapple with
the difficulties before it.

DR. LIBERAL favored the widest discussion. (Cheers.) His
views, generally comprehensive, had been much expanded by
what he had heard. (Hear, hear.)

DR. WHISTLE inquired of any Methodist brother present
whether it were true that the Methodist class bore some resem-
blance to the Romish confessional.

[(Several Methodist delegates arose to reply, among them the Rev.
Amen Hallelujah, who, having been recognized by the chair, repelled with
some warmth the idea suggested by Dr. Whistle.)

THE CHAIR (Bishop Latitude) pointed out that a material
difference existed between the two institutions. In the Roman
confessional the penitent confessed his s.ins and was absolved
by the priest ; in class the member appeared as one of a com-
pany of men having the form of godliness.^f Indeed, said the
bishop, such veniality as the " using many words in buying and
selling "** or " the putting on gold and costly apparel " was a
mark of unfitness for the class.

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE thought some analogy was ob-
servable between them. For instance, said he, the following,
taken from the Discipline, looked much like confession in the
class : " If there be any among us who observes them not " (that
was to say, the rules of the class, two of which had been stated
by the reverend bishop), " who habitually breaks any of them,
let it be known unto them who watch over that soul as they who

* Bingham, ibid. f First century. Jlgnat., Epist, ad Magnesians, n. iv. p. 44.

Second century. | Bing., Antiq., book ii. c. i. 2. \ Discipline, If 29. ** Ibid. If 32.

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 543

must give an account." * This, he contended, taught personal
confession by the transgressor, or established an unchristian
espionage, which he was sure the reverend bishop would at once
repudiate. Besides, among the duties of the leader were those
of advising, reproving, comforting, or exhorting, as occasion
required.f This analogy to the Roman system had, in fact,
deterred him in early life from becoming a Methodist. (Laugh-
ter.)

DR. BOUNCE seconded the views of the last speaker. In a
little work written by the present primate of the Catholic
Church in the United States the following words occurred :

"'In sermons, to use a military phrase, the fire is at random, but in
confession it is a dead shot. The words of the priest go home to the heart
of the penitent. In a public discourse the priest addresses all in general,
and his words of admonition may be applicable to very few of his hearers.
But his words spoken in the confessional are directed exclusively to the
penitent whose heart is open to receive the word of God." J

The object of the class was stated in the Discipline to be " to
establish a system of pastoral oversight that shall effectively
reach every member of the church." The objects of the two
institutions were, therefore, seen to approximate. In the Catho-
lic work referred to it was stated : " The confessor exhorts the
penitent according to his spiritual wants," while the Discipline
said : " Let each leader be careful to inquire how every soul of
his charge prospers." 1 He (the speaker) understood it was
usual with Catholics, before going to confession, to make an
examen of conscience, to aid which forms of examination were
provided in their books of devotion. He fortunately had with
him such a book. (It was here noticed that the face of the Rev.
Luther Knockpope assumed an expression of despair.) This
book, he had ascertained, was a favorite help to devotion with
English and American Catholics. In it he had found " an ex-
amination of conscience for those who confess their sins regu-
larly and frequently according to the threefold duty we owe to
God, our neighbor, and ourselves," T which, while much fuller
and decidedly more Scriptural, was similar to a form of examina-
tion of conscience prescribed in the Discipline, under the head of
" Duty of Preachers," as a prudential means of grace.** These
prudential means of grace, it was expressly stated, could be used
by persons, either as Christians, Methodists, or preachers ; and

* Ibid. If 35. t Ibid. H 30, i. \Faith of our Fathers, Archbishop Gibbons.

Discipline, If 56, i. || Ibid. 1 57, 2. H Vade Mecum. ** Discipline, If 120.

544 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

he supposed the form of examination alluded to was applicable
also to the purposes of the class. True, it might be said an es-
sential difference existed between the confessional and the class
in respect to the nature of the subject-matter divulged to the
priest and leader respectively, the former hearing nothing but
confessions of sinf ulness, the latter chiefly professions of holiness.
Yet he was unable to divest his mind of the conviction that if
either institution were Scriptural it was the former, which in
practice seemed to be a following of the injunction, " Confess
your sins one to another" the clergy, including the pope, being
bound equally with the laity to confess and not the latter, which
not only was wanting in Scriptural authority, but in fact seemed
to be rather the converse of what Scripture enjoined.

THE CHAIR inquired if the gentleman was so far misinformed
on the subject of the class as to suppose that the so-called con-
fessions made thereat were auricular?

DR. BOUNCE saw little difference, in principle, between open
and auricular confession. Not having yet possessed the blessing
of full sanctification, a grace to which judging from his eminent
position in his church he presumed the chair had attained, if
he were going to confess he would prefer the auricular to the
open mode. He thought it would be difficult in an assemblage
of both sexes, if all the secrets of human depravity were openly
exposed, to preserve the respectability of the meeting.

THE CHAIR said the gentleman's remarks were not germane
to the subject up for debate. This, he opined, was the" Tophea-
vian theory, in support of which the Chair had referred to
Mr. Wesley's ordination of Dr. Coke as a violation of ancient
usage.

REV. WASHINGTON DIPWELL argued that Roger Williams,
who had founded the Baptist Church in America in 1639, had
disregarded usage with as much freedom as Wesley. Though
it was then, as now, an article of faith in the Baptist denomina-
tion that none were baptized unless immersed, and that none
could baptize except the immersed, yet Williams was immersed
by Holliman, an unbaptized man, who in turn was immersed by
Williams. Strange though it might seem, no Baptist holding the
strict tenets of his church could now accept the baptism of Wil-
liams as valid ; the church by its teachings, of course inapplica-
ble in this case, obviously excluding its revered founder from
the kingdom of heaven. (Laughter.)

DR. LIBERAL showed that Congregational ordination, which
to the New England Puritans was so dear, had not been prac-

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 545

tised during- the last two centuries. A reciprocal laic ordination
had taken place in 1629 between Higginson and Skelton, they in
turn having ordained each other. Thus the first Congregational
church had been instituted. The laical form of ordination had
been since displaced by the clerical ; although it might be said,
with some show of reason, that if the first ordinations were laical
the subsequent ones derived from them must be also, though
termed clerical.

DR. WHISTLE said, could argument have made church unity,
all before this would have been gathered into one fold. To try
the temper of the house he would move to amend by striking
out all after " Resolved," and by substituting "That this Confer-
ence be denominated an (Ecumenical Council of the Church"

(Loud cheering. The motion was seconded by Dr. Chosen, and carried
amid much enthusiasm. The chair's announcement of the success of Dr.
Whistle's measure was received with lively manifestations of approval, and
general congratulations ensued, during which the sitting was suspended.
The house having been called to order )

DR. BALLAST remarked that one thing remained to be done.
A name must be given to the church (cheers) a name expres-
sive of the character imparted to it in debate. He moved a re-
solution to that effect.

(Seconded by Dr. Jocund, who somewhat gratuitously ventured the
opinion that the discussion of the name might involve the reopening of
the debate just happily closed. Loud cries of " No ! " " None of that ! "
" Enough said ! " etc.)

He (Dr. Ballast) would move additionally that delegates be in-
vited to send to the secretary's desk such names as in their wis-
dom might seem appropriate as designations of the church.

(Seconded by Prof. Synonym, and carried. On motion of Dr. Chosen
the session was suspended for thirty minutes, at the expiration of which
time the house was called to order. Many delegates responded to the in-
vitation extended by the chair pursuant to the resolution, and handed slips
to the secretary.)

THE SECRETARY (the Rev. Washington Dipwell) stated that
the papers would be read in the order in which they were hand-
ed in, and proceeded to read as follows :

1. (Submitted by Dr. Chosen.) The Church of the Unques-
tionable Unit. (Cheers.)

2. (Submitted by Rev. A. Hallelujah.) The Church of the
Sacred Variation. (Hear, hear, and laughter.)

3. (Submitted by Prof. Ratio.) The Church of the Blessed
Problem. (Merriment.)

VOL. xxxvi. 35

THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

4. (Submitted by Dr. Ballast.) The Progressive Protestant
Church. (Enthusiasm.)

5. (Submitted by Dr. Whistle.) The Church of the Figurative
Unity. (Renewed merriment.)

6. (Submitted by Dr. Bounce.) The Church of the Hypo-
thetic Connection. (Cheers and laughter.)

7. (Submitted by Rev. L. Knockpope.) The Holy, Unaltered
Protestant Church. (Deafening cheers.)

8. (Submitted by Dr. Jocund.) The Church of the Sanctified
Uncertainty. (Unrestrained mirth.)

DR. BALLAST indignantly moved the suspension of the read-
ing and the tabling of the rest of the names, of which at least
fifty more seemed to be forthcoming.

(The motion was supported by Drs. Chosen, Bounce, and Sophical, but
strenuously opposed by Drs. Liberal and Flurry and Rev. Messrs. Hallelu-
jah and Lovefeast ; the result being the carrying of the measure amid much
confusion.)

DR. CHOSEN moved the appointment of a committee of five to
report a name for the church.

DR. JOCUND moved to substitute eleven. Five he deemed
too small a committee. The .corpse was too heavy for so few
pall-bearers. (Amendment lost ; motion carried.)

THE CHAIR : The committee to be appointed conformably to
the vote of the Conference

DR. CHOSEN : (Ecumenical Council, Mr. Chairman.

THE CHAIR : I owe you one, doctor (Ecumenical Council,
brethren the committee will consist of Drs. Chosen, Whistle,
Ballast, and Topheavy, and the Rev. Wesley Lovefeast.

(The committee having retired, the Rev/ A. Hallelujah and others fa-
vored the Council with " Hold the Earthwork " and other popular revival
airs, during the rendition of the last of which the committee unexpectedly
appeared. They having reported as the result of their labors the name,
"The Holy, Unaltered Church of the New Progressive Connection," it was
moved and seconded that the name be adopted, when the)

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE, with much excitement of manner,
arose and inquired : Was he endowed with ears and yet de-
nied the faculty of hearing ? (Rev. Dr. Jocund, sotto voce, " En-
dowed with ears ! Rather think he is ! ") or was the word PROTES-
TANT omitted ? (Cheers.) Had the committee reported a name
abounding in titles of mere rhetorical precision, yet lacking the
only safeguard of evangelical orthodoxy (hear, hear), the very
essence of denominational unity? (Loud and continued ap-

1883.] THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. 547

plause.) Should papistical treachery be permitted in the ranks ?
Should Jesuitical intrigue be tolerated within the fold ? (Great
excitement ; cries of " Never ! " and calls to order, joined with
shouts of encouragement to proceed.) In a word, should that
mass of iniquity that that

DR. LIBERAL begged the brother to recall

REV. LUTHER KNOCKPOPE declared the echo of his protest
should reverberate till time should be no longer. Let, cried he,
this right hand of Knockpope be charred in the blaze of the fag-
gots, as was Cranmer's, ere it sign your un- Protestant decrees.
With Luther he trampled on their popedom. (Vociferous cheer-
ing.) With Latimer, and Huss, and Ridley, and Hooper he offer-
ed his body a sacrifice of sweet-smelling savor to Protestantism.

(Coughing ; cries of " Put him out ! " " Sit down ! " " No popedom ! "
" Away with priestcraft ! " " Down with the nunneries ! " " Good for
Knockpope ! He's our spokesman," etc. The chair, having been ap-
proached by several delegates, with whom a hurried conversation was
had, brought the gavel down with violence.)

THE CHAIR called for, nay, demanded order. The speaker
must be seated at once. If necessary the Rev. Amen Hallelujah
would serve as sergeant-at-arms.

(Quiet having been in a measure restored )

DR. SOPHICAL moved the previous question. (Lost.)

DR. BOUNCE objected to the term " progressive." It admit-
ted, he urged, of too much license in holy things.

DR. CHOSEN, in a few words, explained that the obnoxious
term was mollified by the preceding term, " unaltered."

DR. WHISTLE disapproved of the expression " unaltered."
Was it, he asked, consistent with the Topheavian theory ?

DR. TOPHEAVY defended this term. The scope of his theory
of mutability was ample to suit the pleasure of Conference, how-
ever directed.

DR. JOCUND liked brevity, which he had always deemed the
soul of a sermon. (Laughter.) The name proposed was too
long. Would not, he asked, one-half of it be sufficiently oecu-
menical ? (Laughter.) His liberality extended to either half.
(Laughter.)

DR. CHOSEN said names of churches equally long appeared
in the office of the registrar-general.*

(Cries of " Question." Rev. Luther Knockpope moved an adjournment.
[Lost.] Renewed calls for the question.)

* See Whitaker's Almanack for 1876, p. 157.

548 THE COMEDY OF CONFERENCE. [Jan.,

THE CHAIR announced that the vote would now be taken on
the name. Was Conference ready for the question ? (" Ques-
tion ! question ! ")

(The vote was then taken, and the name reported by the committee
adopted with but few dissenting votes.)

THE CHAIR inquired if any business remained to be trans-
acted.

DR. CHOSEN moved that the house do now adjourn.

(Seconded by the Rev. Dr. Topheavy and carried.)

THE CHAIR said his closing thoughts could be presented in a
few words. It was with pride he now surveyed and addressed
this Conference

DR. CHOSEN : CEcumenical Council, brother.
THE CHAIR : This Council feeling that the church had regain-
ed her sovereign sway over the gates of hell. He had faith that
since the decree of Conference or rather Council they could
no more prevail against it. (Great applause.) With pride (re-
peated the chair) he now surveyed the features of those who,
before rancorous in zeal for sectarian distinctiveness, now re-
posed as infants on the bosom of their newly-found spiritual mo-
ther. (Loud cheering.) A church had been gathered together ;
a name had been given to it ; a vexed question in theology three
hundred years old had been settled. The name,J>erse, was an
ample groundwork for unity. In it was embodied a soothing
element which would quell that tide of religious misconception
which had arisen since evangelicalism had separated from eccle-
siastical restraint. The authority of the church had been sub-
ordinated to a liberty of opinion. (Hear, hear.) This had been
accomplished by the use of the term " progressive." (Cheers.)
On the other hand, a tendency to unhealthy development had
been checked by the enlistment of the opposite term, " unalter-
ed." The church had been denned, and admitted of no future de-
finition. This could not be said as truthfully of the name itself.
The labors of Conference had begun in the objective and had
ended in the nominal. The chair (said Bishop Latitude in
.conclusion) has been gratified by the courtesy manifested in
debate, and towards the chair personally. Your forbearance
draws largely on my gratitude. The work is accomplished.
The acts of this Conference

.REV. WESLEY LOVEFEAST : Council, brother.

1883.] EVENING HYMN. 549

THE CHAIR : Correct, doctor. The acts of this Council
DR. CHOSEN: CEcumenical Council, Mr. Chairman. (Ap-
plause.)

THE CHAIR : The acts of this CEcumenical Council become
a record of the past, and the chair gladly draws a veil over its
proceedings at a point when an effort to add to their brilliancy
would be futile. I therefore declare this CEcumenical Confe-
rence adjourned without day.

EVENING HYMN.
I.

THE sunset wanes ; now gather again from task and play,
The daylong-busy children around the mother's knee ;

And we again, Blest Mother, draw round thy shrine to pray,
In words that first were cadenced by angel voice for thee

Ave Maria !

II.

Now twilight pale is fading, and softly o'er the sea

The stars, in clustering glory, steal forth with trembling blaze ;

So o'er the soul in silence rise gentle thoughts of thee,
Whose Virgin-Mother graces outcount the starry rays

Grati^ plena !

III.

Now night's weird shades and phantoms troop forth in shapes of

fright ;

Abroad sin, death, and peril brood through the darkling air :
Oh ! ask thy Son to guard us ; thy prayer he will not slight,
From crib to cross the sharer of all thy mother care

Dominus tecum !

IV.

Our life is but a shadow, a night of troubling dreams
Its visioned woes all fleeting like cloud-racks swift away ;

Pray, Mother, for thy children till break the morning beams,
Till dawn the dazzling splendors of our eternal day

Ora pro nobis !

JEM; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK" [Jan.,

JEM; OR, "IT BRINGS LUCK."

THE neighborhood of the Mansion House, Cheapside, is at
all times pretty stirring about five o'clock in the afternoon.
Omnibuses are crowded, private carriages and cabs rattle past
in eager competition ; for it is the hour when the well-to-do City
man quits his office for his villa at Sydenham or some suburb
still farther out. But on this particular evening the press was
unusually great. Yet, though every one was constantly getting
in every other one's way, people did not snarl and swear as
usual. A vein of good-humor pervaded the scene and oiled the
grating springs of life. You might see cabs laden with corpulent
hampers suggestive of salmon, small barrels suggestive of
natives, cases with " Clicquot " on the outside ; while white-
haired gentlemen went home with a doll in one pocket and a
Noe's ark in the other, besides innumerable packages sugges-
tive of crackers, and bonbons, and all the things dear to child-
hood. It was observable that people shook hands heartier and
seemed for once disposed to look upon the bright side of things
" so hallowed and so gracious was the time." For it was the
blessed Christmas eve come round again, and there are few
English hearts that do not beat the quicker as the bells ring out
blithely upon the keen, wintry air, announcing the grand tid-
ings, " Unto us a Child is born." A little good-humor within
will enable a man to endure much discomfort without. For,
despite all the aids of wraps and comfortable overcoats, the icy
blast penetrated almost to the bones. It howled across the open
space in front of the Exchange, upsetting the apple-stalls, carry-
ing off sundry hats, to their owners' great annoyance, and caus-
ing people to pull up their coat-collars and tie their comforters
the tighter.

The satirist Horace has described the satisfaction of behold-
ing from the shore the struggles of the storm-tossed mariner
upon the ocean ; and if you are well protected by fur and
broadcloth you may smile with conscious security at the cold-
est blast. So thought a comfortably-dressed gentleman as he
stepped into his brougham and looked at a miserably-clad boy
who held out his hand for an alms. He was averse to giving
away anything in the streets had proven at the annual meeting
of the Mendicity Society that almsgiving in the street was

1883.] JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK" 551

the source of unspeakable evils and threatened the stability of
the social fabric ; but the little fellow had said, " Merry Christ-
mas, sir ! " and he thought of his own boy at home and gave him
sixpence. And then he went his way, and loud above the roar
of the city, the clatter and din of vehicles, he heard the laughter
of his children at home, and was enjoying by anticipation their
shouts of pleasure at the presents he was bringing them. If the
thought of the ragged boy to whom he had given the sixpence
crossed his mind, he dismissed it, muttering, "Poor devil!" as
he remembered his bare feet and the blue flesh that peeped from
out his miserable garments. And this half-contemptuous ejacu-
lation relieved his mind.

" Poor devil," indeed. He was only twelve, and very small
for his age. Hardship and want had made him unnaturally
sharp with the shrewdness of those whose schoolmaster is
famine, and who from infancy have to battle with the hard and
cruel world. His features were pleasing and not so dirty as
those of boys of his class. A pair of clear gray eyes looked in-
telligently though wistfully out from a mass of tangled brown
hair, and his cheeks were pinched with cold and hunger. His
garments consisted of what had been a pair of trowsers made
for a man. They were made to do duty as coat and vest by
being fastened round the neck with a piece of string. The legs
were unequal, for the right one was shorter than the other, and,
further, torn up to the knee, revealing a pair of naked legs and
feet purple with chilblains that showed, through the coat of
mud. Even at a time when most hearts expand poor Jem had
met with little sympathy. Londoners are not less charitable
than other folk, but they have grown too familiar with such
things to be greatly moved by them. Jem was one of many
such boys who in their " looped and windowed raggedness "
might be seen vending matches, except when driven off by the
stern " Move on, there ! " of the policeman. It was not often
any one gave them sixpence. You might see that from the
gleam of surprise and pleasure in Jem's eyes as he first bit it
to try its genuineness, then spat on it for luck. As he tied it up
in the piece of dirty rag that did duty as his purse he suddenly
grew grave, and exclaimed, " I knowed it would bring me luck,
blest if I didn't!" And in the exuberance of his feelings he
turned a somersault on the dirty pavement, unluckily nearly
upsetting a corpulent gentleman who received the full weight
of two naked, dirty feet right in his chest. Escaping from the
irate pedestrian, he ran off in the direction of London Bridge.

552 JEM ; OR, "IT BRINGS LUCK" [Jan.,

He thought there might be a chance to pick up a penny or two
extra in the Borough Market. Very gay and animated the
market was this evening, for it is the resort of the poor man,
and numbers of housewives were intent on the important busi-
ness of buying the Christmas dinner. The grocers were dis-
pensing the ingredients of the absolutely necessary pudding ; the
butcher was shouting himself hoarse with his cry of " Buy ! buy !
buy!" The green-grocer was vending his vegetables and the
bunches of holly and rarer mistletoe dear to the English heart.
Men were pouring in and out the public-houses, from whence
issued loud laughter and merriment, while at their doors might
be seen occasionally a little girl entreating " dad " to come
home, " 'cos it's Kismass, you know." Hour after hour the
throng came and went, until, when it had reached its height,
suddenly the beautiful peal of bells from the old Priory Church
of St. Mary Oviry rang out the Christmas welcome. Once again
the hour had come round breathing peace and good-will to men.
For a moment a hush seemed to fall on the eager, chaffering
crowd as the Christmas hymn rose high above the howling
wind, bringing to each its recollections of joy or pain yes,
even to poor Jem, who had crept in and out the crowd, hustled
by some, kicked by others, suspected of being a thief, but gaining
only one little bit of sympathy from all that multitude, and that
was when a little girl nearly as ragged as he offered him a bite
out of a very suspicious, belly-aching apple.

He hugged his sixpence as he quitted the market in search
of a lodging. He stopped in front of the vast pile once a ca-
thedral, still showing traces of past splendor. The bells rang
merrily, and the boy listened. " She used to like 'em," he
whispered to himself; " I wonder why? " His reflections were,
however, compelled to take a more practical turn. He knew
" the cares that petty shadows cast " already. The sordid
arithmetic which is called " making both ends meet," and which
to the poor consists in a daily fight with want and misery, had
been known to him since he could crawl. He had to study how
to get a lodging, a supper, and sustenance for a whole day (and
that day Christmas, too) out of sixpence. You and I, dear reader,
would give up this difficult equation, but the intellect of the
London waif is preternaturally acute. To " doss," that is, sleep
in a bed and such a bed ! would cost threepence. It could
not be thought of. He must doss out in some one of the many
makeshifts that a kind Providence and the wholesale grocers
furnish for the homeless in the shape of empty sugar-hogsheads.

1883.] JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK" 553

This would leave him the whole coin to spend in food. There
was supper : a halfpenny cup of coffee at the Coffee Palace, and
a slice of bread and butter, or a baked potato but this coveted
luxury was doubtful, for the last he had was bad in the middle
or the fried fish, or the stewed eels, or the sheep's trotters,
commonly called pettitoes ; all this array of luxuries was at his
choice. Ah ! if he could have had a go in at them all. No boy
in London would have been happier. He was like the hungry
lad who was asked by a bishop a question: " What does the^Bi-
ble teach you to desire most of all ? " He received the unex-
pected reply : " Please, mister, a good blow-out."

It took Jem so long to decide upon his supper that he found
all the- merchants of the various edibles enumerated had closed
for the night, and only the baked-potato man was left. " I'm
blowed if I risk another duffin tater," he exclaimed, as the man
held out a smoking one and stood prepared to put upon it a dab
of greenish-yellow butter. He looked at it wistfully, whistled a
bar or two of a song, and marched on, for the smell of it had
made him feel a little more hungry. He recollected some bar-
rels covered with a tarpaulin, and he selected this for his bed-
room. It was bitterly cold, though bright, and it was a good
way to the spot. Hungry as he was, the consciousness of hav-
ing sixpence in his pocket greatly solaced him. If he went
without supper to-night he might have a glorious feed on the
morrow, a real Christmas treat. Hope told a flattering tale of
the pennies he might perchance obtain from the revellers, and so,
though he had to beat his arms over his chest and perform vigo-
rous dances to keep up his circulation, he was not unhappy.
He had acquired the difficult art of being satisfied with a little,
and the summum bonum of this class is plenty to eat and no-
thing to do.

The goal of his ambition to-night would have seemed any-
thing but inviting to a gentleman hurrying home to an elegant
bed-room with a snug fire. Indeed, it looked forbidding and
dangerous. All the better, thought Jem. That enemy of waifs,
Policeman X., would not be so likely to peer about with his
terrible bull's-eye. On the wharf, through whose dilapidated
planks you could see the black ooze, lay a number of casks pro-
tected by a tarpaulin. The owners only thought of the safety
of their goods, but they had unwittingly provided shelter for a
large family of waifs. As soon as day declines your London
gamin is on the look-out for any likely place of shelter, and his
quick eye discerns any commodious doorway or arch, anything

554 JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK" [Jan.,

that promises shelter, even to a garden-roller, in which one
young gentleman slept for two months regularly. Jem climbed
deftly over a pile of pig-iron and a quantity of all sorts of mer-
chandise as noiselessly as a cat until he reached his haven. It
was already largely occupied, for as he lifted one part of the
overlapping canvas he was greeted with a volley of oaths that
would have made any one else shudder. When the swearer per-
ceived who he was he muttered a " Come in, young 'un ; don't
stand shivering there. I thought it was a blue-bottle " (police-
man). The voice that spoke was hoarse, and its tone and lan-
guage might have fitted a man ; but it was a woman with a baby
in her arms. She had wrapped it in her poor worn shawl, leav-
ing her own half-naked shoulders bare. With a natural instinct
of kindliness which the poor always have for the poor, Jem said :
" I say, if I keep close up to you we might keep the kid warmer
between us." A look of gratitude came into the poor creature's
eyes as she replied : " Blest if you an't right ; you're not a bad
sort, either." They huddled up together in silence, and the un-
happy baby, feeling warmer, ceased to moan and fell into an un-
easy sleep. The great bell of St. Paul's sounded two o'clock,
and comparative stillness was settling down upon the mighty
city. The effect of the clock was strange. The woman started
and groaned. Jem imagined she was thinking of the time to
turn out, for the policeman on that beat was mercifully blind to
their presence there until daylight. So he told her they were
all right till seven. " I'm not thinking of that," replied the wo-
man savagely. " I don't want to seethe daylight again. I'm go-
ing to put an end to it. I was only waiting till things was quiet
when you corned. Look at this poor kid ! " And she hugged it
closer. " I an't eat anything for two days, and it's sucking ; and
yet last Christmas ' She stopped abruptly, and the silence was
more eloquent than words. Last Christmas perhaps she had
been pure and virtuous, the beloved daughter of some home
that mourned her presence to-night, and whose inmates looked
through falling tears upon her vacant chair.

Poor Jem was, alas ! no stranger to such scenes. He had
known several boys who had committed suicide, and, like the
generality of his class, he regarded it as a last resource for those
who would not steal and so secure a shelter in a prison. When
the winter was deepest and hunger sharpest a plucky boy would
die to get out of it all" anywhere, anywhere out of the world."
But Jem, though he thought he had not pluck enough to do it
himself, was not shocked at it in any one else. If this woman

1883.] JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK." 555

had been alone he would hardly have spoken to stay her from her
purpose, but there was the baby. It had twined its little, wan fin-
gers in his hair and leaned its cheek upon his, and he felt its frail
breath against his face. He could not think of it plunged in the
icy water and its cries stifled in the dreadful, slimy ooze.

" I say, missis," he whispered timidly, " I'm often deuced
hard up, and when Joe, my pal, slipped into the water down
there by Westminster Bridge I thought I'd do it, too ; but
somehow I thought I'd try my charm, and perhaps my luck
would turn and blest if it didn't, too."

The woman appeared interested, for the poor are very super-
stitious.

" A charm ! Show it me."

" It isn't anything what you wears, you know. If you won't
split I'll tell you."

"Oh! honor bright. But does it bring luck? Mine's bad
enough."

" Yes, it do ; many a day I've made it when I 'ad no grub, and
I've sold my 'ole dozen of boxes before night. Can you see me?
I'll show you."

The woman looked curiously at him and by the dim light
saw him make the sign of the cross.

" Why, it's wot the Romans do," said she. " I've seen 'em
lots o' times. Is that a charm ? "

" I swear it is," said Jem, who had expected her to be more
duly impressed, and was much disappointed at finding others
possessed his charm. " I don't care for Romans who is 'em ?
Peelers ? "

" No," said the woman, with the pride of superior know-
ledge ; " you're hignorant. They's papishes, you know, what
worships images and that. All the Hirish is Romans."

"Be they? "said Jem, opening his gray eyes very wide.
" I've knowed lots of Hirish chaps, and they didn't do it. One
on 'em, Pat Magrath, had a bit o' flannel he wore round 'is neck
with a pictur on it only you couldn't make out the pictur: it
was wore out and he said it brought him luck."

" Was your mother a Roman ? " inquired the woman.

" 1 don't know," said Jem ; " but I'll tell you. It was a long
time ago ; I was only a bit of a kid, an' we 'ad a cellar in Went-
worth Street, you know, close to the Lane.* We paid a bob a

* The reader acquainted with London will know this is Petticoat Lane, and Wentworth
Street is celebrated by Dickens ; but a more particular account may be found in Mayhew's London
Labor and the London Poor.

556 JEM ; OR, "!T BRINGS LUCK" [Jan.,

week. Mother she did charring-, but she 'adn't enough grub, 'cos
she giv' it all to me. An' I tried not to be 'ungry ; but I couldn't
'elp it, you know, and she'd say, ' Jem, jest you eat that,' when I
knowed she wanted it 'erself ; and I could jest cuss meself for it
now." Poor Jem broke down in a fit of weeping, and was surpris-
ed to feel the woman's hand smoothing his shock hair. "Well,
you know," he continued, " the winter last year was terrible 'ard
for the like o' us, and mother she "ad rumatiz and couldn't go to
work she couldn't get up so I prigged a lot o' hay an' made her
bed comfor'able like, an* w'en Chrismass eve com' I says, ' Mother,'
says I, ' I'll go out an' cadge ; mayhap I'll get a penny or two.'
' Child,' says she, 'come here. I've been a poor mother to you.'
' You shut up ! ' says I ; 'you've been a reg'lar brick an' no mis-
take.' ' Well,' says she, ' try to do this.' An' she showed me how
to make my charm. ' //'// bring you luck ! ' ' Will it ? ' says I.
' Here goes.' An' I did it lots o' times, an' she seemed so pleased
and said somat, to 'erself like, about ' Holy Mary '; but I didn't
know she ever knowed any Mary. Howsumever I went out and
I made the charm ; and the fust gent as I axed, he says I ought to
be sent to 'formatory. ' So,' says I, ' charm don't work.' But I
thinks o' poor mother, an' if I could only get her a brown or two
she might get better ; so I axed a cove as looked like a parson,
and I makes my charm right afore him. He looked 'ard at me,
and says 'e, ' Poor boy ! ' and he give me a Joey.* I was so glad
I runs back to mother full of hope ; I wouldn't stop to buy any-
thing on the way. I busted into the cellar, and says I, ' Mother,
'ere's a Joey, and your charm brings luck ! ' But she didn't say
anything, and when I kissed her she was cold oh ! so cold." And
poor Jem sobbed aloud at the sorrowful remembrance.

" Poor little buffer ! " said the woman.

" Well," said Jem, " the parish buried 'er, an' I goes and looks
at 'er grave sometimes ; only they won't let me in 'cos I'se rag-
ged, so I looks through the gates. But I remembered the charm,
an' it 'as brought me luck." This was said with an air of con-
viction that seemed to impress the woman.

" I wish I could think so," said she musingly. She looked at
the baby ; its poor attenuated face had grown paler, its eyes more
sunken. " Look ! " said she in a tone of deep agony, " it is going,
poor dear ! going for want of suck."

" Cuss me ! " said Jem. " What a fool I am ! Look 'ere, missis,
I've got sixpence ; jest you stay 'ere an' I'll run to the coffee-man
and bring you back some grub."

* A fourpenny piece no longer in circulation.

1883.] JEM ; OR, "!T BRINGS LUCK." 557

Without waiting for a reply away he went, and, in what
seemed a very long time, he returned with some hot coffee and
bread and butter. He stood by and saw the famished mother
eat with quite a paternal air, chivalrously refusing any share of
the food, exclaiming, " Women wants it more than us."

The food seemed to have infused new hope into the despair-
ing woman. She grasped the hand of her new-found friend
with silent gratitude. " I was a respectable farmer's daughter,"

she said, " at , and a year ago I ran away with a young man

who promised to marry me ; he left me when I was ruined,
and 'ere I am. But if my old mother knew how I was she
wouldn't be 'ard."

" Why don't you tell 'er ? " said Jem.

" Will you tell 'er?" she eagerly rejoined, as if catching at a
new hope.

" I ? " said Jem, and he glanced at his rags. The woman un-
derstood him.

" Never mind togs," said she. " You could take this letter,
which I've carried for weeks because I could not get a stamp.
They are good folks ; they'd not let you come away without
some grub. An' you might save the kid, you know."

" Is it a long way ? " said Jem, thinking of the snowy road
and his chilblains.

" It's eleven miles from London."

" Well, missis, I'll go, and I'll just make my charm before I
start. It may be it will bring us luck. You stay 'ere till I come
back ; leastwise meet me 'ere, for I'll come back quick-sticks, I
can tell you." And without waiting for further speech he took
the letter and started off. He had a penny left of his sixpence,
and he indulged in a cup of coffee. A laboring man was having
one at the same time, and, looking at the thin, ragged child, he
said : " Here, youngster, will you have a slice of toke ? You look
sharp set." Jem ate it with avidity, and, with many thanks for
the unexpected gift, went his way.

Travelling in midwinter with plenty of fur robes and a full
stomach is pronounced " exhilarating," " invigorating " ; and
the noble marquis, governor-general of Canada, declares that it
is the highest enjoyment. Performed on foot, without shoe or
stocking, or any warm garment soever, with a cup of very thin
coffee and a solitary slice of bread and butter to sustain one,
travelling is anything but " the highest enjoyment." The whole
of London had to be traversed streets where lordly magnifi-
cence slumbered on beds of down, streets where vice hid its

558 JEM ; OR, "fr BRINGS LUCK." [Jan.,

head among frouzy rags ; temples of God in sculptured marble,
temples of drink in gold and stucco ; the abodes of millionaires,
and the miserable tenements where seamstresses make shirts at
thirty cents a dozen. In what other city is wealth and poverty,
virtue and vice, religion and profanity, so jumbled together ?
Amidst it all that poor waif stumbled on, occasionally stopping
to listen to the church-bells chiming for early Matins, and look-
ing wonderingly at the religious folk entering the house of
prayer, who had no look for him. O Christ ! thou homeless
wanderer without a place to lay thy head, would it fare better
with thee now in this nineteenth century, among thy professed
followers, if thou didst appear, than it did in Judea among thine
enemies ?

At last the streets began to grow more straggling. Fields
intervened between the rows of houses. The inevitable public-
house was less frequent. The snow was white and untrodden,
and, footsore and weary as he was, poor Jem felt that sense of
satisfaction which comes over the soul long " in crowded city
pent.." And, lo ! so vast is the city of London, ever stretching
out its Briareus arms in all directions, that ere he had got well
quit of it he was at his destination, a quiet little village in Sur-
rey. There it lay in the calm of that Christmas morning, the
inhabitants apparently nearly all gone to church. For, let him
neglect his parish church every Sunday in the year, the yeoman
and the peasant is bound to go on Christmas morn. In Brittany
they leave the cottage-doors wide open while the owners go to
the midnight Mass, in hope that the ruddy fire glowing on the
hearth may attract the Christ-child to enter and leave a blessing.
In England most of these humanizing legends have been banish-
ed with the religion from whence they sprang. The poor bare-
footed waif who stood irresolute at the entry of the village, not
knowing where to find the house he sought, was accosted by a
genial-looking woman, the barking of whose dog had brought
her to the door. The English peasant is less hard upon the out-
cast than the townsman. Probably the effect of municipal insti-
tutions is to harden the heart and promote selfishness. We
never met but one alderman who had a soul above turtle. She
questioned Jem. He knew of the righteous law that renders his
class liable to three months' imprisonment with hard labor the
same punishment that is meted out to a thief so he assumed the
style and title of a messenger. He was sent with a letter to Far-
mer X . Had he walked all the way from London, and with

such feet ? God help the child ! And, unlike the country clergy,

1883.] JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK" 559

who are "great only in advice," she rushed back into her cottage
and brought out a huge hunk of bread and cheese. Poor Jem
thanked her less with words than with tears, and the good
woman added a penny to her welcome gift. " 1 knowed as how
my charm would bring me luck," said Jem. He had been di-
rected to the residence of Farmer X , a fine pile of buildings

wearing the air of solid wealth and prosperity. In the Cadger 's
Map, a most useful publication to all persons of eleemosynary
proclivities, the whole of the forty counties are curiously divided
into sections, where certain signs indicate the houses where the
people are " soft," or " a hot 'un," or " a beak," or " dog kept
fierce," or "dog kept not up to much," or "taters, or cold
chuck," or " three months " ; so that the enlightened cadger is
informed by a certain hieroglyphic on the gate or door of the
house as to the disposition of the people he has to deal with.

He would probably have found "a hot 'un " on Mr. X 's door

if he had been initiated, for the farmer was held in dislike by
almost all his neighbors. Sorrow had made him dislike and sus-
pect them. First he had become indifferent to the little courte-
sies of life which are like oil lubricating the rough hinges of
society ; then, as no man noticed him except when compelled, he
grew misanthropical and hated the lot. More than this, he had
tyrannized over his wife, who had been compelled to forego her
religious convictions from fear of his anger. He had prospered,
his banking account grew larger yearly, yet at that hearth sat
Care and Discontent, and hardly one of his poorest laborers was

so miserable as Farmer X . And more, there was a skeleton in

the house. People talked in whispers of Miss X , who went

away suddenly to London and never came back. And poor

Mrs. X was wont to steal up to the pretty little room which

had been her child's, and was always kept ready for her return,
and weep and pray as only mothers can.

Mr. X had a dog, but he was in the category of " not up

to much," and to-day he had had such a surfeit of bones that he
was enjoying his otium cum dignitate in the recesses of his ken-
nel. The poor waif envied his warm quarters as he looked
around in uncertainty how to proceed. The house looked so
big and pompous, and the good woman who gave him the bread

and cheese had said Mr. X was " g. hard man." He would wait

about on the chance of seeing a servant to whom to give the
letter. But not out there in the open when there was a well-
conditioned haystack available. No one knows the comfort of
this as an extempore bed better than a London tramp. It was

560 JEM ; OR, "!T BRINGS LUCK'' [Jan.,

long since Jem had had such a chance, and he promised himself
a glorious snooze. The reader probably knows that a haystack
has four sides. We repeat the information because it is now the
mode to do so. We were lately informed in a newly-published
work that " the domestic hen lays white eggs." We thought we
knew that before, but nowadays one cannot be certain of any-
thing. Selecting the side farthest from the house, Jem crept in
and was soon fast asleep.

It might be imagined that eleven miles of walking on a hun-
gry stomach would make any one sleep heavily. But your waif
is habitually a light sleeper. He slumbers with one eye open,
for he is always expecting the rude shake of the policeman. The
sound of voices awoke Jem suddenly ; he thought at once that
he was found out. He listened, rubbed his eyes, and listened
still. The voices seemed close beside him ; he could hear every
word. The speakers were two.

" There's only three in the crib, and two on 'em women.
They all goes to bed at eight, and we shall only 'ave the dawg to
look after. Do you know where he keeps his swag ? "

" Yes, I do. I was about here last week a-mending their
kettles, and I sees the old bloak go into the front room and put
a big bag o' shiners into a old bureau what stands in the corner.
But, I say, Bill, if he shows game, no pistol, mind. Knife's the
thing ; does the job jest as well an' no noise. Time's long.
I wish we could have a draw. Try and get a snooze ; you'll be
all the fresher for the crack."

Jem understood every word instinctively. Wentworth Street
was the native habitat of the London burglar, and his slang was
familiar. An instinct of self-preservation prompted him to get
away from the scene, for if a robbery was done who would be
so soon suspected as a barefooted, homeless tramp ? He crept
out of his hiding-place noiselessly by the way he came, and saw
a large, portly woman a little distance off feeding the fowls. He
made straight toward her, but, mindful of the importance of his
errand, as he approached her he made the sign of the cross.
The woman perceived him, and exclaimed with a strong Irish
accent :

" What is ye wanting, me poor gossoon, wid yer bare feet
this bitter day ? "

" Please, mum, I've a letter for the master."

" For the master ! The Lord betune us an' harm ! " And she
made the sign of the cross.

" That's my charm," cried Jem, repeating the action.

1883.] JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK" 561

" Then you're a Catholic," said the woman, evidently grati-
fied.

" No, I an't," said Jem.

" What do you bless yersel' for, then ? Sure the cratur 's a
Catholic widout knowing it. But come along wid me and I'll
tell missis." She showed him into the clean farmhouse kitchen,
in one remote corner of which hung a crucifix and a small pic-
ture of the Immaculate Conception. Jem saw them and gazed
at them curiously.

"Please, mum," said he, pointing to the picture, "does it
bring you luck ? "

" In coorse it do," replied the servant, somewhat puzzled.
" 'Cos it's jest like what Pat Magrath used to wear round 'is
neck on a bit o' flannel, and he said it brought 'im luck."

" Mother of mercy ! " said the servant, " he manes the blessed
scapular."

Her interest was quickened in the lad, and she at once pre-
pared him some food. Oh ! the comfort of sitting by that huge
fire with his feet on the fender ; to feel the warmth stealing
luxuriously over his benumbed limbs ; and then the bread and
meat, and the home-brewed ale! Here was a Christmas din-
ner worth walking eleven miles to get. But h"e had a duty to
perform. The letter must be delivered. Biddy had got out all
about it, and wept at his artless story. She divined the sender.
" There's no fear of master to-day," said she ; " he's in the best
parlor looking over his money. You stay here in the warm and
I'll find missis."

She was not long absent when another woman entered in her
company. She was pleasant to look upon, with a plaintive
smile that seemed to solicit pity. She made Jem tell his story
all over again. He had barely completed it when the remem-
brance of the conversation he had overheard returned to him.
He told them, and they decided to fetch the farmer. Anything
concerning his money they knew would interest him. Farmer
X was a blunt, rough man, but beneath his ungracious exte-
rior he had a heart. He growled at the liberty Jem had taken
in sleeping in his haystack, but he appreciated the information,
and remarked : " I'll go and get help, and if thee says true, lad,
I'll be a friend to thee. Gie him some supper, Biddy, and lock
all the doors till I come back."

At this hour of -need Farmer X experienced what it is to

be unpopular. He had neighbors within call, but he never spoke
to them, and the nearest person he could call upon was four
VOL. xxxvi. 36

562 JEM ; OR, "Ir BRINGS LUCK." [Jan.

miles off. Fearing to excite attention by catching his mare, he
started to walk it. Apparently he had been seen depart by the
lurking burglars, for only a few minutes later the back door was
tried, then the front. Convinced that they had only two help-
less women to deal with, they proceeded to force the door. The
trio within had now retreated to the parlor, the door of which
they had barricaded with furniture. But there was the window.
The burglars came round and looked in ; the bureau was there,
and contained, as they supposed, the farmer's gold. But the win-
dow looked on to the road and could be seen by passers-by. It
would be dangerous to attempt an entry there. They returned
to the kitchen and ransacked the cupboards. The remains of a
noble sirloin of beef and the Christmas pudding, to say nothing
of several bottles of brandy, proved too great a temptation.
IHiey sat down to feast, and thus furnished time to their impri-
soned victims. The second bottle of Hennessey had been broach-
ed when the two doors opening into the kitchen were flung open,

and Farmer X entered by one, and three neighbors, including

the constable, by the other. The robbers were caught red-hand-
ed and surrendered at discretion. As soon as they had been
forwarded in the farmer's cart, handcuffed, to the county town

Mrs. X approached her husband timidly. The boy Jem had

a claim on them he had perhaps saved their lives and property.
The farmer was grateful and in a compliant mood. Jem was
washed and combed as he had never been before, Biddy taking
a pride in making him " swate and dacent " ; and, moreover, she
put a medal round his neck which he looked on with awe.

" Will it bring luck I mean as much as the other charm, you
know?"

" An' sure it will, child. I'm sure your poor mother was a
Catholic heaven rest her ! and I'll be kind to yez for her
sake."

And meantime some one else was making the sign of the
cross and secretly breathing the pathetic prayer, Memorare
the poor mother, in the fulness of her love, pleading with the
father's pride and obstinacy. It was a long and bitter struggle,
in which it seemed that self-will must conquer ; but nothing is so
persevering as Love. Hours passed by, and Biddy was telling
her beads upstairs, wetting them with her tears, as the sound of
her mistress' pleading voice reached her from below.

Suddenly the colloquy was interrupted. There was a third
voice heard. The writer of the letter had followed her messen-
ger. Biddy hurried down and saw the poor, long-lost daughter

1883.] THE FACT OF HOME RULE. 563

folded in her mother's arms. The old farmer was hugging the
wee baby which had been kept alive by Jem's sixpence, and
big tears were rolling down his cheeks. As for Jem, the only
way he could express his delight was by standing on his head.
When he had sufficiently recovered his gravity he whispered to
the poor home-returned daughter, " I say, didn't I tell you it
brings luck? " And he made the sign of the cross.

THE FACT OF HOME RULE.

A FEW weeks ago a gentleman who has occupied an influen-
tial, if not an aggressive, place among the patriot leaders /yf
Ireland said to the writer : " I believe Mr. Gladstone is only
waiting for an occasion to introduce Home Rule for Ireland."
The faith seemed indeed the martyr's ; yet events appear to be
bringing closer and closer its actual fulfilment. There are those
not unfamiliar with the mental process of the premier, not free
from contact with his political tactics, who suspect that he
has a Home-Rule bill in the hand he carries behind his back, and
that he will quietly but peremptorily lay it before Parliament at
no distant day. No statesman who has guided the conduct of
Great Britain has affected more profoundly to despise the me-
thods of mere politicians, the ethics of expediency ; and no British
statesman has more astutely employed those methods, more ab-
jectly accepted the favors of expediency. Nay, he has done
more : he has even justified himself in the achievement of revolu-
tionary changes by no higher argument than expediency. He
overthrew a state church, not because it ought to have been
overthrown, but because its downfall had become a political ne-
cessity. He yielded to the menace of Fenianism, in the express
terms of his own public confession, precisely as the Duke of
Wellington yielded to the menace of insurrection when he ad-
vised the sullen and stubborn king to consent to Catholic Eman-
cipation. Neither of the ministers gave either right to Ireland
as a right ; they simply succumbed to destiny.

Mr. Gladstone, being no soldier, is something of a philo-
sopher. Where the Iron Duke saw squadrons on the field,
he searches human experience for political laws. History has
taught him that the law of destiny for great empires is disin-
tegration. A great Irishman, who might have died a patriot

564 THE FACT OF HOME RULE. [Jan.,

had he kept out of British office and not been taunted by Henry
Grattan for taking the pay of his post Henry Flood denned
in the Parliament of Ireland the process by which the law of
disintegration would slowly overtake the empire of England.
" Destruction," he exclaimed, " will come upon the British Em-
pire like the coldness of death. It will creep upon it from
the extreme parts." Flood, having taken oath to support the
empire, was bound in conscience to point out the way by which
dissolution could be at least postponed. The way was Welling-
ton's force. When the exasperated king demanded that Irish
troops be sent out to America, to compel the desperate but de-
termined American rebels to lay down their arms, Flood was
compelled to sustain the king ; he was drawing the king's wages.
He urged upon the Irish Parliament the duty of prompt com-
pliance with the royal command, and designated the troops as
" armed negotiators." Then arose the giant eloquence of Grat
tan and crushed his brother Irishman to the earth. He pictured
Flood standing " with a metaphor in his mouth and a bribe in his
pocket, a champion against the rights of America, the only hope
of Ireland and the only refuge of the liberties of mankind."

The troops were sent : the rebels left them nothing to do, for
Great 'Britain yielded to destiny and surrendered almost half
a continent. The troops had something to do, nevertheless. As
soon as they were back in Ireland, with a hundred thousand more
they were employed to bully the people into silence while the
office-holders sold for cash and titles the sovereign right of the
Irish people to make their own laws on their own soil. " Armed
negotiators " they became.

Mr. Gladstone does not believe in Mr. Flood's curative for
coldness at the extremities of the British Empire. He has never
employed force to keep up the circulation of imperial blood in-
ks remote parts. He has found a Fact as powerful as a law ; it is
that communities are contented in proportion to their share of
political self-government, if the form be sufficiently elastic to
prove self-correcting. He has never proposed armed negotia-
tors to suppress free speech, personal liberty, liberty of the
press, the right of peaceable public assembly, in any civilized
dependency of Great Britain remote from the centre of adminis-
tration. Whenever one of the colonies has petitioned for the re-
dress of a grievance the petition has not only been respectfully
heard ; it has been referred back to its origin for redress, and the
power to accomplish the object sought has been sent with it di-
rectly or indirectly. The law of great empires is disintegration ;

1883.] THE FACT OF HOME RULE. 565

but the Fact which stands a gigantic barrier in the way of that
law is not Force it is Home Rule. Mr. Gladstone has mastered
the Fact.

It is a universal fact, too, throughout the civilized dependen-
cies of the British Empire. India cannot be said to be civilized ;
dominating vestiges of the tribal systems are preserved by cus-
tom and in the newly-grafted laws of the intruders for the pur-
pose of delaying civilization : it is easier to rob the people than
to civilize them. Ireland has not been civilized in modern times,
except to the degree which the people have reached for them-
selves in defiance of the government. They have preserved their
love of learning in spite of centuries of efforts to reduce them to
illiteracy. They have preserved religion in spite of all the
methods of torture the English were able to borrow from the
fanaticism and cruelty of the Continent, and all the added varie-
ties of fiendishness they were able to invent. They have pre-
served love of virtue, natural and supernatural, in spite of the
rewards placed upon vice by English monarchs and the penalties
the same agents laid upon virtue. They have preserved race-
ambition in spite of seven hundred years of persistent stamping
out of race-consciousness. They have preserved the determina-
tion to be free in spite 'of centuries of slavery. There have always
been inherent in them the essentials of an energetic, buoyant,
vigorous, and healthy political organization ; and these germs
have retained their vitality in spite of compulsory famine, com-
pulsory emigration, compulsory ignorance, compulsory poverty,
compulsory civil death. The national life has never gone quite
out, although, indeed, its glimmer has often been too feeble for
the world to catch it ; and, for the matter, the world has spent
very little of its time trying to catch it. Look over the world,
into its high places, into its low ones. Through the fierce light
that beats upon thrones Irishmen are seen, counsellors. Through
the yellow haze of plague and pestilence Irishwomen are seen,
succor-givers. In the glare and shriek of battle in every part* of
the world they are there, soldiers and generals ; they are there,
stooping over the wounded, stanching the streams of death,
Irishmen and Irishwomen. In every country but their own rich,
powerful, educated, refined, lovers of liberty, upholders and ex-
pounders of law, their talents and their genius have been given
to mankind ; there is scarcely a nation on the globe whom they
have not helped. What return have they had ? A selfish spasm
in France, doing more harm than good, furnishing an excuse to
send the pure soul of Robert Emmet up to sanctify an English

566 THE FACT OF HOME RULE. [Jan.,

scaffold; in famine-days bread from America, when let us tell
the simple truth arms should have been sent instead with the
honest command of Heaven and conscience, " Take what is
your own." If any government, with an army and a navy, had
forbidden England to starve Ireland forty years ago, would food
enough to feed twice the population of Ireland have been ex-
ported from Irish harbors while the people whose labor had pro-
duced it perished by thousands of starvation? There was no
government to speak the word, sublimely as Ireland had earned
it. To-day it is simply the massed moral influence of the Irish in
the United States, looming up behind the patriot minority in the
British House of Commons, that has compelled English politi-
cians to look for the first time dispassionately at the question, Why
should Ireland be made an exception to the policy of Great
Britain toward her dependencies ? It is the massed moral power
of the Irish people in the two great partisan organizations of the
.United States which has compelled a witless coxcomb adminis-
tration to intimate to the English jailers in Ireland that it is im-
prudent to imprison American citizens there. It is the rational
appreciation of the constantly growing strength of the Irish
people in the United States, breathing the same breath with
their countrymen at home, that has compelled Mr. Gladstone to
draft his bill of Home Rule for Ireland.

Men have an alert way of getting off the natural into the arti-
ficial. Nothing is easier for cunning and craft than to conven-
tionalize the simple and just into the unjust, impossible, and the
impracticable. The Irish Church was conventionalized into a
base for the English crown in Ireland. When Mr. Gladstone
got ready with his axe and ladder to tear the structure down, he
tore the conventionality aside like a filmy bit of morning gossa-
mer. The denial to the Catholics of Ireland of any participation
in the civil affairs of the country had been conventionalized into
a sacred responsibility, the discharge of which was as incumbent
upon the alien crown as the maintenance of a police force. When
the Duke of Wellington saw that Catholic Emancipation was the
sole alternative to insurrection he thrust his sword through the
conventionalized sacred duty and found it only a veil of bigotry.
When the first demand for judicial rents in Ireland was made, in
lieu of rack-rents, the rights of landlords had been convention-
alized into a denial of any rights in the tenants ; but when Mr.
Gladstone found the Irish people in the United States ready to
support with money, perhaps with more than money, the de-
mands of the tenants, he demonstrated to the sluggish sense of

1883.] THE FACT OF HOME RULE. 567

the English Parliament that after all landlords had no rights
superior to law, and that no law was binding which was in its
nature immoral and a law is immoral which does not give to
him who toils the first-fruits of his toil. Every vast wrong
which has been inflicted on any portion of mankind has been
maintained by nothing more substantial that conventionality.

It has been a traditional conventionality in England that Ire-
land must not be permitted to enjoy the privileges allowed other
dependencies of the British Empire. Mr. Gladstone, when he
appears before Parliament with the bill creating, first, county
government, then municipal government, finally a national legis-
lature in Ireland, will have only to say, "This is not revolution.
It is only the policy of the empire."

Let us see briefly with what completeness that policy has
been carried out:

1. The Bahamas are eighteen small islands containing a popu-
lation of less than forty thousand persons, and of these about an
eighth are white. Home rule exists there. The domestic legis-
lature is elected by the people.

2. Barbados is an island containing a population of 171,889.
It has home rule. Its Assembly, elected annually, administers
its domestic affairs.

3. The Bermudas are a cluster of little islands containing
about twelve thousand inhabitants, one-third white. They enjoy
home rule. Their domestic laws are made by an elected As-
sembly of thirty-six members.

4. The Cape of Good Hope, with a population one-fifth that
of Ireland, and only one-fourth European, was granted home
rule thirty years ago. Its legislature is composed of an Upper
and a Lower House, both chosen by popular suffrage.

5. Natal, an integral part of the Cape settlement, was dis-
satisfied with Cape control and was allowed autonomy in 1856.
Its legislative council consists of twelve elected members.

6. Sierra Leone, " the white man's grave," contained ten years
ago one hundred white men and thirty white women ; but it
enjoys home rule.

7. British Guiana, although its civil law is Roman and Dutch,
and its population the most heterogeneous to be found in perhaps
any part of the globe, has enjoyed home rule for nearly a cen-
tury.

8. Honduras has home rule for its sugar, india-rubber, pine,
and mahogany. Of a population of four hundred thousand only
a few thousand are white.

568 THE FACT OF HOME RULE. [Jan.,

9. Dominica has home rule for its cocoa, arrowroot, and
cotton ; half the legislators are appointed by the crown, half are
elected by the people. It sends its representatives to the Gene-
ral Assembly of the Leeward Islands.

10. Nevis, a conical* mountain, with less than three hundred
whites in a population of nearly ten thousand, is enabled through
the blessings of home rule to get the highest prices for its rum,
sugar, and molasses.

11. St. Kitt's adds flax to rum, sugar, and molasses, and boasts
its own domestic legislature.

12. St. Vincent is a beautiful oval island eleven miles wide
and eighteen long. It has home rule.

13. Tobago in 1834 emancipated its slaves, paying their mas-
ters compensation ; its cocoanuts the theobroma, or food-for-the-
gods of Linnaeus bud and blossom under home rule.

14. Australia was granted legislative independence in 1856.

15. Australia West is under home rule.

16. New South Wales has its own domestic government, its
mint, observatory, university, and free public library.

17. New Zealand has boasted home rule for more than forty
years.

1 8. Queensland is governed in part by the British crown,
which sends its convicts, political and other, out there, and in
part by elected deputies.

19. Tasmania is governed by a legislature elected by the
people.

20. Victoria. Sir Charles Gavan Duffy has helped officially
to discharge there functions which he would not be allowed to
exercise in his native land. He has been Minister of Lands ill a
cabinet responsible to a parliament of the people, elected by the
people.

21. Alderney, eight miles in circumference, is in unquestioned
possession of home rule.

22. Guernsey makes its own laws, imposes its own taxes. It
has one town, St. Peter's Port ; its laws are a quaint mixture of
Norman and English, and its official language is French. Great
Britain does not scorn to allow it home rule.

23. Out in the Irish Sea is a historic spot, visible in clear
weather from the coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland,
once the throne of Welsh kings, once the home of the Norwe-
gian marauder, once the kingdom of a royal Dane who drew up
the first articles of its constitution. A Scandinavian sceptre
ruled its narrow boundaries until Magnus of Norway ceded his

1883.] THE FACT OF HOME RULE. 569

supposed rights to a Scotch Alexander; and on his death the
people chose to become subjects of Edward of England.
Through many vicissitudes it passed, but one misfortune has not
yet befallen it. It is not governed from another country, even
from England. It elects its own parliament, makes its own
laws, and is subject only to its own courts. The British Parlia-
ment has no more jurisdiction in the island than it has in Paris
or Berlin. The tiny Isle of Man, seventy-five miles in circum-
ference, enjoys home rule in the fullest and most effective form.

24. Far away from the independent sovereignty of the Manx,
anchored deep in the blue waters of the Mediterranean, is a
rocky fortress frowning upon a magnificent harbor. Here the
fleets tarry on their way to and from India ; here the Knights
of St. John rested after the Turks expelled them from Rhodes ;
here La Valette heroically resisted the flower of the Ottoman
army under the Sultan Solyman ; it is to-day little more than a
British military post and depot. Can it be believed that home
rule, denied five million people in Ireland, is actually recognized
in the rocks of Malta? The commandant of the garrison is the
civil governor ; but the inhabitants elect one-half the council by
whom the affairs of the island are administered.

25. The Dominion of Canada is technically included in the
colonial dependencies of Great Britain, and is, comparatively, the
most striking illustration of the fact of home rule antagonizing
the law of disintegration in great empires. No one acquainted
with the spirit of the people of Canada can doubt that the
country would have retained even its nominal connection with
the crown had the imperial Parliament manifested any disposi-
tion to interfere with local self-government. Canada, for all
practical purposes, is an independent commonwealth. In 1867
the provinces of Ontario, Quebec, Nova Scotia, and New Bruns-
wick were united under the title, " The Dominion of Canada,"
and since that time British Columbia, Vancouver's Island, Prince
Edward Island, Manitoba, and the Northwest Provinces have
been added to the confederation. But this principle has been
maintained throughout the enlargement of the Dominion boun-
daries : that while the Dominion Parliament should exercise a
general political supervision, each unit of the confederation
should govern itself in domestic matters. Each province, great
and small, has its own domestic legislature in addition to, and
totally independent of, its representation in the Parliament of
the Dominion. In brief, home rule is carried to its ultimate
and logical conclusion in Canada. It is an interesting fact in the

570 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Jan.,

land-reform of the time that when the proposition was made on
behalf of the Dominion that Prince Edward Island should join
the confederation, one of the conditions which the people insist-
ed upon was the abolition of landlordism. The Dominion gov-
ernment advanced the money with which the actual workers of
the soil bought out the non-working owners ; and the island is a
conspicuous example of successful peasant proprietary, accom-
plished with no social friction.

When, therefore, Mr. Gladstone submits his bill creating
Home Rule in Ireland he has his argument in the system of
local self-government everywhere else existing in the British
Empire. By giving autonomy to Ireland that portion of the em-
pire will merely be brought into political harmony with the
other portions in all quarters of the globe. It is true that Mr.
Gladstone has hitherto found arguments against the step which
he is apparently preparing to take ; but when he is ready to take
it he will be found expressing mild surprise that it was not taken
sooner. He may not, indeed, proclaim that the law for great
empires is disintegration, but he will brilliantly demonstrate
that the fact of home rule is the only substantial barrier against
the operation of that law, by whatever term of disguise he may
choose to conceal its identity.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE MYSTERY SOLVED ; or, The Prophetic History of the Church. By the
Rev. M. J. Griffith, Pastor of St. John's Church, Valatie, N. Y. New
York : The Catholic Publication Society Co. 1882.

It was the opinion of Bossuet that the prophecies of the Apocalypse
relate exclusively to the first three centuries of Christianity and to the
last age of the world. The majority of interpreters, however, regard them
as embracing the entire period from the beginning of the history of the
church to the end of the world. Father Griffith, following this common
opinion, attempts to show how the prophecies of St. John have been ful-
filled up to the present time. The greatest part of his book is taken up by
a concise and vigorous sketch of the history of the church, with a running
commentary on the text of the Apocalypse, explaining the symbolic im-
agery by which its principal events were foreshadowed. Towards the end
he gives the interpretation of the unfulfilled prophecies which he thinks
the most probable one not by any means new, but borrowed from the
commentaries of very respectable Catholic expositors.

Here the greatest difficulties are encountered. So long as one seeks in

1883.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 571

history for an explanation of prophetic symbols he is necessarily obliged
to explain all preternatural imagery in such a way as to correspond with
actual events, and restrained from following his own imagination. But
just as soon as he begins to construct future history from these symbols
alone there is not the same restraint on his imagination, and the dis-
position to theorize in an a priori manner from existing causes to their
probable effects in the future, from actual tendencies in the present age to
the outcome of their results in a coming age, can have full scope. The
common interpretation of the latter part of the Apocalypse which Father
Griffith follows is one in which the great coming Antichrist plays a prin-
cipal part. Father Griffith divides the history of the church into seven
epochs, each one symbolized under one of the seven seals of the mys-
terious roll unfolded before the Seer of Patmos. We are supposed to be
near the close of the fifth period ; the "sixth is the period of Antichrist,
upon whose downfall follows very soon the end of the world, and the
seventh epoch is the beginning of the everlasting period. In regard to
this coming and kingdom of the Antichrist, Calmet observes : "Concern-
ing this most wretched man we have seen that there are scarcely even a
few certainties ; that the uncertain and problematical things are almost
innumerable ; wherefore his advent, his stated time, country, origin, parent-
age, infancy, name, extent of empire, kind of death, etc., are all doubtful."
We cannot help being struck with the contrast between the historical de-
scription of the events of fulfilled prophecy and the extraordinary rep-
resentations of the last age of the world derived from unfulfilled pro-
phecy by many writers. Their description of the age of Antichrist does
not read like the history of the past and the present. It has a preter-
natural aspect arising from the circumstance that the actual events pre-
figured by prophetic symbols being undetermined, the figures are too
literally interpreted. It seems more reasonable to believe that when
the period between the present time and the end of the world becomes
present and passes, it will be actually in the main similar to its prede-
cessors. Whenever the Scripture speaks in plain language of the last
age of the world it seems to teach that the appearances of things will be
much the same as they have always been. We do not mean to imply
that there may not be some extraordinary and preternatural events and
phenomena and some astounding miracles in the future, as there have
been in the past. But it seems reasonable to conclude that the future de-
velopment of good and evil, of the kingdom of Christ and of the kingdom
of Antichrist, ending in the final triumph of Christ and the Saints, will
mostly proceed in a human way, analogous to the procedure it has hitherto
followed. We do not think it is a vain effort to attempt an explanation in
detail of the fulfilled prophecies of the Apocalypse, or even of those which
are unfulfilled, in a certain general way. If it were, of what use would this
book ever have been up to the present time? We must therefore praise
the effort of Father Griffith, which we consider as in a measure successful,
and we can recommend his book as both interesting and edifying to pious
Catholic readers. We do not think, however, that he has given a com-
plete solution of the whole mystery, especially that which relates to the
future, or that it could be given without a fuller exposition of reasons and
authorities than he has attempted.

572 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Jan.,

TWELFTH ANNUAL REPORT OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR BEFRIENDING CHIL-
DREN AND YOUNG GIRLS, House of the Holy Family, Nos. 134, 136
Second Avenue, from October i, 1881, to 1882. New York : P. F.
McBreen. 1882.

This Report presents quite a dainty and elegant appearance, suggestive
of the source whence it emanates, though its contents relate to forlorn
little waifs rescued from misery. For both these reasons it is better worth
perusal than many of the choice and pretty products of the press which
issue forth before Christmas to adorn the centre-tables of drawing-rooms.
It tells of the charity of refined ladies toward the poor girls whom they
recognize as their unfortunate little sisters in Christ. The expenditure of
the Association is very moderate, amounting only to $20,000. The results
show that the money has been well invested and has brought in a better
return than most investments. The number of girls cared for during the
year, more than half of whom were under twelve years of age, is 451. The
average number of inmates of the Family is 185, all from the most necessi-
tous class, and such as cannot be received into other institutions. While
they remain they get three hours' schooling every day, careful religious in-
struction, and, if old enough, are taught sewing and housework. Of the
253 children dismissed during the year, 53 were provided with employ-
ment, 164 were returned to their friends, 27 were sent to other institutions,
6 ran away, and 3 died. Besides these children 1,541 out-door poor were
relieved in various ways. One pleasing item in the Report is the account
of Judge Kelley's charity-boxes which were placed in 28 hotels and res-
taurants, and brought in various sums, from the $n6 83 of the Everett
House to the $7 61 of the Cafe Worms, 256 Third Avenue in all, the
handsome amount of $1,109 43- The mention of the " Fresh-Air Fund"
produces a most exhilarating effect and a desire that everybody might
profit by it. The Fresh-Air Fund amounted to $664, and must have been
collected in warm weather. We can fancy the subscribers, panting for the
country, gladly giving their $25 and $10 in most feeling sympathy for the
poor children who have to stay in town all summer. The Fund was ex-
pended, not directly in the purchase of fresh air, but in the construction of
a play-ground, 39 by 50 feet, protected by an iron railing, on the roof of the
building. We are reminded of Mr. Riah, the Dolls' Dressmaker, and Lizzie
Hexham in the little garden on the top of Pubsey & Co.'s warehouse.
However, the children do not "go up to be dead," but to be extremely
lively.

The Catholic institutions for befriending children in New York City are
among the noblest and best we have. Such great houses as Father Drum-
goole's Home for boys and the Foundling Asylum are on a much larger
scale than the House of the Holy Family. This may grow, however, as we
trust it will ; and it is deserving of patronage. If all would imitate the
example of the ladies and gentlemen whose names appear on the list of
patrons of the Holy Family, we might hope to see all the forlorn and neg-
lected children of the city provided for.

THE LONGFELLOW CALENDAR FOR 1883. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

This Calendar, besides the utility which belongs to it in common with
all others, is a tasteful and appropriate Christmas^, and New Year's card

1883.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 573

suitable for a present. It is ornate and rich in its blending and distribution
of colors. It has an excellent portrait of Mr. Longfellow, with a view of
his house at Cambridge on one side and of the Belfry of Bruges on the
other. Below there are pretty pictures of Evangeline and Priscilla, the
Puritan Belle. Attached to the card is a box filled with slips for each
month and each day of the month, having below the numbers short
passages selected from the poet's writings. The verses on Christmas
cards are frequently atrocious specimens of doggerel. We can easily be-
lieve that all the passages below the one which lies on the surface in this
box are beautiful scraps of poetry, for it would be impossible to select any
others from Mr. Longfellow's poems. This pretty souvenir costs one dollar,
and every one who receives it as a gift will accept the same with pleasure,
if in the least degree aesthetic. Priscilla Alden's numerous grandchildren
will look on it with especial favor.

GROWTH IN THE KNOWLEDGE OF OUR LORD. Meditations for every day of
the year, etc. Adapted from the French original of the Abbe de
Brandt, by a " Daughter of the Cross." Two vols. London : Burns &
Gates. 1882.

As our holy faith presents an almost unlimited number of topics suitable
for meditation, and as there exist varieties of tastes, needs, and states of
life, and differences in length of time and manner of making meditation,
it is possible to give only qualified praise to any one book, however excel-
lent, of meditations. We consider this work a real addition to the few
really good books of meditations we have in English.

The true test of a book of meditations is use, but as this is a brand-new
book we have not been able to apply it. The following seem to be its
merits : there is variety, and variety in order, daily meditations on the life and
mysteries of our Lord, special meditations for feasts and for all Thursdays,
Fridays, and Saturdays, on the Blessed Sacrament, the Sacred Heart, and
the Blessed Virgin, and for monthly retreat days ; the subject for medita-
tion is divided into two points, and the second point has a true and logical
connection with the first a great merit : we are not asked to meditate on
three or four different subjects ; the Scripture quotations are not turned and
twisted to make so many extra points, but exemplify and impress, as they
should do, the real point; finally, the treatment is solid, just, and sufficient-
ly ample. It is excellently gotten up by the publishers.

CAMPAIGNS OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. A Critical History of Opera-
tions in Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania from the commencement
to the close of the War, 1861-1865. By William Swinton, author of,
Decisive Battles of the War, Outlines of the World's History, etc. Revi-
sion and reissue. New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 1882.

Except that he has added a useful Appendix, Mr. Swinton has made no
alteration of importance in his admirable book, which first appeared in 1866,
but has been out of print for a long while until the appearance of this new
issue. Much has been written and spoken by military critics concerning
the Civil War, but nothing has modified the verdict originally pronounced
in favor of, Mr. Swinton's history. It remains of all that, has been pub-
lished the most faithful, instructive, and readable narrative of the struggle

5 74 N E w PUB Lie A TIONS. [ J an.,

between those two great, heroic armies which are acknowledged to have
been, each for its own side, the picked representatives of the patriotic and
soldierly qualities of the American people.

There are several points of dispute, however, on which new evidence
has been brought to light in recent years, but on which Mr. Swinton has
nothing new to say. It is true that the report of the Schofield Board of
Inquiry of March, 1879, exonerating General Fitz-John Porter, is given in
the Appendix. But acurious matter still needs elucidation viz., who is re-
sponsible for the failure of the Army of the Potomac to enter Petersburg
in the evening or night of June 15, 1864? A mere handful of Confederate
local troops were in the town, while several thousand veterans of Han-
cock's and other corps halted unwillingly at the defences and remained
there in idleness until Lee had brought down the greater part of his army
from Richmond and was then able for ten months to bid defiance to all
attacks. Mr. Swinton shows that Hancock had no orders to attack and
had not even been informed that an attack on Petersburg was intended.
" Somebody blundered."

Mr. Swinton's work will always be the standard authority for the main
parts of the events it records, and will also continue to be a favorite with
amateur students of military history and strategy, for the narrative is clear
and sufficiently detailed, while the movements themselves of the two
armies were compact.

CONFERENCES ON THE BLESSED TRINITY. By the Rev. Dr. J. J. O'Connell,
O.S.B., St. Mary's College, Gaston Co., N. C. New York : The Catholic
Publication Society Co. 1882.

These sermons of the well-known North Carolina monk will be wel-
come reading in the numerous households that are situated far from the
city or village church and have to depend on their own pious resources
as a substitute for assisting at Mass.

Dr. O'Connell's style is fervid and he is fond of cumulative evidence, so
that he readily appeals to the heart of the reader as well as to the head.
Like all the illustrious order to which he belongs, he is impregnated
through and through with Holy Scripture, and he is constantly recurring
to the sacred text for argument and illustration.

The book is tastefully gotten out and is a credit to its publishers.

A SHORT SKETCH OF MODERN PHILOSOPHIES AND OF HIS OWN SYSTEM.
By Antonio Rosmini-Serbati. With a few words of introduction by
Father Lockhart. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

The Sketch of Modern Philosophies embraces the systems of Locke, Con-
dillac, Berkeley, Hume, Reid, Kant, and Fichte, with a critique upon the
same. As might be expected from a writer of such eminent learning and
ability, it is good, though brief. Then follows, within the brief compass of
eighteen pages, an exposition of Rosmini's system, in respect to one point
only, the theory of cognition. Father Lockhart, in his introduction, de-
fends the system in respect .to its immunity from any theological censure,
and we suppose that most persons will admit that in this he is successful.
He adds also some explanation and vindication of the system on philo-

1883.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 575

sophical grounds. Those who are interested in philosophical studies will
find this Short Sketch worthy of perusal.

THE IRISH QUESTION. By David Bennett King, Professor in Lafayette
College. New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 1882.

This volume is the result of two visits recently made to Ireland by the
author, a man of strong English sympathies, which appear constantly in
the apologetic tone employed in describing the fearful evil of English rule
in Ireland. Mr. King's chief sources of information, next after the use of
his own eyes, were persons connected with the English administration. It
is true that prominent Home-Rulers are quoted here and there, but gene-
ralty, as it appears, with a view of combating what they say. A really valu-
able part of the work, however, for purposes of reference, is the Appen-
dix, which gives the charter of the Land League, the No-Rent Manifesto,
the lord-lieutenant's proclamation against the Land League, as well as the
Coercion Act of i88i,the Land Law of i8Si,the Prevention of Crimes Act of
1882, and the Arrears of Rent Act of 1882.

CEREMONIAL FOR THE USE OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCHES IN THE UNITED
STATES. Fifth Revised Edition. Baltimore : J. B. Piet & Co. 1882.

The arrangement of the subject-matter in this latest edition of the Cere-
monial is better; there are to be found in it later instructions upon several
points previously undetermined, and in both the text and the frequent
foot-notes the reader is referred to the best authorities and made acquaint-
ed with the most reliable Roman practices.

Differences of opinion, as the compiler remarks, do exist on minor
points, owing to lack of directions and a variety of interpretations, but he
has endeavored to secure uniformity and perfection by taking Mgr. Mar-
tinucci as his guide. This prelate, for more than twenty-five years papal
master of ceremonies, published a few years ago a most comprehensive,
accurate, and authoritative ceremonial in eight volumes, and the present
edition is conformed in most points to the directions and interpretations
therein laid down.

Possessed of the new edition, we hope all former editions will be with-
drawn or speedily used up, and recommend the clergy in purchasing to be
particular to ask for the fifth edition. The book is published in good
style of binding and printing.

SACRED RHETORIC ; or, The Art of Rhetoric as applied to the Preaching of
the Word of God. By the author of Programmes of Sermons and In-
structions. New York : Benziger Bros. 1882.

We find this book to be a concise and practical compendium of the pre-
cepts of rhetoric, which it undertakes to apply specially to the various
kinds of instructing and preaching necessary in " the ministry of the Word."
Intended for those who are preparing themselves for that great work, it is
somewhat elementary, and embraces the subjects of composition, style, the
different kinds of sacred topics and delivery, all in a brief, clear way, giving
specimens of the modes of treatment, with plates to exemplify the gestures.

It seems eminently well fitted for a text-book in seminaries, and will

576 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Jan., 1883

also be found of use to those who are beginning and engaged in preach-
ing It is neatly and well gotten up by the publishers.

LEXIQUE DE LA LANGUE IROQUCISE. Avec notes et appendices. Par J. A.
Cuoq, Pretre de Saint-Sulpice. Montreal : J. Chapleau et Fils.

Those interested in the study of the languages of our aborigines, and
philologists generally, will doubtless find the dictionary of this zealous
missionary of much service. Having submitted the volume to one fully
competent to judge of the merits of such a work, we feel no hesitation in
recommending the book to all in any way interested in such matters.

THE HOLY EXERCISE OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD. Translated from the
French of T. F. Vaubert, S.J. St. Louis : P. Fox, publisher.

This little book treats of what is most fundamental, and in a clear and
complete way. For the presence of God is the very atmosphere of that
world into which we are introduced by the gift of the faith the needle
that directs, the safeguard, the stimulus, the very soul of all we do. We
wish this translation a wide circulation among our people.

MARY'S FIRST SHRINE IN THE WILDERNESS. By the Rev. A. A. Lambing. Pittsburgh : Myers,
Shinkle & Co. 1882.

CONATA. A collection of Poems. By Mary Grant O'Sheridan. Madison, Wis. : David At-
wood, printer. 1881.

THE MODERN HAGAR. A Drama. By Charles M. Clay, author of Baby Rue. Two volumes.
New York : George W. Harlan & Co. 1882.

CHURCH PROPERTY : ITS ORIGIN AND USE, ITS TENURE AND ADMINISTRATION. By Very Rev.
P. A. Ludden, V.G. Albany : Weed, Parsons & Co. 1882.

QUINTUS CLAUDIUS. A Romance of Imperial Rome. By Ernest Eckstein. From the German
by Clara Bell. In two volumes. New York : William S. Gottsberger. 1882.

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE MOST REV. JOHN MACHALE, ARCHBISHOP OF TUAM AND ME-
TROPOLITAN. By the Rev. Ulick J. Canon Bourke. New York : P. J. Kenedy. 1883.

THE SUBSTANCE OF SEVEN SERMONS preached in St. Michael's Church, Philadelphia, and pub-
lished for the benefit of the Conference of St. Vincent de Paul. Philadelphia : Thomas
Coleman, printer. 1882.

VERSES ON DOCTRINAL AND DEVOTIONAL SUBJECTS. By the Rev. James Casey, P.P., author
of Tyndall and Materialism, Intemperance, Our Thirst for Drink, and other poems. Dub-
lin : James Duffy & Sons. 1882.

THE NATURE AND FORM OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT FOUNDED IN THE CHRISTIAN
RELIGION. By the Honorable George Shea, Chief-Justice of the Marine Court of the City
of New York. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1882.

HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH OF THE RENOWNED AND VENERATED STATUES OF ST.
PETER AND NOTRE DAME DBS VICTOIRES, recently presented by his Holiness Leo XIII.
and by the Rev. Father Chevojon, pastor of Notre Dame des Victoires, to the French Roman
Catholic Church, Notre Dame des Victoires. *>f Boston. Boston : Alfred Mudge & Son,
printers. 1882.

THE

CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXXVI. FEBRUARY, 1883. No. 215.

THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN *

PART I.

ORIGEN, after having been, during- many ages, regarded
generally as a heretic and the great father of the grossest here-
sies, has been, during the later times, gradually regaining the re-
putation of orthodoxy. Recent historians and theologians have
commonly, while speaking of his genius, his great scriptural
works, and his character with admiration, adopted a tone of
qualified defence of his orthodoxy on most points of Catholic
faith, while admitting that he was in error on some others. They
have apologized for his supposed errors, on the ground that
they were not taught by him dogmatically but only in a tenta-
tive and hypothetical manner, may have been, perhaps, retract-
ed, and at all events were not contumaciously upheld in a spirit
of wilful resistance to the supreme authority of the church. Be-
sides this, they have suggested that the supposed errors contain-
ed in his writings, as we have them, may have been inserted in
them by the craft of heretical interpolators. On the whole, he
has been excused from formal heresy, and spoken of as a man,
not only great but holy, who may be credibly supposed to have
lived and died in the communion of the Catholic Church, and to
deserve a place, notwithstanding the cloud resting on his name,
among her most brilliant ornaments.

*/ S. Gregorti N\sseni et Origenis Scriptaet Doctrinatn Nova Recensio. Cum Appendice
de Actis Synodi V. OZcumenicaj. Per Aloisium Vincenzi, in Romano Archigymnasio Litt.
Heb. Professorem. Romae : Ex Typogr. B. Morini. 1864.

578 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Feb.,

Some have even gone so far as to exculpate him from all er-
ror in respect to doctrines which, in his own time, had been ex-
plicitly declared by the teaching of the Catholic Church ; and to
vindicate for him the rank of a great doctor equal to the men of
most illustrious fame in the annals of Christian antiquity. Hal-
loix had already led the way as a thorough-going apologist for
Origen. The Roman Professor Vincenzi has anew undertaken
the task of vindicating his memory and character, and has per-
formed it in a most laborious and exhaustive manner. Since the
publication of his work the cause of Origen has gained greatly,
and the belief of his complete innocence of the grave accusations
made against his doctrine seems working its way by degrees
into general acceptance.

The Dublin Review for 1865 and 1866 had a series of most in-
teresting articles on Origen's character and career, in one of
which, republished in this magazine while it was still partly
eclectic (vol. iv. p. 791), the writer says:

" It will doubtless have occurred to most of our readers that we have
too completely ignored the charges of heterodoxy that have so often been
made against the name of Origen. But we do not admit that Origen was
unsound in faith, much less that he was formally heretical. Although not
unprepared to justify this conviction, we cannot do more at present than
invoke the authority of a new and important contribution to the Origen
controversy," viz., the work of Professor Vincenzi.

The Civilta Cattolica (April 23, 1866) concludes a most favor-
able review of the same work with these words :

" Perhaps the most serious difficulty to be overcome in this controversy
will be one altogether outside of the merits of the case, and will arise from
that kind of prejudices which Bacon loves to call idols of the tribe."

The highest and most splendid eulogium, however, which
Origen has ever received was pronounced upon him by that
pontiff who specially delights in honoring illustrious scholars,
Pope Leo XIII., 4 in his encyclical ALterni Pair is, of August 4,
1879.*

" After him (to wit, Clement of Alex.) came Origen, renowned as the
master of the School of Alexandria, who was most deeply versed in Greek
and Oriental learning. He published many volumes involving great labor,
which were wonderfully adapted to explain the divine writings and illus-
trate the sacred dogmas ; which, though, as they are now extant, they may
not be altogether free from error, contain nevertheless a wealth of know-
ledge tending to the growth and advance of natural truths."

* This encyclical may be found, in Latin and English, in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, vol. xxx.
p. in. The extract is on pp. 120, 121.

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF RIG EN. 579

It will be observed that the Pope is not here pronouncing a
judgment on the question whether there are or are not doctrinal
errors in the writings of Origen as we have them in their text
as it now stands, much less as he actually wrote them. What
is positive in his language is a recognition of the splendid and
justly-earned fame of Origen as an editor and expositor of the
Scriptures, as an expounder of the dogmas of the faith, and as a
philosopher. His words of caution are expressed in the mildest
form and hypothetically. They insinuate that any errors which
theologians and critics may find in the present text of any of
Origen's writings are not to be imputed to him. Moreover, the
expression, licet erroribus omnino non vacent, is conditional and
very general, leaving the whole question whether such errors do
exist, and, if so, what their import may be, entirely open to dis-
cussion. No one can fail to see in the remarkably strong and
explicit language of the Holy Father a deliberate intention to
vindicate the fame of Origen, proceeding from a cordial admi-
ration of his genius and character.

Origen was honored, from the beginning of his career until
the latter part of the fourth century, as one of the most holy and
illustrious teachers of Catholic doctrine in the church. When
his name and reputation were violently attacked by several men
eminent in the authority of station and learning, he was defended
with equal vehemence by other men of high character, and by a
numerous body of disciples, especially among the monks, who
suffered great, persecutions on that account. Although his
assailants succeeded in bringing a heavy cloud of suspicion upon
his orthodoxy, at Rome and throughout the Western Church,
which has lasted until the present time, through a misunder-
standing of his real doctrine, his advocates have at length gained
their cause, and his character has been rehabilitated, in such a
way that he must now and ever hereafter be ranked among ths
orthodox Fathers of the church.

It is obvious from all this that the cause of orthodoxy is im-
plicated in the due explanation and defence of those points of his
doctrine which present a dubious appearance in certain parts of
his writings as they stand in their extant text. The theory of
his substantial orthodoxy and good faith as a Catholic cannot
co-exist with the admission that he was in error respecting the
points of doctrine above alluded to. The errors imputed to him
are not of a secondary importance, relating to matters not very
explicitly revealed, or not clearly manifested as pertaining to
faith, and certain theological conclusions, in the time when

580 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Feb.,

Origen lived. They are matters of primary importance, of
which there was never any doubt in the church, and the errors
imputed to Origen are such that he could not have held them
iii good faith, through ignorance of the doctrine of the Catholic
Church. Not only so ; but St. Gregory of Nyssa is in the same
category with Origen, and so are other recognized saints, to-
gether with the bishops in general who were suffragan to the
metropolitan bishop of Csesarea, and many others who were in
fellowship and sympathy with Origen.

The investigation of the incriminated passages in the works
of Origen, and of similar ones in the writings of St. Gregory of
Nyssa, with a view of finding out what these great men really
intended to teach, as well as the inquiry into the common under-
standing respecting the actual doctrine of these teachers and
others who agreed with them, are things of great importance.
One way out of the difficulty which was taken by some learned
men, and which still continues to be followed, is to deny the
authenticity of the questionable texts, and then to refer to other
passages in the same writings in which the Catholic doctrine is
plainly affirmed, as a proof of the genuine teaching of these
writers. Where there is no critical or historical evidence of an
alteration of this kind in the text, such a proceeding is very ob-
jectionable on many grounds. If there is a way of fairly recon-
'Ciling both classes of texts with each other, by explaining the
dubious ones in a sense which harmonizes with orthodox doc-
trine, it is much to be preferred. Such an explanation Professor
Vincenzi has attempted in respect both to St. Gregory and to
-Origen.

The great question relates to Eschatology that is, to the doc-
trine concerning the final state of angels and men. Those who
deny, and some of those who affirm, the Catholic doctrine of the
final and irreparable reprobation of all the angels who have
sinned and of many men who have likewise fallen from the grace
of God, maintain that certain passages in the writings of St.
Gregory of Nyssa express the opinion that all rational beings
will be eventually brought into the same state, alike those who
have not sinned and those who have sinned namely, into the
state of perfect holiness and beatitude in the kingdom of Christ,
from which they can never again fall away throughout eternity.

The same opinion is ascribed to Origen. Another error, in-
compatible with this one, is also ascribed to Origen : to wit, that
there is no final and unchangeable state for rational creatures.
That is, he 'is supposed to have held, or to have conjectured as a

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 581

possibility, that free-will being intrinsically vertible and in an
equilibrium toward every kind of real or apparent good, the
whole rational creation must for ever exist in a movement of
rotation. Running a series of endless revolutions through all
possible changes of position, all rational beings will alternately
pass from the moral perihelion in which they are as near as pos-
sible to God, to their aphelion of the utmost distance from him ;
now rushing, like comets, almost into the sun, and then wander-
ing away indefinitely on long orbits into the dark and cold in-
finitude of space. This notion, which may literally be called
extravagant, is closely connected with another, which might ap-
pear to be plausible to a heathen philosopher, but which is in the
highest degree bizarre, as well as utterly incredible and odious,
to an enlightened Christian mind. It is this : All rational crea-
tures are created at first as equal souls, at the zero-point of
moral being, with free-will and an indefinite capacity of progres-
sion toward the infinite good and retrogression in the opposite
direction. Each one becomes what he chooses to make himself,
going up to the highest order in the angelic hierarchy, becom-
ing a demon, or getting materialized and turning into a corpo-
real, human being. That soul which reached the highest point
of perfection was rewarded by a hypostatic union with the Per-
son of the Divine Word, and in the Incarnation became the soul
which animated the body generated by the Virgin. In regard
to the resurrection, Origen is sometimes made to teach that
human bodies are transformed into brilliant orbs, and again to
maintain that incorporated souls, by becoming holy and perfect,
are etherealized and transmuted into purely spiritual beings.

In fact, so many different opinions have been imputed to
Origen that if all the accusations of his enemies are admitted,
and we consider that confessedly he did, in his open teaching and
in many parts of his writings, inculcate also the orthodox doc-
trine opposite to all these errors and absurdities, we must set
him down as a genius erratic to the verge of madness, and as a
hypocritical impostor worse than Montanus or Manes. There
is no half-way vindication or half-way condemnation of Origen
which is tenable. If he held and taught, even as probable hypo-
theses only, the errors in matters pertaining to faith which St.
Jerome imputed to him, his accusers were right in denouncing
his doctrine as a congeries of heresies which were completely
subversive of all genuine Christianity. Moreover, besides those
errors which have been just now specified, he was accused even
of corrupting the Catholic doctrine of the Trinity and the In-

582 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Feb.,

carnation, whence he was styled the father of Arius and the
principal author of the heresies which were bred from his false
teaching concerning the Word and the Holy Spirit.

Of course an apologist for Origen is obliged to. meet fully
the very serious primd facie appearance of his guilt which arises
from real and supposed facts in the history of the Origenistic
controversy, as it is commonly narrated by ecclesiastical his-
torians. It is certain that St. Jerome and St. Epiphanius waged
a most vehement war upon Origen and all his apologists, and
did all in their power to bring about a formal condemnation of
himself and his writings. It is commonly supposed that he was
actually condemned by the Roman pontiff and by the Fifth
(Ecumenical Council, whose anathemas were repeated by seve-
ral succeeding councils. How is it possible, then, to vindicate
his innocence and orthodoxy, and at the same time to observe
due respect towards these popes, councils, and fathers ?

Father Vincenzi's discussion of these important and compli-
cated matters is very learned and elaborate. The main point of
his defence is that it was not the genuine doctrine of Origen, as
contained in the authentic text of his works, which was inculpat-
ed. Spurious and corrupted editions were produced by which
St. Jerome and his associates were deceived and led into a mis-
take. Theophilus, Patriarch of Alexandria, the cruel persecutor
of the Egyptian monks and of St. John Chrysostom ; who was
in the end smitten by the anathemas of Rome ; is designated as
the author and prime mover of the war upon Origen, who im-
posed upon St. Jerome, blinded by partiality for this able and
astute but unscrupulous prelate, and misled by a false judgment
of his real character and motives. The combat was waged
against a man of straw, and the real Origen is therefore unscath-
ed by any censures which were levelled against his counterfeit.

Father Vincenzi, moreover, endeavors to prove that Origen
and his writings were never condemned either by any pope or
by the Fifth Council, and that the supposed documents in evi-
dence of his condemnation are spurious. The anathemas of the
subsequent councils, not being of the nature of new judgments
upon the merits of the case, but merely repetitions of those
which were taken without examination from forged additions to
the authentic records of the Fifth Council, fall to the ground with
the foundation on which they rested.

There are several very interesting and valuable elucidations of
obscure and generally misunderstood historical topics involved
in the course of this investigation. The character of Rufinus and

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 583

of John of Jerusalem is ably vindicated from the unfavorable esti-
mate of these celebrated men which has become current through
the invectives of their great antagonist in controversy. The
character of Vigilius is also cleared from the aspersions cast
upon it by his personal enemies and the opponents of the Fifth
Council, and the story which defaces the account of his acces-
sion to the supreme pontificate, and his conduct at Constantino-
ple, as found in our ecclesiastical histories, is proved to be a fabu-
lous invention.

Father Vincenzi then goes into a thorough investigation of
the genuine works of Origen, and the whole history of his career,
vindicating him in respect to every part of Catholic doctrine
from all errors which could compromise his reputation as an or-
thodox Father of the church.

In the present state of the Origen controversy, we do not
think it necessary to go into the whole question. We assume
that the orthodoxy of the illustrious Alexandrian in respect
to the Trinity, the Incarnation, and all other Catholic dogmas has
been fully vindicated, and may be admitted, with the sole excep-
tion of the one doctrine that the doom of exclusion from the hea-
ven of the blessed is final and irreversible for all fallen angels and
for many fallen men. We assume also that the translation of the
famous book PeriarcJion, or De Principiis, on which the contro-
versy principally turns, made by Rufinus, is an honest and faith-
ful version of the Greek original text, and that Father Vincenzi's
recension of the text of disputed passages in other works of Ori-
gen is likewise trustworthy. Lest we should seem to presume
' too much, we will cite the high authority of the Civilta Cattolica
in favor of the recension adopted by Father Vincenzi :

"The author discusses the question, which of the two translations
should be esteemed the most conformable to the original text, that of St.
Jerome or that of Rufinus ; and after travelling through a laborious ex-
amination he adjudges the pre-eminence to the Rufinian, as the one which
fully agrees with the doctrine elsewhere taught by Origen, and corresponds
to the argument pursued in the respective passages, and accords with the
genuine quotations made by the martyr St. Pamphilus in his Apology.
True it is that Rufinus confesses to have corrected the Greek codex ; but
this candid confession, instead of damaging, considerably helps the author's
assumption. For Rufinus affirms that he amended or omitted only some
phrases relating to the Trinitarian doctrine ; he adds that he did this only
where he found his codex contrary to the doctrines of Origen ; finally, he
observes that his corrections regard only some words incautiously inserted
and some things discordant from the argument. This confirms what we know
otherwise, to wit, that Rufinus expended much study in the comparison of

584 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Feb.,

the different works of the Alexandrian, using for that purpose the best
codices that he could find, while St. Jerome, overwhelmed with other la-
bors, did not enter into an examination of the integrity of the Origenian
codices, did not institute an accurate comparison between the various
works of the same writer, and, spurred on by his zeal, denounced to the
faithful the heresies found by him in the codices under his hand.

" Let it not be supposed, however, that the apology constructed by Vin-
cenzi is based only on the pre-eminence of the translation of Rufinus. It
is founded upon a comparative examination of the divers works of Origen,
and upon a discussion of all and singular the heads of the accusation by
which his name was burdened. This method obliged the author to cite the
parallel passages from all the Origenian works and to traverse almost the
whole field of Christian theology. Those who read this long and laborious
work (1,866 pages octavo) will find that it proceeds from a simple intention
of clearing up the truth and is constantly regulated by the measure of the
most secure critical and hermeneutical laws. . . . Besides the examination
into the genuineness of texts, there is a sagacious discrimination of hypo-
thetical reasoning or the argumentum ad hominem, from the absolute argu-
ment which proceeds from common principles ; of a mere suggestion of the
doubts which may occur to the readers, from the affirmation of the writer ;
of the apparent sense of solitary texts from the true one which is gathered
from the whole context ; of the mediate signification of allegory, which was
so familiar to Origen, from the immediate sense which others have chosen
to gather from certain passages in the Origenian works ; and a perpetual re-
gard to the special scope which the Alexandrian writer proposed to himself
at every step, whether this was the confutation of error or the illustration
of the truth. Keeping all these things in view, the author goes on demon-
strating, part by part, that all the genuine places of Origen, in which grave
errors appear to his adversaries to be found, are not only susceptible of an
orthodox interpretation, but necessarily demand it, when they are put in
the light of other and clearer places of the same writer."

We have found Father Vincenzi's work to be very hard read-
ing. A complete compte rcndu of his entire course of argumen-
tation and its results would fill a small volume of almost unread-
able density. We have in view only a selection from the mass of
erudition of as much as may suffice to make Origen's teaching on
the one point we have noted intelligible, hoping to make our expo-
sition as easy to read and understand as the subject will permit.

Vincenzi takes up the case of St. Gregory of Nyssa first in
order, and it will be convenient for us to do so likewise, as the
elucidation of his doctrine of Eschatology will much facilitate the
explanation of Origen's teaching.

Universalists are wont to refer to the writings of this Father
with special confidence, as evidence that the doctrine of univer-
sal salvation was regarded in the earlier ages of Christianity as
tenable, and was propounded by men of high repute as a probable
opinion. This is a very excusable mistake on their part, in view

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF O RIG EN. 585

of certain passages which are found scattered through the works
of St. Gregory and of several other Fathers, difficult of interpre-
tation according to Catholic faith, if their genuineness is admit-
ted. Catholic writers generally have shown themselves to be
puzzled by these hard sayings, particularly by those which be-
long to St. Gregory of Nyssa. Some writers of repute allow
that the doctrine of universal restoration is distinctly professed
as a rational probability in the text of his writings as it now
stands, leaving it as an open question whether this text is genu-
ine or corrupt. Stockl, namely, does so in his exposition of the
Nyssenian philosophy :

" Gregory's doctrine finds its completion in his Eschatology. Inasmuch as
Christ arose from death and entered into glory, the human Nattire as such
has already returned to the original, ideal state from which it had fallen
away through sin. Inasmuch, however, as it is individualized in the mul-
titude of single men, it has not yet returned thither. This can be accom-
plished only when the human race has completed its full number. The
number of individuals in the human race must one day be filled up, for the
law of human nature demands that this number be definite and deter-
mined. Then, first, after the human nature has actualized itself by the
way of corporeal propagation in all the individuals in which it should and
must actualize itself, can it return to its original state, also in these indi-
viduals. And when this Apocatastasis is accomplished it will be universal,
extending to all individuals.

" It follows from this that the punishment awaiting bad men in the
other life can only be purgatorial. Bad men fall into the penal fire after
the death of the body, in which they are made to suffer in proportion to the
demerit of their evil deeds. But by the operation of this fire all that is car-
nal and sinful which still remained inherent in the soul after its separation
from the body will be gradually consumed, so that at last, after a longer or
shorter period of punishment, these souls will be freed from everything
which is irrational and sinful. Therefore, the purgatorial punishment of
souls in the other world is comparable to the purification of gold in the
fire ; for as fire separates all dross from gold and reduces it to the condition
of a perfectly pure metal, so an analogous effect will be produced in the
souls of the wicked.

"After the full number of the human race has been completed, next
follows the Resurrection. . . . Upon the resurrection follows the Judgment.
Those men who are perfectly purified will enter into glory immediately af-
ter the judgment, and all the rest will be again consigned to the penal fires.
Their punishment will not, however.be everlasting. Evil must one day be
completely effaced from the realm of existing being; for as it is not from eter-
nity, it cannot have an eternal duration. Therefore, those also who have
been subjected to punishment after the judgment, after they have been
fully purified by penal suffering, will, sooner or later, enter into glory, until
finally the human nature in all individuals will become glorified after the
image of Christ.

586 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN, [Feb.,

" Yes, the Devil himself will at last acknowledge the sovereignty of
Christ, and thus the Apocatastasis will finally become universal, without
any exception. When this goal has been reached then is God All in All,
because all will be in God, and God in all.

" We have represented these doctrines as we find them in the works of
Gregory. Whether they are his own, out and out, or some elements have
been smuggled in by Origenists it is, anyhow, a just inference from his
teaching taken as a whole that Gregory allowed himself to be influenced in a
high degree in his philosophical conclusions by the Neo-Platonic, Origenistic
doctrine. Where he goes to work in a purely dogmatic manner his doc-
trines are in perfect accord with the ecclesiastical faith-consciousness ;
where, on the other hand, he gives himself to philosophical speculations,
the Neo-Platonic, Origenistic element often obtrudes itself very remarka-
bly. That, nevertheless, the propositions which he teaches as conclusions
from these principles were regarded as merely Gregory's private opinions,
is shown by the reputation which he has enjoyed as an orthodox teacher in
the church from his own time and until now. In the view of the church
these private opinions in philosophy were cast into the background by his
dogmatic orthodoxy." *

Huet of Avranches and F. Petau (Petavius) declare undoubt-
ingly that St. Gregory taught the purgative, remedial, and tem-
porary nature of all punishment, and the absolute universality
of the Apocatastasis, in the sense of a restitution of all fallen
angels and men to the beatitude for which they were originally
destined. Stockl's apology for his orthodoxy will not bear ex-
amination. St. Gregory was far too enlightened a man to hold
and teach a philosophy in diametrical opposition to the theology
which he held and taught as revealed and Catholic dogma. The
catholic sense of his day would never have tolerated such a self-
destructive pretext of orthodoxy in a bishop. Unless a trench-
ant method of cutting the knot by a theory of wholesale corrup-
tion of his text be adopted, all sound rules of criticism and her-
meneutics demand that either St. Gregory should be proved to
have changed his doctrine, or that the seeming contradictions in
his writings should be shown to be no real ones but only ap-
parent antilogies admitting of a fair interpretation which har-*
monizes them with each other. There cannot be any supposi-
tion that he changed his doctrine, for the two classes of passages
in question occur together in the same writings, and are inter-
mingled throughout his principal works. All those passages
which are admitted to be genuine must, therefore, be recon-
ciled with each other. His doctrine of Apocatastasis must be
interpreted in such a way as to accord with the doctrine of
eternal punishment, or his doctrine of eternal punishment must

*Stockl, Lehrb. Geschicht. I'/til., p. 291.

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 587

be explained as meaning what some moderns call ceonian, of
long duration co-eval with an <zon or world-period, but not end-
less. On any hypothesis except one, viz., that St. Gregory
consistently taught both as a philosopher and as a theolo-
gian all that is of Catholic faith respecting the infernal state
and its everlasting duration, it is impossible to escape the con-
clusion that heresy in respect to this dogma was tolerated in
the church at the close of the fourth century.

The importance of vindicating St. Gregory's doctrine is
surely obvious enough ; and the vindication of Origen is indisso-
lubly bound up with the cause of St. Gregory. The latter de-
rived his doctrine in many respects, as Stockl remarks, from
Origen and his school. If the key be found which unlocks the
Nyssenian casket, it will fit the locks of Origen. And, vice versa,
the elucidation of Origen, which is easier, will remove all diffi-
culty which hinders the understanding of St. Gregory.

That St. Gregory teaches explicitly an Apocatastasis or Uni-
versal Restitution of the violated and deranged order of the
universe, is unquestionable. It is true also that, however clear
and intelligible his exposition may have been to his contempora-
ries, and to Orientals of the period near to his own, it is now ob-
scure and has always been so to the ecclesiastical writers of the
Western Church. The Nyssenian system of philosophy pre-
sented by Dr. Stockl is not an epitome of a systematically con-
structed system from the mind and hand of Gregory. It is one
constructed by Germans in an ideal manner, in which Gregory's
ideas as understood by them are made to fit and correspond. If
the single statements of the Nyssene doctor have been misun-
derstood, the system falls to the ground. In particular, if the
historian of philosophy has failed to apprehend correctly the idea
of the Apocatastasis in the Origenian Eschatology, and in the
formal conception of Gregory's own mind, it is impossible for
him to make a correct comparison between the two terms which
'he puts in opposition, to wit, the Nyssene dogmatic theology and
the Nyssene philosophy. Now, in one important point the emi-
nent German philosopher has noted a. difference between Origen
and Gregory which does not really exist. In his exposition of
Origen's Eschatology he points out the period of the Resurrec-
tion and the Last Judgment as the time of the fulfilment of the
Apocatastasis. " The Apocatastasis is fulfilled in the resurrec-
tion of bodies " (p. 280). Vincenzi shows conclusively that the
disciple did not depart from the master in respect to this point.
St. Gregory knows nothing of any restoration or essential

588 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Feb.,

change of state for angels or men after the Last Judgment.
And, as he most certainly does teach in no equivocal terms that
this judgment determines a separate and opposite destiny for
two classes of angelic and human beings, which is eternal, there
is no contradiction here between his theological dogma and his
private, philosophical opinions. If there be a contradiction, it
must be in that he teaches theologically a separate eternal des-
tination determined finally at the Last Judgment, and teaches
philosophically its precise contrary viz., that at the Resurrection
an Apocatastasis takes place by which all angels and men, with-
out exception, are made partakers in one celestial beatitude.
This notion implies that all punishment is remedial and purga-
tive, terminating at the Last Judgment.

Now, that St. Gregory does teach that there is a certain
punitive and purgative discipline which the human race has
incurred through original and actual sin, ceasing at this final
term and succeeded by a universal restoration, is beyond all
question. The eternal penalty which he also teaches as a dogma
of faith with unequivocal clearness must be therefore something
quite distinct from this. The Apocatastasis makes an end of the
former, but does not liberate from the latter. It repairs the
damage done by sin, in certain respects, and expels from the uni-
verse the disorder which it had introduced. Yet it leaves the
fallen angels, who have never been redeemed, for ever incapable
of regaining the celestial glory which they forfeited by the
abuse of their free-will. And it leaves all men who have not
been personally liberated, through the redemption, from all sin,
original or actual, by the grace of Christ, likewise for ever in-
capable of regaining the Lost Paradise.

If St. Gregory had presumed to deny or question this doc-
trine of revelation and Catholic faith, even by the way of private,
philosophical speculation, he would have been a formal heretic,
instead of being, as he was, a great Saint and Father of the
church. What his real doctrine is concerning eterna^ punish-
ment, and also concerning the Apocatastasis, we will endeavor to
explain hereafter.

1883.] ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT^ 589

ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT.

Once came to Archimedes a youth who thirsted for knowledge.
" Do but instruct me," he said, " Art's godlike features to trace ! "

Answered the wise man :
" If thou the goddess wouldst court, hope not a woman to find."

SCHILLER.

THE study of the antique has ever since the days of the Renais-
sance engaged the serious attention of the artist. Those match-
less forms of Phidias, of which Quintilian says that they elevat-
ed the sentiment of popular religion by disengaging it from the
worship of the material, have always served, if not as a source of
inspiration, at least a fitting vehicle to the expression of noble
thoughts and sentiments. Yet, however advantageous this pur-
suit has or may have been in the past, it is significant that in
more recent times it has entirely changed both in its meaning
and in its application to art. Modern thought bears in many
respects the stamp of a tendency towards paganism. A large
class of society, ever read}'' to improve their social respectability
by merging private interests of a superior though misunder-
stood nature into those that are leading, complacently accept the
situation. Taste follows habits of thought, and thus it has come
to pass that as in other things, so in art, men worship for its
own sake what their fathers respected for the sake of its acci-
dental good. Whilst Catholic philosophy holds that art is on
the whole impossible without religion, and that the highest art
is to be found where there is most perfect development of the
religious feeling, the modern agnostic and infidel schools are anx-
ious to convince us that the influence of Christianity upon art is
not a necessary one. " Whatever Christianity may have done or
may be able to do for art," say they, "it is an undeniable fact that
as a religion it is not congenial to the great majority of men in
our day. Consequently its beliefs cannot inspire the artist with
a genuine enthusiasm. On the other hand, it is generally ad-
mitted that the ancient Greeks attained a high perfection in
art. It follows, therefore, that by taking the basis of the golden
days of Greek art we may reasonably hope to reach the high-
est excellence without as science has done in spite of Chris-
tianity."

The argument is worthy of notice, not because it presents
any special intricacies, for it is as shallow as it is common. But

59O ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. [Feb.,

common it is. And in an age when stereotyped opinions form
much of the public morality, when there is an evident craze, as
it has been termed, in the world of aesthetics, such error is a
powerful lever for evil. In a community, moreover, where Ca-
tholic interests are so closely interwoven with those of a dissent-
ing public, reflection on our becoming attitude towards topics of
the day is of highest importance in guarding these interests.

What can be said in answer to the above argument of the
non-Christian art-student may be summed up thus : The mod-
ern artist cannot go back to pagan art with any hope of draw-
ing inspiration therefrom, because of the change Christianity it-
self has wrought upon our present ethical life. We may ignore,
even with a show of consistency, the Christian teachings, but we
cannot divest ourselves of certain all-pervading influences which
it has produced affecting our knowledge, our views and tastes.
Moreover, we shall find on examination that pagan art of the
best period, and in proportion as it is worthy of our imitation,
was nourished by a sentiment similar or parallel to that which
raised the Christian art of the middle ages ; and that, whilst
Christian thought may still inform pagan art and make it its
own, modern scepticism renders it impossible to itself through
lack of that real sympathy which is necessary to the production
of high art of any kind.

In Christianity mankind has, as we said, received a lesson
the effects of which it can hardly eliminate, though it might for-
get the lesson itself. And this makes it impossible that, whilst
we may bring back paganism in its worst features, we should
have that sprinkling of " the good and the true " of Aristotle
which gave lustre to those ages. Who is there that would
resolve astronomical problems of to-day, ignoring the laws of
Kepler and Newton, by the old methods of Pythagoras ? The
problems could not even be conceived without the light given
us by these laws.

But let us compare pagan art of a representative age say
that of the Phidian in Greece with modern thought stripped of
its Christian element as we take it to be, and see what both may
have in common. Let us see whether anything can be gained in
the direction of a reform or a perfecting in high art by the
study of the antique pursued without any other light than that
shed upon it by its own contemporary history. Probably it will
sound like an anachronism to say that pagan art, whilst at its
summit, was inspired by Christian thought. Yet if we reflect
that, by the divine economy, all things in the moral world have,

1883.] ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. 591

since the fall of man, been tending to the central point of the
Redemption, that by virtue of the expected Messias countless
children of the patriarchs were saved, it may not seem so
strange that what was truly good and noble in paganism,
emanating, as it must have done, from the source of all good,
should have been not merely afterwards appropriated by Chris-
tianity, but have belonged to her by ancient right of inheritance.
The human soul is Christian by birth ; that is, it is created to
tend to its final end, God. Whether we call the line that marks
that tendency Christianity or natural religion is, in point of logi-
cal importance, of little consequence, supposing that man acts
according to his full lights. As natural religion has been per-
fected by the supplanting of positive religion, so art, the natural
growth of man's appreciation and love for the beautiful, was en-
nobled by being transplanted on Christian ground. Put the
flower back in the old rocky soil where once it managed to live,
nay, bloom, and it will wither. Its organic structure has chang-
ed under the new influences. The less abundant sap can no
longer feed so large a stalk as it has grown to be. Deprive it,
moreover, of the light from above which it enjoyed in former
days, and you will quickly bring about its death.

What was the status of the Athenian people, in point of reli-
gion and morality, during that period of healthiest growth in
pagan art, down to the days of Praxiteles, in whom the first
symptoms of a decline appear ? Lecky, the historian of Euro-
pean morals, has, with apparently great pains and certainly much
erudition, established * that the religion of the Greeks had little
or no influence upon their morality at any time. Yet who will
practically doubt the contrary ? Is not art the reflection to a
very great extent of the moral atmosphere in which it is brought
forth ? But the art of almost all primitive nations was, we might
say, exclusively the offspring of their religious convictions. In
Greece religious convictions of a high moral order had certainly
taken hold of the popular mind considerably before Socrates
brought them into the byways and dwelling-places of the poor.
The noble teachings of Thales concerning God's presence to the
most secret thoughts of the human soul had been preached by
his disciple, Anaxagoras, in the public places of Athens for full
thirty years. The master, whom the oracles had pronounced
the " wisest of men," himself a sculptor in the school of Phidias,
reveals to us in his doctrines that singular asceticism, so much
like the Christian virtues of humility and self-denial, which has

* History of European Morals, W. E. H. Lecky, vol. i. cap. ii.

592 ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. [Feb.,

claimed the admiration of these more than two thousand years.
Whatever his errors in detail or in the light of revealed religion,
we cannot but wonder at the clear depth which he lays open of
the divine wisdom and the dignity of the human soul. What a
strange, awe-inspiring feeling takes possession of us when we
follow Plato as, with almost prophetic surety, he unfolds the
plan of the Christian religion, giving us a glimpse, momentary
but defined, of the doctrine of the Trinity and of atonement ! Sin-
gular that the idea, whencesoever it may have come to him, of a
redeemer, with the details of his sufferings and death on a cross,*
should have found acceptance in him, when we remember the
tenacious incredulity of the apostles before they had received
the Paraclete ! It is a mournful thought that such souls should
have missed the light of later times, and recalls to mind the tears
which St. Paul is related to have shed when, on his landing at
Puteoli, he came to the tomb of Virgil:

"Ad Maronis mausoleum
Ductus fudit super eum
Piae rorera lacrymse :
Quantum inquit, te fecissem,
Vivum si te invenissem
Poetarum maxime."t

These doctrines had without doubt found sympathy among the
people. Thus can we account for the almost sudden and simul-
taneous springing up of great souls such as the philosophic
schools of that day produced, of the hundred eminent sculptors
and painters, of immortal ^Eschylos, Sophocles, Euripides, and
their disciples. Philosophy, art, literature, all conspired to raise
popular thought and feeling to a high moral level the highest,
perhaps, that was possible under the conditions of that time.
The Thebans had passed a law that nothing offending decency
should be allowed to be painted. Art was made the instrument
to spread a sound morality. Painting, says Aristotle, teaches
the same precepts of moral conduct as philosophy, with this ad-
vantage : that it employs a shorter method. To the same purpose
Callistratus calls painting ars mores effingens. Cardanus, in his
bookZte Subtilitateft. says the painter is of necessity a philosopher.
It has, indeed, been doubted, with Plato, whether the splendor and
magnificence which the patronage of Pericles helped to develop

* Plato, Rep., ii. 361, cited from Dollinger's Heidenthum undjudenthum, 247.
t These beautiful lines are a fragment of an ancient sequence, quoted by Schlosser, Die
Kirche in ihren Liedern.
\ Lib. xvii.

1883.] ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. 593

in the fine arts did actually improve the Athenian citizens in vir-
tue. But granted that it did not, it does not disprove the nobil-
ity of the cause which gave rise to that art. Judge the art of
the Renaissance supposing it to be the highest yet attained
by the actual good it has done, and it will in all probability fall
far below the average good effected by the Pre-Raphaelite
painters. The most perfect form of things is not necessarily the
most extensively useful, though it might be if certain other
conditions were not wanting. There were, indeed, many things
that conspired to facilitate the peculiar growth of art among the
Greeks. Their finer susceptibilities, accidents of a political and
geographical nature, perhaps a certain superior foreign culture
introduced from the Hebrews all these were circumstances
unusually favorable to such development, whilst they made the
people averse to the grosser forms of religious worship which
abounded among Egyptians, Persians, Jews, and Romans. Whilst
these adored images of the brute-creation, "the Greek created
God," says Jacobs, " in his own image as the purest symbol of
the divine nature, and associated to every phenomenon in which
he felt God's life-giving, breath a being who appeared to his im-
agination under human guise as an object of human devotion."
Here, then, lay the secret of their inspiration the divinity in-
forming the human figure, not as the seat of the passions, but as
the most perfect symbol of all that is noble and great. The days
of the declining glory of Athens had not yet come to change
that faith in the gods as the representatives of highest moral
sentiment, of power, dignity, reverence, and purity. These were
the ideals, and to express them the artist sought worthy types
in the most perfect of God's creations in man. Yet the form
was ever secondary. Hence Pausanias says even of the sculp-
tures of Daedalus that, in spite of their rough clumsiness, they
gave intimations of a high and divine character. There was no-
thing illiberal, nothing loose or immoral, but, as Plato had set
down in his Republic, everything bearing the stamp of the be-
coming and the beautiful.

Thus religion operated upon the creative art of the Greeks as
long as it was what we can admire or imitate and, with the in-
stinct of a future life common to all men and closely connected
with their religious worship, they drew into the circle of the
gods the great mortals who had passed away leaving the mem-
ory of their virtues behind. Discerning the object of the things
in nature created for the service of men, the artist placed in
subservient order the animal kingdom, the products of nature,
VOL. xxxvi. 38

594 ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. [Feb.,

often symbolical as in Christian art. Witness the statue of Jupi-
ter by Phidias, its size and bearing full of majesty and earnest
dignity. Victories support the throne, and beneath them are
the sphinxes and the children of Niobe, symbols of retributive
justice. Mark the sculptor's fond preference for flowers, espe-
cially lilies, with which on every side he ornaments the seats of
his imaged gods, as if he understood it full well that they must
rest their power on transcendent purity and freedom from all im-
perfection. " Everywhere," says Miiller,* " do we find a natural
dignity and grace united with noble sublimity, without any effort
to allure the senses, a characteristic of the best ages not merely
of art but of Grecian life generally."

In painting, too, so far as it was cultivated, the Greeks at-
tained to the highest excellence. And though it was still at its
summit when sculpture showed already the first symptoms of
decay, we recognize the same influences in the development of
both arts. The first to break with the archaic rigidity of his im-
mediate predecessors was Cimon, who is said to have introduced
foreshortening. The names of Polygnotus, whose mythological
forms show an earnest and religious spirit, of Zeuxis and Parrha-
sius, are sufficiently familiar. Superior to these rises Timanthes.
In his " Sacrifice of Iphigenia " he gives us a striking instance of
the sublime notion he had of his craft and of his delicate sense of
propriety. Unwilling to mar the beauty of his canvas by even
the least repulsive feature, he expresses the distressing grief of
-Agamemnon by making him hide his face in his mantle. " It
was a fundamental law in Greek art," observes Westropp f on
this subject, " to represent alone what was beautiful, and never any-
thing disagreeable."^: The crowning glory was reached in Apelles.
In him we find the true spirit of the Socratic school. What is
said of his extreme generosity and utter unselfishness might have
.put to blush the jealous rival-masters of the sixteenth century.
" Deinde," says Pliny, " cessavit ars." Art thenceforth became
venal ; the old heroism departed with the age of Alexander the
Great. And though the old impulse still carried it on mechani-
cally, Greece sank morally and sesthetically.

If we analyze what has thus far been said of the representa-
tive period of pagan art we discern in it two principal condi-

* Ancient Art, Muller (Leitch's translation). t Handbook of Arcliceology, p. 67.

JThe same is illustrated in the celebrated group of Laocoon (in the Vatican), where the cry
of agony, expressed by the poet,

Clamor es simul horrendos ad sidera toll it

(ViRG. ii. 222),
is softened into a sigh by the sculptor.

1883.] ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. 595

tions. In the first place the object of that art was of a most dig-
nified character, both in its general sense, representing the ma-
jesty and benevolence of the divinity, and in its particular appli-
cation to man in his exalted dignity of true virtue. The second
condition of this high art of the Greeks was that it had its root
and source, not in any admiration of what was externally beauti-
ful, but in their inmost hearts. It was their conviction that labor
for the glorifying of Olympus, for the benefit of an elected race,
was its own highest reward, since it brought them the favor of
the gods and the gratitude of a magnanimous people.

Now, in the light of Christianity or what Christianity has
since shown Greek philosophy and Greek deism in reality to
have been, however sincerely we must believe its own devotees
to have clung to it can any man in our nineteenth century look
upon that pagan creed as anything dignified : dignified with a
dignity that rests on perfect freedom such as Christianity has
given it to us ? Or, as a matter of fact for it still sounds as if we
might say yes to the foregoing question do men in our day who
would fain worship the pagan deities respect virtue, not civil or
social but private virtue ? , As has well been said by a recent
writer, to superstition sublime action is possible, but Who would
expect heroism from incredulity? And do we, on the other hand,
possess, or is it possible for us to be animated with, a real enthu-
siasm, with a conviction that these things are realities, at least in
a remote sense, and not myths, the outgrowth of a neglected re-
velation or an imperfect view of partial truth ? When once we
have seen a beautiful picture it will not do to bid us be satisfied
with its first unfinished draughts. But did not the Renaissance
produce great effects by taking the classic ages for its models?
Yes, because Christian art supported it. The moment that
Christian thought was ignored in it, that moment did pagan art
, become insipid imitation or pasticcio. Mere subjective admira-
tion is to art what probably wealth is to it, stimulating, never in-
spiring. All great works are produced from some inward con-
viction of their serving a higher purpose.

Hence if we reject Christianity we reject the basis upon
which alone we could utilize pagan inspiration of the loftiest
character. Do we aim at anything less perhaps at the imita-
tion of the more voluptuous forms of Praxiteles and his follow-
ers? Well, if so we may do something towards feeding our
senses, but we do not help art. And such is the fact. What is
the growing popularity of the life-classes indicative of ? They
have become almost the principal instead of the merest contribut-

596 ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. [Feb.,

ing element in our art-study. Moreover, we object to the meth-
od * because it favors popularizing of vice. Is an artist suppos-
ed to have no blush ? It is quite pertinent to true art that cor-
poral beauty should be represented such as it is, where the na-
ture of the subject demands it. Hence the art-student must at
times take notice of the "figure." But since art is not a mere
signboard to point out how viler passions may be aroused, and
man, instead of being elevated, is taught to grovel in the mire of
moral depravity, it is manifestly impossible sufficiently to util-
ize such knowledge with any proportion to the pains one is
ordinarily under to acquire it. Philosophers tell us that what
is ethically ugly cannot be in any true sense beautiful. Now,
an object is ethically ugly whenever it violates the fundamental
laws of propriety and decency. Besides, truth, psychological no
less than historical, is essential to art. When art, therefore, as-
sumes to represent the human person typically, this representa-
tion must correspond with the character, principles, and spirit of
man as such. Surely it is not in accordance with our ideal con-
ception of man's greatness and loveliness, the shadow of original
sin hanging ever above us, to represent him in the form in which
the more licentious ages of pagan art exhibited their gods. The
pure heart naturally rebels at, and sends its blood into the face
to signalize the violation of, this principle. We can understand,
however, how men may be educated to the contrary views. As
for the Greeks, none of their statues representing the true dig-
nity of the gods and of man during the period we have spoken
of in the beginning offend the chastest eye of an intelligent
Christian. The Greek sculptors, without Decalogue, without
the virginal models of our Lord and his holy Mother, show in
their pictured divinities and heroes an instinctive feeling of the
necessity of decency and modesty as part alike of art and of
religion. On the whole the nude, in sculpture as well as in
painting, is incompatible with the psychological truth required
by the true criterion of art. The exceptions are comparatively
rare, and then truth to nature is never the object, always only
accessory, and disappears amid the general dignity of the
whole. It is a good rule for the artist to keep in mind that
everything which may offend, in this respect, even the most sen-
sitive eye should be omitted in a work of art.

As we said above, of the life-classes there is much too much.

* We have in our mind the art-schools of Philadelphia, which, though not an art-centre in
the common acceptation, has the best-equipped schools (by all accounts) in the country. Here
the life classes show an unusually large attendance.

1883.] ANCIENT ART AND MODERN THOUGHT. 597

It works harm, because it rests on no sound basis, and of itself
is of course in nowise capable of creating either high or even
mediocre standard of art. Take, for example, the works of
Watts, R.A., of whom there has been so much talk of late.
No better example can be found to illustrate the truth of what
we have said throughout this article. Mr. Watts is said to be the
one master in England who thoroughly understands the human
figure. He has devoted himself with more zeal than any other
contemporary artist of note to the study of Greek sculpture, and
the effect of this, we are given to understand, shows itself in all
his imaginative creations. He has applied the knowledge thus
gathered during more than half a century to every conceivable
department of high art, and that with apparently purest motives
and most whole-souled devotion. He is no servile imitator ; he is
original, and, leaving aside all criticism of technique, his subjects,
even the portraits, contain the motives of great thoughts. And
yet the vast exhibition of his works at the Grosvenor last year
has called forth the verdict that he is a failure,* though " even
his failures are beautiful, for they are sincere work in a great
cause, and over the weakest of them there lingers something of
the glory and the dream." He has attempted, and under the
most auspicious circumstances of an unusually long life spent in
his favorite pursuit, of singular talent and earnestness of purpose,
to combine modern thought with the sentiment of the past. And
failed. Why ? Mr. Quilter tells us substantially that it was so
because he has been a " dreamer with a purpose," and that with
dreamers there must be no motive. We rather think that his
was a false, a mistaken motive. Mr. Watts himself had told us
only three years agof what his motive has always been and what
he considered the necessary condition to elevated art viz., the
love of beauty for its own sake ; which is a sophism, as we have
shown elsewhere,:}: and as the fact of his life has demonstrated.
Could Mr. Watts have thrown the motive power of an ardent
Catholic heart into his religious subjects he might have surpass-
ed some of the best of the old masters, and his pictures would
not " shadow forth a state of mind in which the great problems
of life and death have received no adequate solution." That state
of mind can never be concealed in any worthy subject. A paint-
er may occasionally succeed in calling forth emotions to which
he himself is'a stranger, but it is much like a shrewd man's play-
ing at nawett dangerously nigh to being repulsive. There is no

* Contemporary Review, February, 1882. t Nineteenth Century, February, 1880.

\ Catholic Quarterly Review, July, 1882.

598 DE CONTEMPTU VITJZ PRALSENTIS. [Feb.,

point of contact between modern habits of thought and the mo-
tives that have ever produced great works in art. He who
would become an artist must devote himself not merely to the
subject which his brush is to illustrate, but also to the subject
within him whence beautiful life emanates into the forms in
nature which he sees around him. " If thy eye be simple thy
whole body will be lightsome."

DE CONTEMPTU VIT^E PR^ESENTIS *

AH ! have no fault to find if to the rapid wind

I liken human joys ; for which abides ?
Who holds the worldling's creed is like a winter reed,

Tossed in the gale and bended in the tides.
Pain is mixed with pleasure in unequal measure,

More of pain than pleasure in our lot :
His joy no reason bears who soweth seed for tears ;

Who totters to a fall firm standeth not.
So grants this mortal span no certain good to man ;

All up and down, all shine and storm succeeding.
Yet should it something give, the little space we live :

Death all withdraws, our life itself receding.
Hear Job still patiently complain life's brevity :

Man, woman-born, appeareth as the flower
Blooming but to wither, a shadow fled nowhither,

The seasons changing o'er him every hour.
This fleeting life, then, spurn ; the lasting strive to earn,

And by brief labor seek eternal rest.
Should golden Fortune smile, yet hold her cheap the while,

Rememb'ring her a changeling at the best,
Who lures and wins in vain whom she forsakes again,

Unless thou know to shun her perfidy.
Nor think thee of an heir, but now, while thine they are,

Give to the poor thy goods, O born to die !

* From the Latin of Marbod, Archbishop of Cennes, eleventh century.

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 599

AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS *

" DULL, just dull ! " was Thomas Carlyle's comment on one
of George Eliot's later stories ; and " dull, decidedly dull " will
be the comment of the unfortunate who is at pains to wade
through the twelve hundred and fifty pages of printed corre-
spondence that represent the " papers relating to the foreign re-
lations of the United States." " Happy," said some one, " is the
land that has no history." Judged by this standard, and measur-
ed by the vulgar sense of history, which is, in Othello's words,
the story of " battles, sieges, fortunes, ... of most disastrous
chances, of moving accidents by flood and field," and such like,
the United States ought to be very happy indeed. Judged by
the space devoted to it, the most "moving accident" in our
foreign relations during the year 1881 was pork American
pork against which a sudden but dark conspiracy of " designing
persons," as Secretary Blaine called them, arose and spread over
all European nations to the dire detriment of one of our great
national products. But, thanks to the eternal vigilance and vig-
orous representations of our home secretaries acting upon our
diplomats abroad, and through them on the European govern-
ments, American honor and American pork were in due time at
least partially vindicated. There was also the matter of the pro-
jected Panama Canal, of international importance, and which
when, if ever, it comes to a head, will doubtless right itself on
our side. That, however, is a matter pending. There was
furthermore the important question of protecting the lives and
rights and persons of American citizens in foreign lands. To
that special attention will be given in this article. For the rest
there is little that is interesting, save by accident ; and in this
sense the American people may consider themselves happy in
the fact that there is no history for their diplomats abroad to
make. We have no gay and gallant Dufferin flirting with the
girls and assisting at private theatricals, while under his seeming
show of nonchalance the pleasing and plausible Irishman is mak-
ing all the wily diplomats at Constantinople dance to the music
of his Irish jig, ruling out the joint intervention of the Porte in

* Papers relating to the foreign relations of the United States, transmitted to Congress
with the annual Message of the President, December 5, 1881. Washington : Government Print-
ing-Office. 1882.

6oo AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. [Feb.,

Egyptian affairs, and keeping the diplomatic ball rolling until
his fellow-countryman, Wolseley, settles once for all the question
of England's pre-eminence by the victory at Tel-el-Kebir. We
have no grim Orloff watching and checking off Germany in
Paris. We have no sprightly Ignatieff gasconading through
the European capitals and dashing off a scratch-treaty with the
defeated Turk. Nor have we a Count Harry Von Arnim to
dictate from a foreign capital to his chief, and intrigue against
him in the court circle at home, until he is driven out by the
iron hand of his master to die broken-hearted in ignominy and
exile. No brilliant sensations of this kind are to be found in the
pages of our diplomatists. We are a quiet commercial people,
at peace and good-will with all the world. Where other diplo-
matists have their eyes for ever on bayonets and cannon and
munitions and rumors of war, on alliances and counter-alliances,
plot and counterplot, our diplomatists, from London to Hong
Kong, are chiefly, concerned with the great pork question. True
it is that Mr. Elaine suddenly shot up like a rocket in a clear
sky and emitted some sputterings and sparks, which were taken
to mean a spirited foreign policy. But even he had to fall back
upon pork, and he was happily removed before he could work
any mischief.

People who are not in the habit of consulting the " papers
relating to the foreign relations of the United States" might
imagine that from the courts and capitals of the world, from
China, from Japan, from Russia, Germany, Austria, Italy, France,
England, Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and the rest, there might be
matters of public interest to communicate from year to year to
our Secretary of State. If there be, as a rule it either escapes
the notice of our distinguished diplomatists (who are generally
changed once every four years or oftener) or else they discreetly
avoid all mention of it. There was a time when some of our
diplomatists men like the lamented Mr. Marsh in Rome or Mr.
Foster in Mexico devoted special attention to Catholic matters
and wrote of them in the spirit and with the intelligence of the
average Protestant newspaper. But Mr. Marsh, alas ! is dead,
and Mr. Foster is removed ; and in the places where one looked
for the usual anti-Catholic tirades, in which even such men as
Mr. Bancroft and Mr. John Jay were not in their day ashamed
to indulge, there is little of the kind to be found, and often an
eloquent row of asterisks. This style of correspondence flourish-
ed mightily under Mr. Fish, during the Methodist regime, and to
some extent under Mr. Evarts. But the attention of Mr. Evarts

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 601

having been called to the nature of the diplomatic communica-
tions from Catholic lands, he doubtless gave a hint to our diplo-
mats to mind their proper business, which was to represent and
guard the interests of the American people and not of anti-Catho-
lic sects. Accordingly, where Catholic matters are now broach-
ed at all it is for the most part in a fair and respectful spirit.
The only wonder is that it should ever have been otherwise and
that it should have continued otherwise so long.

There is one characteristic common to many of our foreign
representatives : their despatches are anything but models of
style. It is not intended by this that they should write essays
a mistake into which a purely literary man like Mr. Lowell
seems inclined to fall. But clear, idiomatic English is at least
expected of them. Those who hunt this bulky volume for any-
thing of such a nature will find their labor in vain. Some of the
despatches are positively silly ; others, like that of Mr. Hoppin
describing the London lord-mayor's show for. the edification
of Mr. Elaine, make the cheek of an American tingle with
shame. There is hardly a statesman's paper in the whole vol-
ume, and the papers of actual value or importance are extremely
few. Nor can the excuse that we are happy in having no his-
tory fairly apply here. If we have no history other peoples
have. What information do our diplomats supply concerning
the peoples to which they are accredited : their means, move-
ments, tendencies ; the nature and relations of their govern-
ment ; their conditions and prospects ; the possibilities of our
relations with them, what tends to hinder or advance those rela-
tions ? Surely these are matters worthy the attention of Ame-
rican -representatives in foreign lands. But of all this there is
nothing, or next to nothing.

Let us look at a few specimens. Austria-Hungary is one of
the great powers of the world, and Mr. Delaplaine is the Ame-
rican secretary of legation at Vienna. Mr. Delaplaine finds it
incumbent on his office to entertain Mr. Evarts, who was then
Secretary of State, with an account of the commemoration of
the day on which " the truly great and illustrious monarch,
Joseph II., ascended the throne of the Hapsburgs," quite apart
from the fact that Joseph II. was neither truly great nor truly
illustrious, and -that his own epitaph on himself, " Here lies the
man who failed in everything he undertook," is a true measure
of his career. Mr. Delaplaine's letter is a very absurd one to
send to the Secretary of State. It is chiefly devoted to a descrip-
tion of the students' " commers," or drinking-bout, at which Mr.

602 AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. [Feb.,

Delaplaine was an invited guest, as he is careful to inform Mr.
Evarts. Mr. Kasson, late minister at Vienna, sends some inter-
esting papers on the course of study and training undergone in
Austria-Hungary by those who aspire to serve in the diplomatic
body or in the consular service. That course is of the most
careful and elaborate kind, embracing languages, law, political
science, political history, etc., and extending over five years.
Mr. Kasson recommends a similar course of training for our own
diplomatic and consular service. Any one who consults our
foreign papers from year to year will cordially agree with Mr.
Kasson. If we must have ministers plenipotentiary, secretaries
of legation, consuls, and vice-consuls abroad, it is only right that
we have men fitted by nature, education, and training to fill
those responsible positions. There is only one way to procure
such men, and that is by training them for their business. But
where is our training-school ?

Here, for instance, is Mr. Putnam, our minister to Belgium,
writing a long and nonsensical letter to Mr. Evarts on the
school question in Belgium, wherein he talks learnedly of Gre-
gory XVI. 's " Encycles " (sic), of the famous Syllabus of Pius
IX., of the liberal and Catholic press, etc. It might have occur-
red to Mr. Putnam that Mr. Evarts had something else to think
of than the Belgian school question, but that if it was necessary
to inform him on the matter at all it were at least as well to in-
form him correctly. Besides, Mr. Putnam happens to be two or
three years late in his information.

There is a Mr. C. A. Logan too, who for our sins, doubtless
was deputed to represent us in Central America. He has views
of his own as to the amount of knowledge scattered through the
department of the Secretary of State. " As explained in my
No. 44," writes Mr. Logan to Mr. Evarts, " when treating of the
new constitution of Guatemala, the word faction (plural facciones)
may mean a military exploit, engagement, or action. It may
also mean a faction or turbulent body of men who, in the name
of revolution, may rob the store of a foreigner, tear up the rail-
road built and owned by foreigners, etc." Surely this is the
schoolmaster very much abroad. There is much more of a like
diplomatic importance from Mr. C. A. Logan. He informs Mr.
Elaine that President Barrios' " old opponents are held down
with an iron hand made up, so to speak, of muskets and brass
bands," which is a delightfully mixed metaphor. He discovers
later on that the Jesuits were " at the bottom of the insurrec-
tion " in Matagalpa. The "insurrection" was simply a popular

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 603

demonstration in favor of the Jesuit fathers (Mr. Logan calls
them " brothers ") who were being expelled by a decree of the
government. The people assembled and naturally enough cried,
" Down with the government ! " " Long live the Jesuits ! " Be-
yond this nothing was done, order, in all probability, being re-
stored by the Jesuits themselves. It was on the information
furnished by this man that Mr. Blaine relied in his course of
action towards Mexico and the South American states, where,
as has been sufficiently shown in the investigation before the
committee of the United States Senate, he meddled overmuch
and muddled grievously.

Note may be taken of Mr. Elaine's distinct instruction to Mr.
Dichman, our minister to Colombia, to "inform the Colombian
Secretary for Foreign Affairs of the stand taken by this govern-
ment to check the apprehended movement of the powers of
Europe in the direction of a joint guarantee, as needless, as of-
fensive to Colombia and to the United States as well." Warm
words these from a prudent Secretary of State who had not yet
been three months in office. There are other similar instruc-
tions from the same quarter to other ministers.

Minister Noyes instructs Mr. Evarts on the progress of
events in France. Many things have happened in France since
Mr. Noyes penned his despatch. But that distinguished diplo-
matist is on his native heath when the question of American
pork rises ; Mr. Noyes rises with it and becomes positively elo-
quent on a subject so near his heart.

Mr. Langston, our minister to Hayti, vies with Mr. Hop-
pin in gush. Mr. Langston is very eloquent over the doings
of President Salomon. He describes, with great glow of feel-
ing and in voluminous despatches, the president's movements
" through triumphal arches," and so forth. The president's
reception at Port-au-Prince was, in the graphic words of Mr.
Langston, " imposing and warm." " Whether," writes Mr.
Langston to Mr. Evarts, " entering the city through the trium-
phal arch situated at the southwestern entry of the city ; march-
ing, surrounded by his cabinet and aids[^r]-de-camp, along the
streets thereof [thereof is good] ; attending services at the cathe-
dral, where thanks were offered and benedictions invoked, ac-
cording to the usual custom on such occasions ; addressing the
people at La Place de la Paix, Petion, or the Palace, the popular
applause which greeted the president was general and ardent."

Now, that may be submitted as a style of diplomatic corre-
spondence to which no trained Austrian could by any possibility

604 AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. [Feb.,

attain. Mr. Evarts and Mr. Elaine must have appreciated its
deep importance. On Mr. Elaine's accession to office Mr. Lang-
ston regales him with a description of " the fete " he does not
mention what particular fete at Port-au-Prince. " It may be
true," he says with diplomatic caution, " that there was connect-
ed with it [the fete] needless military display." Hayti is pro-
verbial for excessive " military display," and it is only right to
inform our Secretary of State on so important a matter. Never-
theless, as display there was, it is consoling to be assured by Mr.
Langston, our minister, that " the army, the national guard, and
the local police, in uniform and with their respective command-
ing officers, [singular phenomenon !] . . . were largely and con-
spicuously represented," though it is melancholy to hear that
" the salvos of artillery were too frequent and annoying " to
suit the delicate ears of our minister.

Mr. Langston is really diverting, but we must let him pass.
One despatch, and only one, fully comes up to his level in diplo-
macy. That is from Mr. Hoppin, the secretary of legation in
London, to Mr. Elaine, describing the lord-mayor's show in
November, 1881. Here is how it opens, and readers may judge
from it of the onerous nature of the responsibilities of an Ame-
rican secretary of legation at one of the chief capitals of the
world :

"LEGATION OF THE UNITED STATES,

" London, November 12, 1881.

"SiR: I have the honor to give you an account of the proceedings
here on the pth instant, the day on which the -newly-elected lord-mayor
went in state from the Guildhall to Westminster to take the oath of
office before the lord chief-justice of England, and to claim certain privi-
leges which belong by prescriptive right to the city corporation. This is
the only public procession of importance in the year, and it is always
witnessed by hundreds of thousands of people, whose numbers were in-
creased on Wednesday by the favorable weather."

Mr. Elaine must have been deeply impressed by this exor-
dium, but it is nothing compared to what follows. It seems that
for the first time in English history the American flag was
borne in the procession, and at this demonstration of love for
what Mr. Hoppin, for reasons best known to himself, calls " the
daughter-republic " of England, Mr. Hoppin's heart gushes over
with patriotic fervor. The bands of music, which, he tells Mr.
Elaine, " were massed for the purpose," actually played the
" Star-spangled Banner," whereupon Mr. Hoppin again gushes
in ecstasy over " the mother-country " of " the daughter- repub-

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 605

lie." Mr. Hoppin is really very fine, and Englishmen must be
delighted with him, if it is possible for Englishmen to be delight-
ed with anything that " has suffered a sea change into something
rich and strange." There, said Mr. Hoppin, in Palace Yard,
opposite Westminster Hall, " within which," to quote his elo-
quent words, " the clear stream of English justice had flowed for
so many generations without a suspicion of impurity," was
planted the banner of the people who became a people by their
very revolt against English oppression. So oppressed was Mr.
Hoppin with the overpowering emotions called up by the occa-
sion that he actually writes a letter of gratitude to the mayor of
London a worthy grocer, or something of the kind whom he
addresses as " My Lord " and " Your Lordship," in which he con-
veys to his " lordship " the interesting information that while
" we [the American people] are now able to depend upon our-
selves for our own clothing and our industrial implements, not
the less proper does it seem that we should commemorate," etc.
While Mr. Hoppin was writing thus eloquently to " My
Lord " the mayor of London, there were American citizens, born
and naturalized, caged in British prisons, charged with crimes
that they had never committed, powerless to help themselves,
and their petitions for assistance to the American minister in
London received with coldness, suspicion, and neglect. The
arrest and detention of American naturalized citizens abroad was
by no means confined to Ireland during the past year. Similar
arrests occurred in the powerful Austrian, German, and Russian
empires, in the latter more especially in the case of Hebrews.
In Germany, Austria, and Russia our ministers were one and all
extremely prompt and earnest in investigating the cases of
detention, making proper representations to the authorities and
ministers of the respective governments, and effecting the libera-
tion and, where necessary, the future safeguard of the men who
had been imprisoned. They lost not a day or an hour in their
cases ; and the governments to which they were accredited gave
respectful and immediate attention to the demands of the minis-
ters of this republic. Here is how Mr. Evarts writes to Mr.
Foster, our minister at St. Petersburg :

"DEPARTMENT OF STATE,

"Washington, March 3, 1881.

"SiR: Your several despatches, numbered 73, 74, and 75, of the 3oth
and 3ist of December ultimo, in relation to the treatment of American
Jews in Russia, have been received, and I have pleasure in commending
your zealous presentation of the cases of Pinkos and Wilczynksi, and of

606 AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. [Feb.,

the general questions involved. The assurances you have received as to
the liberal treatment hereafter to be accorded, as an act of comity and
courtesy by the military authorities, to American citizens visiting Russia,
are fully appreciated."

Mr. Evarts instructs Mr. Foster, in his presentation of such
cases, to insist on " treaty treatment for our aggrieved citizens,
not because they are Jews, but because they are Americans"
They were, as in Germany and Austria, all naturalized American
citizens, who were arrested under special laws and provisions
of the governments to which they once belonged. Mr. Evarts,
who, besides being Secretary of State, is a lawyer of interna-
tional renown, adds in his despatch to Mr. Foster :

"This government is not unmindful of the difficulties under which, as
is alleged, that of Russia labors in dealing with those of her subjects whom
she may deem disaffected ; but the reasons adduced and methods adopted
against them should have no application to American citizens sojourning
peacefully, for business or pleasure, in Russia, for they are not to be charg-
ed with abstract political disaffection to a government to which they owe
no allegiance; and if charged with the commission of unlawful acts, they
should have guilt explicitly imputed and proven."

" Mutato nomine de Anglia fabula narratur." It is to be re-
gretted that Mr. Blaine did not possess the calm but resolute tem-
per, the sound legal knowledge that would have led him to avoid
pitfalls and always fence himself in by the right, and the honest
Americanism of Mr. Evarts. Upon Mr. Elaine's accession to
office American citizens were arrested and put in jail in Ireland
under precisely similar circumstances as in Russia. In England,
as in Russia, special measures were drawn up to meet the cases
of British subjects whom the British government might " deem
disaffected." Under the stringency of those measures American
citizens, whether of Irish or American birth mattered not, who,
in Secretary Evarts' words, " were sojourning peacefully for
business or pleasure (in Ireland)," were arbitrarily arrested and
cast into prison, " charged with abstract political disaffection to
a government to which they owe no allegiance." There they
were literally allowed to languish until it pleased the British
government to release them.

This is the simple truth, known to all the world. And who is
responsible for this detention, without trial or warrant, of Ame-
rican citizens in British jails? Russia, Austria, Germany, as
seen in the despatches of our ministers abroad, recognize and
guarantee the rights of native-born Russians, Austrians, and
Germans who have become Americans by choice and declara-
tion, as soon as the cases of our "aggrieved citizens" are

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 607

brought before them by our ministers. Great Britain, until the
unanimous and angry voice of the American people made itself
heard over the heads of blustering secretaries and finical for-
eign ministers, pooh-poohed the idea of American citizens who
happened to be British born having any rights that the British
government was bound to respect.

It is a painful subject, and one approaches it with pain.
When the news came of the arrest of American citizens in Ire-
land under the Coercion Act an act that authorized the arrest of
any person in Ireland on mere suspicion of hostility to the Bri-
tish government Mr. Blaine was Secretary of State and Mr.
Lowell was our minister at London.- Mr. Blaine is a professional
politician, who aims at being a statesman. Whether or not he is
a statesman let others determine. Mr. Lowell is a literary man,
who never aimed at being a statesman, for which reason, in the
wisdom of our national government, he was withdrawn from the
comparatively harmless atmosphere of Madrid to represent this
republic in the very foggy and trying atmosphere of London.
There were days when Rubens was sent as minister to Lon-
don and when Addison was made under-secretary of state in
England. There were times when English ministers were re-
garded ex professo as Mascenases the times when men like Dr.
Johnson sat cooling their heels in the minister's outer office,
waiting for a call or a favor. But those days have passed, and
men have come to see that government is a very serious and sol-
emn business, calling for careful and competent hands in all its
departments, from the premier to the policeman, from the judge
to the under-secretary of a foreign mission. Had Mr. Lowell
lived in the days of Addison he would doubtless have made an
admirable representative of a great power from the Addisonian
point of view. It was his misfortune to have been chosen to fill
the most responsible of our foreign ministries at a time that would
have tried the knowledge and the judgment and the diplomatic
tact of the ablest of our statesmen, while a clear, unprejudiced
American sense of what was owing to the citizens of this coun-
try, no matter where born, was most necessary to enable him to
steer clear of blandishments on the one hand and possible ro-
guery on the other.

Of Mr. Lowell as an essayist and poet this country is justly
proud. Of Mr. Lowell as an ambassador the less said the bet-
ter. Lord Granville, to whom Mr. Lowell had to address his
communications, if not a statesman by the most royal right of
genius, is at least so by long and careful training and experi-

608 AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. [Feb.,

ence. He has spent half his life in courts and cabinets, and
knows by practice as by instinct all the winding ways that go to
make the tangled web of European diplomacy. Mr. Lowell has
spent his life among books. He was in no sense a fit person to
send to England to guard the interests of this great power. It
was almost inevitable that in a trying case he should fail. Let us
do him justice. He had extremely trying cases. He had a politi-
cian rather than a statesman at the head of affairs at home. The
President was stricken down by the hand of an assassin. Ireland
was actually in a state of semi-revolution. American citizens in
Ireland were clapped into prison at the will of British officials
on suspicion of hostility to the British government. Hostility !
There are abundant reasons for any man being hostile to the
British government. The people most hostile to the British
government at present are her majesty's most conservative and
loyal Opposition. Yet for whispering in Ireland one-hundredth
part of what her majesty's loyal and conservative Opposition
shouted out in Parliament for whispering, no, but for being
suspected of whispering American citizens in Ireland were im-
prisoned, and kept in prison, " at her majesty's pleasure."

One would imagine that an American's native instinct might
be a sufficient guide in such cases. But, for some reason or
other, Mr. Lowell wholly failed to act in London as his col-
leagues acted in Vienna, Berlin, and St. Petersburg. Where they
were energetic and persistent he was evasive and lagged, He
put himself from the very start in a position of hostility to his
imprisoned countrymen and ranged himself on the side of the
British government. How absolutely wrong the British gov-
ernment was in the premises may be judged from the fact that
as soon as the American Senate and Congress, and the press and
people of this country, took up the cause of their imprisoned
countrymen they were all unconditionally released. But until
this loud call of the American people came these poor men were
in prison, deprived of their liberty, removed from their business,
suffering in health and suffering in pocket perhaps ruined, for
all the British government, or seemingly the American minister,
knew or cared. Mr. Lowell was dangling about London, and
Lord Granville was doing as he pleased with Mr. Lowell. There
is probably no more painful chapter than this in our diplomatic
history ; and the more painful because Mr. Lowell, of all men,
would profess to be, and by many would be regarded as, a type
of American citizen of whom the republic might be justly proud.

The trouble with Mr. Lowell was that he swung right in with

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 609

the British government in their treatment of Ireland. His first
despatch to Mr. Evarts (page 492) sufficiently shows that. It is
an essay on Irish affairs. Mr. Lowell was not sent to London to
write essays. He treats of "the sensitive nerve of property,"
and that sort of thing, in a business communication to the State
Department. Mr. Evayts responds in language worthy of him :

" DEPARTMENT OF STATE,
"Washington, January 20, 1881.

" SIR : Your No. 115, of the 7th instant, on the present critical condition
of Ireland, has been read with the attention due not only to the importance
of the subject but also to your lucid treatment thereof. This government
cannot but watch with attention and some degree of solicitude the succes-
sive phases of a question touching the welfare of a population with which
our own people have so many and close ties of blood, and cherishes the
confident hope that a wise and statesmanlike policy on the part of the en-
lightened rulers of the United Kingdom may soon restore perfect tranquil-
lity to so important a part of her majesty's dominions.

" I am, etc.,

" WM. M. EVARTS."

But Mr. Evarts went and Mr. Blaine came in, and Mr. Blaine,
while blustering in Mexico and South America, seemed to have
neither head nor heart to attend to the American citizens im-
mured in British prisons. He, like Mr. Lowell, was only roused
to a sense of the shame and wrong put upon the republic by
the angry protest of the American people.

It is needless to quote Mr. Lowell at any length. Every de-
spatch of his to this government on the case of American citizens
imprisoned in Ireland might have been written from the British
Foreign Office. Anti-Irish Mr. Lowell is at liberty to be to his-
heart's content, if his inclination lies in that direction. There
are people who hate the Irish, as there are people who hate
the Chinese and people who hate Americans. That cannot be
helped. All that we expect, and all that we demand in reason,
is that a man who is sent abroad by this government to repre-
sent our people be not anti-American. In the fact that some of
our imprisoned citizens happened to be Irish by birth Mr.
Lowell seems to have lost sight of the all-important fact that
they were American citizens unjustly imprisoned on charges of
which they vainly protested their innocence both to him and to
the British government.

Mr. Lowell disapproves of the manner in which the Irish:

members fought the Coercion Bill a measure that Mr. Gladstone

himself afterwards tacitly condemned by disavowing its author

and projector, Mr. Forster. From the very outset our minister

VOL. xxxvi. 39

6 10 AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. [Feb.,

displays an instinctive antagonism to everything Irish. " The
wild and whirling words," he writes to Mr. Evarts, February
26, iSSi, " of some Irishmen and others from America have done
harm to something more than the cause of Irish peasantry, by
becoming associated in the public mind with the country whose
citizenship they put off or put on as m^y be most convenient."
That is his standpoint throughout. The arrested men only used
their American citizenship as a shield to cover their attacks upon
the British government ; and no protests on their part could
shake this conviction from Mr. Lowell's mind. His despatches
are addressed to "Dear Lord Granville," and again to " Dear
Lord Granville." Dear Lord Granville responds with a curt
"Sir," after which Mr. Lowell takes refuge in the frigidly
polite " My Lord." There is much correspondence on the case
of Michael P. Boyton, one of the traversers in the Dublin state
trials, who was lodged in Kilmainham jail under the provisions
of the Coercion Act. It was beyond question that Mr. Boyton,
who by his letters seems to have been a man of superior intelli-
gence, was a citizen of this country. He came here a minor.
His father was a naturalized citizen. Previous to his arrest he
applied to Mr. Lowell, through Mr. Barrows, the American
consul at Dublin, for a new passport, having in his possession
only one that was given him by Secretary Seward in 1866. He
fought in the war, serving several years in the navy, and was
honorably discharged in 1865. He had often exercised the right
of suffrage in New York, and his father had been a voter before
'him. Of these and other main facts in his career there could be
mo possible question, as his statements were corroborated by the
State Department here at home. But there were certain verbal
discrepancies in his statement, of which, when pointed out to him,
he gave a very clear explanation. Over these Mr. Lowell hig-
.gled and haggled, declining to accept Mr. Sewasrd's passport as
evidence of Boy ton's American citizenship, and absolutely refus-
ing to take action in his behalf. Finally the Senate took up the
matter and quickened both Mr. Elaine and Mr. Lowell. Other
arrests of American citizens followed thick and fast. American
public opinion begins to arouse itself in the matter and Mr.
Blaine begins to alter his tone. Mr. Lowell hastens to Lord
Granville, and his representations are received with something
remarkably . ! like cool insolence. " He replied," writes Mr.
Lowell to Mr. Blaine, " that as it was not easy for him to under-
stand on what grounds of international law my government
would base its claim that American citizens should be treated
better than British subjects, when both had exposed themselves

1883.] AMONG OUR DIPLOMATS. 6ri

to the operation of an act of Parliament, he should prefer not to
give me any more definite answer until I was more fully in-
structed from home." With which lucid statement Mr. Lowell
seems to have been perfectly content, adding naively that " Lord
Granville was to leave town at half-past four, and as there were
barely ten minutes left for him to reach the station there was
no time for longer discussion." Meanwhile our imprisoned citi-
zens might whistle for their liberty. Lord Granville had to
catch a train.

In all instances of this kind Mr. Lowell simply waits attend-
ance upon Lord Granville, who always takes his time to answer,
and whom Mr. Lowell never ventures to quicken. On June 8
he writes to inquire into the case of Mr. Walsh, who was im-
prisoned under similar circumstances to Mr. Boyton. On June
29 he receives Lord Granville's reply, enclosing a copy of the
warrant for Walsh's arrest. On July i Mr. Lowell again writes
for details of the charges against Mr. Walsh. On July 9 " I re-
ceived a reply from his lordship, declining to give any further
information on this subject beyond that contained in the warrant
itself." And there he lets the case rest, going so far as to argue
even on Lord Granville's side. Finally Walsh was discharged
by the British authorities, owing to ill-health, but for all our
minister did to effect his release he might be in Kilmainham to-
day. "So long," writes Mr. Lowell, "as Lord Granville ex-
pressly declines to make any distinction between British sub-
jects and American citizens in the application of this [Coercion]
law a position which I presume may be justified by precedents
in our own diplomatic history I submit to your better judg-
ment whether the only arguments I can use in favor of Walsh
must not be founded on some exceptional injustice in the way in
which he has been treated." The " exceptional injustice " was
the very fact of his imprisonment at all on the mere suspicion
of hostility to a government to which, as Mr. Evarts put it, he
u owed no allegiance." And this was the case of all. In no in-
stance of American citizens imprisoned under the Coercion Act
was a specific charge la'id at their door. Suspicion covered
everything, and our minister is content to take that as sufficient
justification for their imprisonment. If a minister can do no
more for his countrymen than this when most they need his aid
and protection, we really see no use in keeping him at his post.
Whether or not Mr. Lowell acted as this government should
expect its representatives to act under such circumstances may
be left to the judgment of his countrymen. All the writer can
say is, " Save us from the tender offices of Mr. Lowell! "

612 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

DAYLIGHT AT LAST.

" You won't cross me in my marriage, mother, will you ? "

" No, asthore ; I'll not cross you, though I thought to have
rny girleen do better. Perhaps this will come out right in the
long run." But a heavy sigh betrayed how faint was the speak-
er's conviction of such a happy termination to her fears.

She was an old woman who had spoken last a pleasant,
kindly-faced old woman, dressed in the garb of the better class
of Irish peasantry, and bearing about her, both in her manner
and the surroundings of her little home, evidences of more com-
fort than most of her neighbors enjoyed. The daughter, her
only child, to whose question she had replied, stood in the door-
way looking on the fair Irish scene without the soft green mea-
dows, whose velvety surfaces stretched far away into the misty
distance; the clover-topped and daisy- capped fields, waving in a
barely perceptible way in the mild evening wind ; and the bay
far beyond, whose glistening waters nevertheless could be dis-
cerned from the doorway of the little home.

Young Aileen McCarthy saw all, and she seemed to drink in
their beauty as she had never done before ; perhaps it was due to
the influence of her own peculiarly happy feelings that she saw
such unwonted loveliness in the scene, for on the ensuing night
she was to wed a young man who was regarded as the best and
finest-looking young fellow in the county.

The attachment of the youthful couple had been long and
mutual, and from its commencement not unknown to the well-to-
do Widow McCarthy, who regarded it with secret mistrust and
dislike secret, because she saw how the happiness, and it might
be the very health, of her darling child had become twined about
handsome, hearty William Alman. He was not so well off in
this world's goods as her child would be when, on the widow's
death, Aileen would inherit the well-stocked farm, and hence the
watchful mother feared his affection might be only simulated for
the purpose of gaining the McCarthy farm. And Aileen had
other and better offers at least so her mother considered them :
rich farmers' sons had come wooing, and rich farmers themselves
had come to negotiate match-making matters with Mrs. Me-

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 613

Carthy ; but pretty Aileen, in her wilful, passionate way, refused
to receive either the suitors or their match-making fathers, and
she clung the closer to, and loved all the better, the handsome
young fellow who had won her heart.

The mother gave her consent to the marriage, but in such a
manner that Aileen could not but perceive the reluctance with
which it was accompanied, and, pained and surprised, the affec-
tionate girl entreated to know what objection existed. Mrs.
McCarthy could only plead his poverty, at which the young girl
tossed her head and gave one of her inimitably scornful looks,
before which the abashed widow's glances fell and she tried to
compel herself to like young William Alman. Thus the matter
rested until this bright, balmy spring afternoon, when Aileen,
brimful of the happiness which springs from a light, innocent
heart, spoke of her approaching marriage. She saw at once by
the expression of her mother's face that the latter's old dislike
to the nuptials was not entirely conquered, and, with sudden fear,
she had asked if her mother would cross her in her marriage.
The answer reassuring her, she had walked to the door and
looked out on the landscape with her heart full of happy feelings.

She was so young, so pretty, so winning in her graceful man-
ner, that it was hardly a wonder the fond, proud mother thought
her good and charming enough to be raised to the rank of a
princess ; and now, as she looked at the lithe, willowy form grace-
fully poising against the side of the door, she could not restrain
her tears as she thought how quickly and easily another had
usurped her place in her child's heart. She concealed her emo-
tion from Aileen, assumed a cheerfulness which she was far from
feeling, and entered into the preparations for the wedding with
so hearty a spirit that her daughter was fain to believe every

vestige of dislike to the marriage had been wholly conquered.

II.

Aileen McCarthy became Mrs. Alman, and the wedding was
a happy affair. The young people from miles about were pre-
sent, and numerous and sincere were the good wishes expressed
for the handsome young couple.

Before the honeymoon was over young William Alman had
identified himself with those who were secretly preparing to rise
against their tyrant rulers, the English ; and the fiery spirit
which he manifested when the subject of his country's wrongs
was broached, and the force and earnestness with which he

614 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

threw himself into every scheme planned for his country's free-
dom, alarmed his wife and mother-in-law. Both loved poor Ire-
land, and neither would have hesitated to sacrifice herself for her
country's good ; but both trembled at the thought of danger to
William the young wife because her very being was so en-
wrapped with his that any injury to him would give her heart a
stab from which it could never recover ; and the mother be-
cause of the two lives which she knew were so wound about
each other.

The loyal-hearted, impulsive young fellow laughed at their
fears, and went bravely as ever to the secret meetings, held
sometimes in romantic spots where the dancing waters of the
Shannon meandered, and at others in lonely places where sombre
ruins seemed to frown on their midnight assemblies. Aileen
would accompany him he could not free himself from the cling-
ing grasp of her little hands; and he could not withstand the
appeal of her tearful eyes. She would endure any fatigue. Cold
and rain, and long, hard roads that blistered her tender feet, ex-
torted tfrom her no complaint, nor left any visible sign of decay
in her health ; love bore her triumphantly through all. Only
the lone watcher at home the devoted mother, maintaining her
vigil through the long hours of sleepless nights, when the very
wailing of the wind made her start, fearing to hear bloody tid-
ings of the absent loved ones bore a double share of suffering,
her daughter's and her own. On many a wild night she had
prayed Aileen to remain, but the answer was always :

" You didn't cross me in my marriage, mother, and don't cross
me in this." And the broken-hearted mother would urge no
more.

Aileen from childhood had been famed the country round
for her beautiful voice ; it was so strong, clear, and exquisitely
sweet ; indeed, many people had* been accustomed to visit her
mother's house for the sole purpose of listening to it. At
the secret meetings, when they were held in places too remote
for government interference, the stalwart fellows used to gather
about her while she sang ; sometimes sitting on a grave, at
others under an arch of a ruin, with the moonlight making gro-
tesque shadows about the group, her magnificent voice^told in
ballad the history of her country, or keened a lament for patriot
dead, or sang of vengeance to be dealt to the Saxon foe. And
her strains seemed to nerve the men, to send the hot blood
coursing madly through their veins till it leaped into their cheeks
with a fierce glow, and to make their eyes sparkle and their lips

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 615

to frame fierce words of death and destruction. The very fear-
lessness of the devoted fellows led them into the danger they
sought to avert ; the myrmidons of the law were at last on their
track, and one by one they were captured. Young Alman was
the very last to fall into their merciless clutches. For long,
wretched days and dismal nights he hid, starving, among the
wild mountains, while his broken-hearted wife watched for op-
portunities to bring him food ; and when at intervals she saw
him it did not seem to be her husband who stood before her
the gaunt, miserable being with matted hair and wild eyes who
eagerly held out long, lean hands for the potatoes she brought.
But all her devotion availed not ; - he was captured, as the
rest had been, and then Aileen's broken heart showed itself in
her countenance, in the deadly pallor of lips and cheeks, in her
wild eyes, in her dishevelled hair. The wavy tresses swept in a
luxuriant mass to her waist, and when urged by some kind-heart-
ed neighbor to curl it as she was wont to do, she answered, in a
plaintive way that brought tears from her listener :

" I can't, for hes not here that would praise it." She was
refused admission to the jail, and for three days, from early morn
till night, she sat beside its gate, keening softly to herself one
of the laments she had been accustomed to sing at the secret
meetings. Her mother, unable to induce her to go home, re-
mained with her ; the sympathizing neighbors brought them food,
which was scarcely tasted, and the passers-by shook their heads
and wiped their eyes as they looked at the broken-hearted
pair.

"On the fourth day Aileen was unable to take her place at
the jail, and in the midst of her sorrow, while her husband in his
dismal prison was endeavoring to prepare himself for the inevi-
table sentence of death which he felt would be passed, her child
was born a little, delicate girl with something of the wild look
of its mother's face in its own infantile countenance. The first
tears which the young mother had shed for days rolled down her
cheeks when her mother put the wee thing close to her breast
and she felt the soft, velvet cheek resting on her own.

Her old place by the jail gate was resumed as soon as she
could leave the house, and her little one bore -her company
through the ,long hours; she would talk softly to the uncon-
scious infant, telling all about her young husband, and repeating
carefully each detail of his appearance as it was in their happy
days his speech, lingering over the tender epithets he had been
wont to address to herself ; his noble qualities (to her he had not

616 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

a fault) as if the child were the most intelligent and interested
of listeners.

The trial took place, and on the day of the sentence even
those in the court-room "mho had loudly denounced the prisoner
were so influenced by the interest awakened by the young wife's
devotion that they anxiously awaited the verdict. The young
wife, with her babe in her arms, was present, and by her side her
faithful guardian, her mother.

Her cloak had slipped its fastening, but she made no effort to
restore it ; her mother occasionally attempted to wind it about
her, but Aileen impatiently repelled her, and so it was suffered
to hang in a manner which scarcely concealed her slight form.
Her eyes were riveted on her husband ; he was almost as gaunt
and miserable-looking as when he was hiding among the moun-
tains. She was thrust back into the crowd, but her gaze had
been long enough to read in his face evidence of as broken a
heart as that which beat within her own bosom. There were
more eyes upon her than upon the prisoner. The people seemed
more anxious to see how she would bear the sentence, should it
be death, than how her husband would receive it. The sentence
was passed, and it was death.

Those who were present in the court-room on that memorable
morning, in after-years, used to tell of the maniacal frenzy with
which the young wife pushed her way through the crowd to the
judge's bench.

Mrs. McCarthy had sought to detain her, but only the loos-
ened cloak remained in her grasp, and the poor woman could
but wildly gaze after the flying figure, as those about her were
doing.

She reached the judge before an official thought of interpos-
ing, and, kneeling, laid her baby on his robe ; then, raising such
an agonized face as even his eyes, well inured to heart-breaking
sights, had never looked upon before, begged for her husband's
life.

" It's not him that's to blame," she said, " it's me ; I roused the
boys with my songs, and I sent them over the country hot with
the thoughts / gave them. Oh ! if you must have any of us die,
let it be me, or kill us all together."

There were no tears with her words, no quiver in her voice,
but there was a peculiar something about the speech which
made even hardened hearts thrill for a moment. And perchance
the stern judge was not entirely unmoved by her unusual beauty,
for his look of surprise was mingled with one of admiration as he

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 617

gazed at her kneeling figure. But the pent-up emotion of hours
left her little strength after the utterance of her plea, and she
sank, though still holding closely her child, until her white lips
and closed eyes told the story of her -mconsciousness.

There was immediate bustle among the officials unnecessary
bustle as if to atone for their previous inertness, and Aileen and
her child were borne out, followed by her weeping mother.

The judge had remarked the unequivocal signs of interest in
Aileen Alman betrayed by even those who were averse to the
prisoner, and he deemed it better policy to pretend that he also
had been moved by her broken-hearted plea. In the course of a
lengthy speech designed to impress- his excellence as a magis-
trate upon the simple people, he promised to use his intercession
with the lord-lieutenant in behalf of the prisoner. He kept his
word, and succeeded in having the sentence commuted to that
of penal servitude for life. But the change was tempered with
little mercy for the poor prisoner, for he was not permitted even
a parting interview with those he loved best in the world ; he
was hurried away in a convict-ship while his wife lay raving in
the delirium of brain-fever. They told her when she recovered
the tender neighbors who would relieve Mrs. McCarthy's
watch by her bedside told her in their peculiar, sympathetic
way : a faltering word from one, with a bolder addition from a
second, and a still bolder explanation from F third ; but it was to
her mother she turned, as if she could not comprehend the well-
meant intentions of the weeping neighbors.

And Mrs. McCarthy gathered the bright head to her breast
and bent low to the unnaturally bright, inquiring eyes while
she answered :

" Yes, mavourneen, 'tis as they say ; an' bless God in your
heart, Aileen asthore, that it's transportation an' not death." But
Aileen made no response ; she only lay quietly, kissing her baby
when they placed it by her side, taking what sustenance they
gave her, and, when sufficiently recovered to leave her bed, try-
ing her strength in walking across the floor, making such despe-
rate efforts to reach the door, and even venture into the lane be-
yond, that her mother sorrowfully asked :

" Why be overtaxin' your strength that way, avourneen ?"

Aileen turned, strong for the instant strong enough to stand
upright without support.

" I'm trying to see how soon I'll be able to go to him, mother;
for I can't live without him."

Mrs. McCarthy saw how vain it would be to oppose her

618 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

determination ; so she said nothing-, only sighed and prayed
Heaven for strength to bear her many sorrows.

On the return of health and strength to the young wife she
employed all her time in seeking some means by which she
might join her transported husband ; every influence she could
command was brought to bear upon this one desire of her heart,
but nothing availed. And at last, when there seemed no way
by which she could reach him, she did in a desperate moment
that which snapped the last cord in her mother's crushed heart
she committed a theft, that they might be compelled to send her
after her husband. They attempted to deprive her of her child,
but her frantic love for the infant deterred the most stern heart
from such cruelty.

III.

She arrived in Australia only to find that the scene of her
servitude was far removed from him for whose sake she had
cast the first stain upon the name of her family.

Love, which had borne her so far, did not desert her. She
still clung to the hope of seeing him some time, since she was in
the same country with him, and many a night she looked up to
some particular star, fancying that his eyes also might at that
moment be looking$hence.

A long, faithful service won the confidence of her master.
He ceased to exact the surveillance over her actions that he did
over the others of his convict servants, and Aileen was not slow
to avail herself of the privilege. She stole away with her child,
tramping through the country in a wild way that recked little of
the discomforts of the journey.

She found his place at last ; entered the very grounds which
he tended, one afternoon, faint, and weary, and footsore. A
gentleman met her, and, after a displeased survey, inquired her
business on the grounds.

Aileen stated her errand, and for proof of her story drew
from her breast the certificate of her marriage.

The gentleman's face grew dark ; but he bade her follow him
to a shady place near the house.

" This man that you call your husband," he said, " is married
to my sister. He is an overseer here, and a free man."

Aileen gasped for breath.

" I'm sorry for you," said the man, with a touch of kindness
in his voice, " but nothing can be done about it now."

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 619

" Nothing! " she repeated. " I am his wife his lawful wife ;
he cannot be husband to another."

" Well, be quiet, my poor creature. We'll see what can be
done," said the man soothingly.

" To be quiet, is it, when the sorrow that's in my heart is
breaking it entirely? Oh! it's the hard thing you ask. But
show me how I can see him ; let me hear himself say that he's
married that he doesn't mind the time when I gave the light of
my eye and the pulse of my heart to be his for ever. Let me
hear it from his own lips, I say, and perhaps then I'll be quiet."

" Well, well, my good creature, remain here and I shall send
him to you."

Aileen had a long wait, and but for the presence of her little
girl, who tried with many entertaining wiles to secure her mo-
ther's constant attention, she could not have endured the sus-
pense. When the approach of evening filled the place with
shadows he came the husband. She started at the first sound
of his step ; her faithful heart had borne even that recollection of
him through the long, weary years. He was older and stouter
grown, with a bronzed face, and a thick, black beard that extend-
ed to his breast, but no change could have prevented his recog-
nition by his devoted wife. She started up, flung her arms
about him, and sobbed upon his breast. He sought to disen-
gage himself from her, gently at first, but with a stronger effort
at last, saying, in a voice the altered tones of which instantly
dried up her tears :

" Don't cry so loud, Aileen ; you'll alarm the hands, and
they'll be coming here to see what's the matter."

Her hands dropped to her side, and she fell back silent and
white, as if she had been turned to marble.

" 1 didn't mean to hurt you," he continued in a softer tone,
" but. your coming was so sudden ; and, besides, I thought you
were dead."

She found sufficient voice to repeat in a dreary way :
" Dead ! "

" Yes," he answered ; " I heard it from some one who came in
another batch of the transported. I was told that you had tried
to join me, but, when you couldn't succeed, that you had taken
your child and gone no one knew where, and, as you were sick at
the time, every one believe^ you had died. I wrote twice, but
there was no answer."

"I didn't get the letters," said Aileen in the same dreary
way.

620 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

" So you see it is not my fault," he resumed, in something
like the old tones which Aileen so loved, and they possessed the
old charm for 'her now. She roused herself, approached him,
and put her arms about him again.

" No, dear, it is not your fault ; but tell me that what the
strange gentleman said is not true sure you're not married :
you are not the husband of any one but me, your lawful
wife."

He suffered her to cling to him while he answered :

" It is true, Aileen : I am marrie.d to that gentleman's sister.
I am overseer here, and a free man. I married her, God knows,
believing you were dead."

Again she dropped her hold of him and staggered back
back to where the little, wondering, silent child stood, and, sink-
ing on her knees, she caught it to her in a frantic way, saying, in
the same thrilling tones with which she had .begged for her hus-
band's life seven years before :

" He's the husband of another, Mary darling him that we
came so far to find him that I made myself a thief for, Mary
asthore him that our hearts craved through all the long years
he's married to another, alanna, and we were forgotten."

The husband bent over -her, and there was a quiver in his
voice as he said :

" Don't go on that way, Aileen ; perhaps I can fix it. Is this
my child the child that I saw but once, when you laid her on
the judge's robe while you begged for my life ? "

He took her from her mother's arms and brought her where
the last beams of the fading daylight enabled him to see her fea-
tures more plainly.

" She is like me," he murmured, and then he strained her to
his breast and kissed her twice passionately. The child ex-
tended her arms to her mother, and the father returned her to
Aileen's frantic grasp.

" Don't take on so," he said again ; " perhaps I can fix it. Let
me see the marriage lines."

He bent to her, putting his arm about her, and strained her
to him as he used to do in the old, happy times. Alas for poor
Aileen ! that tender action of his banished the remembrance of
every fault and made him the same* that he had ever been to
her brave, true, and unselfish. She took the certificate unhesi-
tatingly from her breast the certificate which she had guarded
so carefully through hardship and danger and placed it in his
hand. In a 'moment he was standing erect with only shreds of

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 621

paper between his fingers ; he had torn the precious document
and was saying coolly :

" I couldn't have you making trouble now, Aileen, when I'm
so comfortably settled. I'll do anything else I can for you ; I'll
have food sent to you, and I'll get you a lodging for the night."

His broken-hearted wife paid little attention to his words ;
the tearing of the certificate engrossed all her startled faculties,
and soon as she recovered her voice she said distractedly :

" Great God ! he's torn it."

Her lips strove to frame a curse, but her child's little hand,
wound caressingly about her neck, came in contact with her
mouth ; the touch of the soft fingers seemed to have a strange
effect, for she said brokenly :

" You're right, Mary darling ; we won't curse him, though
he's wronged us sore. Sure it can't be himself that's in it ; oh !
no, not himself at all."

He went from her while she raved, without a word, or even
another glance at his child, and Aileen, realizing at last that he
had gone and that he meant the cruel words he had said, took
her child by the hand and dragged herself away. She did not
wait for the food he had promised ; her only thought was to get
away from his home to some lone spot where she could die, for
she felt so wretched that she imagined her end must be near.
But the crying of her child roused her to a new effort for life,
and for its sake she sought food and rest at one of the houses
which she had passed in the afternoon.

How she succeeded in returning to the place whence she had
started she could scarcely tell, and she was but dimly conscious
that her return was owing to the kindness of the strangers whom
she met on her way. She was not aware that the woe depicted
in her face made a stronger appeal to hearts than any petition
she could have uttered..

She had prepared herself for harshness from her master, and
she told her story to him in a quiet, tearless way, expecting to
be visited with the most severe punishment for her crime of
running away ; but her broken-hearted manner and pathetic
tale touched his heart, and Aileen was reinstated in her place as
household servant. She had supposed a speedy death to be in-
evitable because she was so utterly wretched ; but she lived on,
not well, not strong, but not ill, while her child grew to be a
marvel of beauty and intelligence.

Her term of service expired, and her master offered many in-
ducements to make her remain with him, but she declined.

622 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

" I'm going back to my mother," she said " the mother I've
been an ungrateful child to to ask her forgiveness before I die,
and to leave my darling with her."

IV.

Aileen arrived home only to find the grass green on her
mother's grave. The poor widow had died broken-hearted
when informed of the theft which her daughter had committed,
though she knew well the motive of the crime. The well-stock-
ed farm had been given in trust to a relative in trust for the
daughter, should she ever return but the relative, deeming
Aileen's return very uncertain, did not hesitate to use the trust
for his own benefit ; his plan for enriching himself failed, how-
ever, and he also died, leaving but a pittance for the prodigal
should she ever come back.

Aileen, on learning her husband's perfidy, had deemed herself
impervious to any future blow ; but when she knelt on her
mother's grave it seemed as if her heart was receiving its most
cruel wrench.

She received all that remained of her mother's little property,
but with the most strict economy it would not suffice for the
support of herself and her child for more than a few months.
She looked at her lovely girl, now in her twelfth year, and
thought of her own failing strength : though not exactly ill, she
was too weak to perform any kind of manual labor, and she was
no adept at needlework. What could be done to eke out their
support? She thought of her child's voice, one which promised
to be as magnificent as her own had been as it was still, save a
weakness in very high notes and to sing for money would not
be begging. So mother and child went into the city and in the
evenings sang in the streets ; sometimes in front of handsome
residences, and sometimes near the quay where many walked for
the sea-breeze. People listened spellbound, the voices harmo-
nized so well; but at times the stronger voice sank and the
child's exquisite notes floated out alone. Crowds gathered about
them respectful, sympathizing crowds, for the sad history of the
singers was well known.

One night a carriage drew up almost on the verge of the
crowd gathered about the singers, and its single occupant put
out her head to listen to the exquisite strains. On the conclu-
sion of the ballad a footman in livery was sent to bring the
singers to the carriage window. Aileen and her daughter ap-

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 623

preached in some trepidation, but the owner of the aristocratic
face looking from the window said :

" Do not be alarmed, my good people ; I only wished to ask
you to call at my residence to-morrow. Perhaps I can aid you
in some manner."

And then the address was given, and, Aileen promising to
call, the carriage drove off.

The noon of the next day saw the singers in the elegant man-
sion of a wealthy maiden lady who was somewhat noted for her
eccentricities. She wished to adopt little Mary Alman, giving
to the latter all the advantages which her own immense wealth
afforded, and she would make comfortable provision for Aileen ;
but there was one hard condition annexed mother and daughter
must see each other no more.

" I couldn't, my lady ; I couldn't do that."

And poor Aileen turned away as if she considered the inter-
view ended ; but her eyes fell on her beautiful child, and then on
the splendor about them, while her rapid thoughts brought the
future before her the future when she should be no more and
her darling would be all alone in the world. She turned back
hastily :

" Give me a little time, my lady, and I'll tell you then."

" Until to-morrow," was the brief answer, and mother and
child went forth again.

It was hard for poor Aileen to sing that evening ; her voice
broke so many times that at length she was obliged to let little
Mary sing entirely alone. That night, when her darling slept the
deep slumber of childhood, she walked, and wept, and wrung
her hands, at one time murmuring :

" (Sure I couldn't do it I couldn't do it at all," and again
repeating:

" She'll be well provided for she'll be a lady ; and what'll
.become of her when I'm taken from her? And I can be near
her and no one know it. I can see her sometimes, perhaps, when
none but the great God and myself will know it."

The next day found little Mary AUnan transferred from the
humble abode of her mother to the magnificent home of Miss
Evanson. The poor child did not understand, when she kissed
her mother in the great state drawing-room and felt the pas-
sionate clasp of her mother's arms, that was to be the last time
she would be permitted to see her idolized parent ; the elegant
lady who calmly looked on had told her that her mother would
return in a short time, and Aileen herself had brokenly uttered :

624 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

" Stay here and see the pretty things, my darling, for a little
while, and then I shall come to you."

The child did not murmur for an hour after her mother's de-
parture ; but after that it required all her adopted mother's
efforts to calm her even for a moment. And when a day and
night passed in such turbulent grief as seemed likely to make
the child ill, the anxious Miss Evanson hastily took her little
protegee to England.

Aileen Alman came covertly about the place. She had re-
ceived an instalment of the ample provision which had been
made for her, and with it had secured a home as near as possible
to the grand residence of her darling. But for three days she
had refrained from going to the latter place, even to look at its
exterior, lest her child might see her or she herself should be
tempted to break the condition imposed upon her. When at
last she did go, prowling about as a thief might do, and saw no
sign of occupancy further than that evinced by the servants, her
bursting heart compelled her to make inquiries of the gatekeep-
er's wife. She received as reply, that Miss Evanson and her little
adopted girl had gone to England, to be absent for an indefinite
period.

Poor Aileen ! her cup was full ; and yet Heaven did not
vouchsafe her death. She came every day to the place, and
when the gate-keeper and his wife learned the story they freely
admitted her to the grounds.

Four years passed to the lonely, broken-hearted woman
four wretched years, the misery of which was relieved by one
hope alone, that of some time seeing her child. And every day
she had asked the same question of the kind-hearted couple at
the lodge: "When will Miss Evanson return?" And she had
received the same reply : " She has not written to say."

The four years passed well with Miss Evanson and her little
protegee. The latter had been made to believe that her mother
was dead, and time at last had abated her grief. She was beau-
tiful as she had promised to be, and unusually intelligent. Miss
Evanson thought it quite^safe to return to Ireland now, and she
wrote to her housekeeper apprising her of the time of her return.
The housekeeper immediately communicated the news to the
servants, the gate-keeper included, and he told it to Mrs. Alman.
She timidly requested to be allowed to sit in the lodge, where,
without being herself seen, she might obtain a glimpse of her
daughter.

The favor was cheerfully granted, and when the carriage

1883.] DAYLIGHT AT LAST. 625

passed through the avenue which wound directly from the gate-
house the owner of the fresh, lovely face that looked forth from
it so delightedly . did not dream that the mother whom she
mourned as dead was broken-heartedly gazing at her.

" She looks happy," poor Aileen murmured, " and I'll strive
not to go near her."

By nightfall there was something in her heart crying out for
her child, and which would not be quieted. She put on her
cloak and hurried to the grand house. It was brilliantly illu-
minated, and she could see the flitting of richly dressed forms
through the open windows.

Urged by a desperate impulse, she went directly beneath one
of the windows, and in a moment was pouring forth a flood of
song exquisite in its quivering pathos ; it was an old ditty with
a sad refrain which, from the meaning that the singer gave it,
found an echo in every listener's heart. There seemed to be a
simultaneous cessation in the movements of the gay party in the
elegant room above the singer, and in a few moments some one
opened the front door, rushed down the steps, and cried in a
voice full of agony :

" Mother ! mother ! where are you ? "

In her silken robe, with her brilliant beauty flashing out in
the light from the windows, Mary Alman was clasped in her
mother's arms.

" I thought you'd remember it, darling ; we sang it so often
together," poor Aileen Alman said.

' Miss Evanson did then what every one said she ought to do.
She took mother and daughter into her home, and endeavored,
by showing all the kindness in her power to the former, to atone
for her falsehood to Mary.

Aileen was grateful for the tender care, and in very gratitude
she strove to seem better than she was. Her daughter would
not for one moment absent herself from her side, but all her lov-
ing devotion could not now prolong her mother's life. On the
afternoon of a cloudless day, when the soft, balmy air coming in
through the open window seemed to woo the patient invalid to
renewed vigor, she turned lovingly to her two tender watchers
her daughter and Miss Evanson and, smiling upon them, she
said gently :

" It has been dark so long, but it is the daylight at last."

They were her last words, and while the smile still rested on
her features an eternal daylight broke upon her.

Two years after, and the Irish papers contained notices
VOL. xxxvi. 40

626 DAYLIGHT AT LAST. [Feb.,

asking for information of Mary Alman. Property in Australia
had been left to her left by the father whom she never knew,
and of whom, because of her mother's sufferings, she could
scarcely bear to think. Heaven itself seemed to have punished
him he was killed by one of his own hands and among some
of his private papers which were forwarded to Mary there was
ample evidence of his remorse for his treatment of Aileen. In
one paper, evidently an unfinished letter to his injured wife, there
was written the following :

" O Aileen ! I have been lashed by ten thousand scorpions
since I saw you last. I married because I had heard you were
dead, and when 1 saw you I thought not to have my present
happiness and future prospects destroyed by your claim upon
me, so 1 tore the proof which you held of our marriage, and I
thought to be happy after. I might as well have cast myself
upon the waves with the expectation of being borne to a distant
port in safety. There is no happiness for me. I see your face
with its look of agony. I see my child's face.

" She whom I have married has borne me no children, and I
have tried again and again to leave her. But she is sick with
some lingering disease, and, having heard of you from her brother,
she constantly begs me not to go away. Her brother watches
me day and night lest I shall escape. He declares if I make the
attempt I shall be a dead man, and so I remain until her death
shall set me free." The letter ended there, but Mary learned
that his wife had died, and her brother also, shortly after, and
that Alman had instituted inquiries through all the penal settle-
ments for his first wife, failing in which, and with a sort of pre-
sentiment of his own death, he had made his will in favor of
Aileen, or, should the latter not be alive, in favor of his child.

Mary Alman lived to become a happy wife and mother, a
truly good woman, whose pure, benevolent life shed its sweet
influence on all about her, while Miss Evanson, her dearest
friend, had a green old age beautified and made happy by chari-
table deeds.

1883.] Ss* THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES, 627

SIR THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES*

IT is a pleasing task to trace the early history of such a man
as Thomas More. At ten years of age the precocious boy be-
came a page to Cardinal Morton, in whose palace he received his
early education. He is described at this period as a " very
graceful, witty, and intelligent boy." While amongst the cardi-
nal's household he was often engaged in dramatic performances,
and read Latin fluently at ten years of age. His quickness and
readiness of reply, and the originality of his genius, made him an
object of general admiration. " Whoever lives to see it," ob-
served Cardinal Morton, " will find this most intelligent boy a
very rare man." The " little page " was much attached to the
amiable cardinal, who spoke to him on every subject of interest
to a young pupil.

The future chancellor was the only son of Sir John More,.
Lord Chief-Justice of England, by his first wife, Mary Han-
combe. He was born some time in the year 1480 at his father's
town-house in Milk Street, in the olden part of London. He
was for some time a pupil of Nicholas Holt at St. Anthony's
School, in Threadneedle Street, which bore the highest reputa-
tion of any academy then in London, and produced several cele-
brated men, amongst whom was that most excellent prelate,
Nicholas Heath, subsequently Archbishop of York and lord-
chancellor of England.f The notable Dean Collett also com-
menced his studies at Holt's school. Roger Ascham has related
some pleasant anecdotes of the pupils who figured at Holt's
establishment.

* This paper from Mr. Burke, who has been at work for many years in his researches at the
State Paper Office in London, is timely. Sir Thomas More, along with Cardinal Fisher, is
among the three hundred and fifty who died for the faith in England from 1535 to 1681. Of
these 82 were laymen ; 171 secular priests ; 38 Jesuits ; 18 Carthusian monks ; 14 Benedictine
monks ; 14 Franciscan .friars ; i Augustisian friar ; i Bridgettine ; 3 Knights of St. John of
Jerusalem (or Hospitallers), besides Cardinal Fisher and Archbishop Oliver Plunket and five
women. The Holy Father, '_in order to hasten the process for these martyrs, has appointed Car-
dinals Bartolini, Bilio, Oreglia, Serafini, and Parocchi, of the Congregation of Rites, a committee
to examine the case. [The ED. of THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

t Nicholas Heath was the last Catholic lord high chancellor of England,, and performed.
the legal duties of announcing to the Houses of Peers and Commons the accession of Queen
Elizabeth, who made him a prisoner for the remainder of his life. His character, both as a
churchman and as a politician, was without spot or stain. I refer the reader to vol. iii. of the
Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty for a memoir of Dr. Heath.

628 Six T&OMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

At eighteen years of age More entered Oxford University,
where he studied for some years. At this university, it is stat-
ed, he won the esteem of "young and old." He studied with
the greatest amount of industry, and " his piety," says a contem-
porary, "made the lukewarm believers ashamed." He wished
very much to become a Franciscan friar, but his father desired
that he should be a lawyer. With reluctance he obeyed his fa-
ther's command. "He quitted his Greek and Latin studies at Ox-
ford, and the company of his learned tutor, Groceyn, and became
a law-student at Lincoln's Inn. When a law-student he fre-
quently went to hear the eloquent sermons of his old confessor,
Dean Collett ; he likewise visited the Carthusian Fathers once a
week. As a lawyer he sprang forward at once in his profession.
The general opinion of the public was to the " effect that Maister
More would never betray his clients." Lawyers and attorneys
in those times were considered as " very doubtful in regard to
honor and honesty." While employed in the study and practice
of the law More had not deserted the literary path in which he
had first delighted. He improved himself in all the learning then
attainable ; he associated with the most eminent and intellectual
men of his time ; he kept up a constant correspondence with
Erasmus. He even found leisure for literary composition. The
History of Richard III. is published among his works, but some
eminent Cambridge scholars have raised doubts as to whether he
was really the author of this work, which is attributed to Car-
dinal Morton ; that it was written in Latin, and translated into
English by More. It is certain that the cardinal employed
young More in translating Latin manuscripts ; and it is equally
true that More would not put forward as a work of his own
that which was only a translation. Utopia, upon which More's
fame as an author principally rests, is the history of an imaginary
commonwealth, in which he puts forward and advocates some
doctrines in philosophy and religion greatly in advance of the
age, with so much force and liberality that it seems surprising
that the work escaped the censures of Henry's despotic Council.
It was written in Latin and published about 1516.*

As I have already remarked, both his father and Collett
were opposed to More's taking religious vows ; still he fre-
quented the society of the Carthusians. Time, however, brought
about a change. So More made up his mind for the married
state. His son-in-law, Roper, thus simply relates his course of
love :

* See Foss' Judges of England, vol. i^

1883.] Ssx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 629

" Maister More resorted to the house of a gentleman named Colte, who
resided in Essex. The host had three comely daughters, who were possessed
of learning and wit ; and their father had often invited young More to his
hospitable home, but the 'bashful young man ' did not come often ; but after
a time his visits became frequent. His mind was inclined to the second
sister, because she seemed so fair and otherwise agreeable to him. How-
ever, when he thought over the whole affair, his delicate mind and critical
judgment came to the conclusion that it would be a shame and cause grief
unseen for the younger sister to be preferred to her elder one, who was
comely and good. So he altered his secret intention, and framed his love
most delicately for the eldest of the family. To the father of the family,
and the eldest sister, More soon after made known his intentions, which
were warmly and joyously received by all the family."

The marriage of More and his wife took place in 1505. The
young- wife died in the sunny May-day of her domestic happi-
ness, surrounded by her dear, loving little children, her devoted
husband, and most faithful friends.* Three daughters and one
son were the fruit of this truly happy marriage.

Some twelve months after the death of his first wife Maister
More contracted a second marriage with Alice Middleton, a
widow, who was immensely inferior to More's first wife. As over
his first choice, so over this, a little romance is thrown, although
the commonplace Alice Middleton was not capable of eliciting any
romantic passion from it. Perhaps she had some property, and
the widower with a young family was attracted by her purse. It
is said that almost her first interview with More was to urge upon
her the suit of a friend, and that Dame Alice replied, " Well,
good Maister More, if you pleaded before me for yourself \ assure
you that you would have far more success." More informed his
friend of what occurred, and the gentleman, not being " over in
love " with the widow or her purse, retired from the scene, and
in a few weeks later Alice Middleton, the " mere housewife,"
became the wife of one of the greatest, the most amiable, and the
most excellent men that England had produced in that age of
imperfection and dishonesty.

Maister More first appeared as a popular speaker in the
Commons of 1504 when Henry VII. demanded a subsidy for
the marriage portion of the Princess Margaret, then about to
marry the King of Scots (James IV.) More objected to the
sum demanded ; the House adopted his amendment, and the
king had the mortification to find himself defeated. Maister
Taylor, one of the king's Privy Chamber, went immediately

* MS. Diary of Bertha Clitheroe, the school-fellow and early companion of Mistress More
when at the convent of Godstowe. Bertha Clitheroe is unknown to posterity, yet she was one
of the most true-hearted maids that appeared upon the scene in those troubled times.

630 Su? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

from the House and told his sovereign lord " that a beardless
boy had disappointed him of all his expectations." * " Where-
upon," observes Roper, "the king conceived great indignation
against More, and could not feel satisfied until he had in some

way revenged it." More retired from public life after this event,
for he received a warning from the bishop of Winchester to the
effect that he " had highly insulted the king and the royal fam-
ily." He was only twenty-four years of age at this period.
He went to the Continent for a time ; then returned and gave
himself up to classical study down to the death of Henry VII.,
when he resumed his labors as a lawyer.f

In 1509 Maister More was introduced to the king by Wolsey
" as a very rising lawyer." His professional income at this
time was about four hundred and fifty pounds a year, equal to
a very large sum at the present day. The king wished him to
give up the law for politics and take office under the crown,
but he could not see his way to such a policy. He was about
this time engaged in a suit in which the pope was the plaintiff
and the King of England the defendant. The merits of the case
were these : A ship belonging to the pontiff having been seized
at Southampton as forfeited to the crown for a breach of the
law of nations, the pope's nuncio at the court of London in-
stituted proceedings to obtain restitution, and retained More as
an advocate, " at which time there could none of our law be
found so meet to be of counsel." The hearing was in the Star
Chamber before the chancellor and other judges. To plead
against the crown in the Star Chamber, and before such judges,
was a delicate matter; and some persons of legal knowledge
looked upon More's pleading as hopeless, if not dangerous.
Maister More displayed much firmness, and his arguments were
considered by the court conclusive ; the lord-chancellor pro-
nounced judgment in favor of More's client. This case brought
More prominently before the public. The king was present at
the trial, and, instead of indulging in anger against Maister
More, he joined the general acclaim by offering his praise to the.
pope's counsel for the ability with which he argued the case.
Shortly after More visited the king at Greenwich, which was
the commencement of his intimacy and, I may add, his future
troubles. More was made Master of the Bequests, knighted, and
sworn a Privy Councillor. ^ About this time (1514) Sir Thomas

* Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More.

t Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i.

J Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More ; Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i.

1883.] Su? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 631

More took up his residence at Chelsea, where he was visited by
the learned and the witty of England and the Continent. The
next step in promotion was the chair of the House of Commons.*
The Commons felt delight and honor in nominating him, and the
king- assured them that they had made a choice of which he
highly approved. Whilst Speaker he upheld the dignity of the
House and its privileges a very difficult task in those days.

According to Erasmus, Wolsey " rather feared than loved
More." The cardinal wished him to fill tHe office of a foreign
minister ; he did not wish him to be much about court. But
More had a desire to reside in the vicinity of London, where
many of his dearest friends were located. Wolsey had no friend-
ly feeling for him far from it. Thorndale states that " the
grand cardinal detested More."

When the Great Seal was delivered to More by the king he
was inducted into his seat in the Court of Chancery " after a
noble exhortation by the Duke of Norfolk, as well to the chan-
cellor as to the people, and an answer of the chancellor." .No
previous example of any introductory address on such an occa-
sion occurs ; and the object of the Duke of Norfolk's speech
seems to have been to justify the king's selection of a layman
instead of an ecclesiastic by enlarging on the wisdom, integrity,
and genius of Sir Thomas More and the extraordinary abilities
he had shown as a lawyer. More's answer was modest and be-
coming, with a graceful and feeling allusion to the fall of his
illustrious predecessor, f

Sir Thomas More was the most remarkable man who appear-
ed in the Parliament of 1529. In that year the first blow al-
though somewhat concealed was struck at the papacy in Eng-
land.:}: Many of those ecclesiastical marble piles of magnifi-
cent architecture stood in their bewildering vastness, containing
chapels, cells, and shrines beneath a common roof. They stood
often in defenceless solitudes, guarded by a feeble garrison of
inmates and frequenters, a prey ready to the hand of the spoiler
whenever he should come up against them. Not otherwise

* From the days of Sir Thomas More till the period of the revolution of 1688 the Speaker-
ship of the Commons was held, with two exceptions, by lawyers. If those lawyers had been
honest men the country might have been gainers from the constant presence of an educated gen-
tleman presiding over their deliberations. But honesty was the very thing they cared little
about. The Speaker "received presents" after the fashion of the king's treasurer. The
Speaker's salary was a miserable trifle, but he had fees which were kept a secret.

t English Chancellors, by Lord Campbell, vol. i. ; Foss' Judges of England, v61. v.

t The Parliament of 1529 was called " the Black Parliament," owing to the first attack being
made on the papal power in England. The Parliament of Henry IV. , with its " Lollard bat-
talions," failed in its attack upon the church.

632 Six THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

stood England herself as she had been raised by the counsels
of former ages a vast system of corporations, of guilds and
fraternities, both lay and clerical; of societies which had out-
grown the population and were now to fall in the prodigious
redistribution of land and property which was about to ensue.
The religious houses might be empty, but they would have con-
tained .and educated the multitudes yet unborn. The corporate
bodies were a vast provision for a numerous posterity, but a
provision which posterity was never to enjoy. The Parliament
laid the axe to the tree ; yet many years passed over, amidst
" the hacking and hewing," before the Olden Creed was dashed
to the ground dashed to the ground by the basest and vilest
conspiracy that ever the perverted machinations of man had con-
spired to create. The fury of a great revolution fell first upon
the church and the religious orders.

The Rev. Canon Dixon, a distinguished Anglican cleric, takes
a different view of the " causes and effects " of the English
Reformation from that put forward by other Protestant writers:

" As to what are commonly termed the causes of the Reformation, there
seem to have been none which have not been exaggerated. Everybody
knows what is said of the breaking-up of the frost of ages, the corruptions
of the old system, the influence of German Protestantism, and the explo-
sive force of new ideas generated by the revival of learning. And every-
body has grown accustomed to set the old against the new, as if they were
totally repugnant forces which simply strove to destroy one another. . . .
As to German Protestantism, it undoubtedly had a factitious influence in
England, but it had made no deep impression upon the nation when the
Reformation came on. There was an extraordinary combination, of dan-
gerous circumstances. The ancient nobility had perished in the civil wars,
and their ranks were filled up by a number of political adventurers, many of
whom were amongst the very worst men in the realm. The new peers, with
few exceptions, were ranged on the side of the party of innovation. At the
head of all was a monarch who was more completely the man of the times
than any other person in the whole kingdom a man of force without
grandeur ; of great ability, but not of lofty intellect ; punctilious, and yet
unscrupulous; centred in himself; greedy and profuse; cunning rather
than sagacious ; of fearful passions and intolerable pride, but destitute of
ambition in the nobler sense of the word ; a character of degraded magnifi-
cence. Such a king was no safe guardian of the rights of the realm. . . .
That such a king was on the throtie was the circumstance above all others which
brought on the Reformation:' *

King Henry was now resolved to have no more clerical chan-
cellors. When he selected Sir Thomas More he thought his

* History of the Church of England from the Abolition of the Roman Jurisdiction, by R.
W. Dixon, M.A., vol. i.

1883.] Ssx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 633

selection had fallen upon a man very different from Wolsey. More
was decidedly superior to the 'cardinal in legal knowledge, in
political integrity, and was unbending in his religious devotion
to the see of Rome. He did not disguise his opinions on the
divorce question when he stated in a very delicate manner to
one of the king's confessors that this " indecent affair" should
never have been paraded before the world.

" The wittiest of moralists and the most moral of wits," writes Canon
Dixon, " was little fit to take part in the miserable intrigues of which the
king's policy consisted. The frankest of advisers could ill please the ear
of such a despotic prince as Henry Tudor. But the author of Utopia was
known for tolerant and liberal principles. He was a Humorist and a
Reformer. He was the writer of the first great original book that appeared
in the Revival of Learning ; the most renowned of Englishmen then liv-
ing ; almost the most renowned of living men. The countenance of such
a man may have appeared desirable in the changes now beginning to be
meditated."

The Parliament of 1529 was decidedly a packed assembly;
and such is admitted by Gilbert Burnet. The -debates in the
Commons appear to have manifested the bitterest feeling
against the clergy in general. The two arguments against the
church were the clergy received too mucli money and performed
no adequate amount of labor ; they were further charged with neg-
lecting the poor. The latter imputation was proved to be utterly
unfounded. The accusations against the Ecclesiastical Courts
were sadly true. The fees exacted in the Spiritual Courts were
denounced as excessive. And the pluralities became a standing
scandal to which jevery honest Catholic objected.

Sir Thomas More took office at an unfortunate period, sur-
rounded by the results of former maladministration and a new
school of politicians who were as daring as they proved to be
unscrupulous and dishonest. With such a combination of cir-
cumstances the overthrow of the ancient church became only a
matter of time. The new Reformers of religion were merely a
gang of cunning thieves, whose real objects were to plunder " the
heritage of the poor," whose substance had been fenced round
by the church for centuries.

Sir Thomas More's elevation to the justice-seat was not only
very popular in England, but was received with general satis-
faction by 'the learned men of foreign universities. It is only
necessary for me to quote one or two sentences from the letter
of Erasmus to the pious and learned John Zobius, Archbishop
of Vienna, to show the feeling with which the appointment of

634 5/^ff THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

More was hailed on the Continent. Erasmus writes : " Concern-
ing the new increase of honor experienced by Sir Thomas More
I should easily make you believe, were I to show you the letters
of the many famous men who are now rejoicing at the appoint-
ment, and congratulating the English king and the inhabitants
of- his realm on having Sir Thomas More seated on the high-
est justice-seat. Kings and judges are rejoicing at this intelli-
gence.''

It has been stated, upon the authoritiy of John Foxe, that Sir
Thomas More was " a cruel persecutor of the Reformers, and
caused even little boys to be flogged because they adopted Pro-
testant principles." Speed, Burnet, and Hume have all " improv-
ed " Foxe's relation, More's house at Chelsea has been repre-
sented as an " inquisition jail," and the amiable chancellor " act-
ing the part of a grand inquisitor "; that there was " a large tree
in h'is garden where the Reformers and other valiant soldiers of
Christ underwent cruel whipping, and that, too, under the espe-
cial superintendence of Sir Thomas More himself."

Some of the leading Reformers, however, describe Sir Thomas
More as a man of unquestionable truth, kindness, and honor.

Here is More's own version of the narrative originally fur-
nished by John Foxe :

" Divers of them," says More, " have said that of such as were in my
house when I was chancellor I used to examine them with torments, caus-
ing them to be bound to a tree in my garden and there savagely beaten.
Except their safekeeping, I never else did cause any such thing to be done
unto any of the heretics in all my life, except only twain ; one was a child
and a servant of mine in my own house, whom his father, before he came to
me, had mixed up in such matters, and set his boy to attend upon George
Jay.

"This Jay did teach the child his own grievous heresy against the
Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, which heresy the child, in my house, began
to teach another child. And upon that point I caused a servant of mine to
stripe him like a child before my household, for amendment of himself and
example to others. Another was one who, after he had fallen into these
frantic heresies, soon fell into plain open frenzy, albeit that he had been in
Bedlam, and afterwards, by beating and correcting, gathered his remem-
brance. Being, therefore, let at liberty, his old perversions fell again into
his head. When informed of his relapse I caused him to be taken by the
constables and bounden to a tree in the streets before the whole town, and
then striped him till he waxed weary. Verily, God be thanked, I hear no
harm of him now. And of all who ever came into my hand for heresy, so
help me God, else had never any of them a stripe or stroke given them, so
much as a fillip in the forehead." *

* Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More.

1883.] 5/je THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES, 635

Alarmed at the progress of the Reformation, and shocked by
the conduct of many of its most zealous apostles in Germany,
More became determined to discourage what was then styled the
" new learning " by every legitimate means. He " never strained
or rigorously enforced the law against the Reformers." " It is,"
observes Erasmus, "a sufficient proof of his clemency that whi.le
he was lord-chancellor of England no man was put to death
for these pestilent dogmas, while so many at the same period
suffered for them in France, Germany, and the Netherlands." *
He was present many times at the examination of persons charg-
ed with heresy, and concurred with the Council in sending them
to prison ; but he could adopt no other course, unless he violated
the existing law on the subject, which was one of the king's
favorite statutes. It was not till he had resigned the Great Seal,
and was succeeded by the pliant Audley, that heresy was made
high treason and the scaffold reeked with innocent blood.f Yet
Audley was afterwards the earnest supporter of the Reformation
wherever or whenever it suited his interests. As the colleague
of Crumwell and Cranmer, Audley carried out the schemes
devised by a capricious king against the lives and the property
of the English people.

From his own great rectitude, honest} 7 , and piety Sir Thomas
More entertained a horror for every kind of vice. He some-
times punished depraved criminals severely ; but where he could
perceive any feeling of repentance he acted in an opposite spirit ;
never approving of the sanguinary criminal code then in exist-
ence, he was consequently on the side of clemency. " He was,"
writes Lord Campbell, "three centuries in advance of his age."
A passage in his Utopia is illustrative of his real opinions on the
cruelty and injustice to which the people were subjected by the
existing statutes of England. He represents his observant tra-
veller, who had visited Utopia and describes its institutions, as
saying :

" There happened to be at table an English lawyer, who took occasion
to run out in high commendation of the severe execution of thieves in his
country, where might be seen twenty at a time dangling from one gibbet.
Nevertheless, he observed, it puzzled him to understand, since so few es-
caped, there were yet so many thieves left who were still found robbing in
all places. Upon this I said with boldness: ' There was no reason to won-

* The German Anabaptists, who became such a scourge in England, were first known in
London about the year 1525, after the decisive defeat which they sustained at the battle of Frank -
enhausen.

t Lord Campbell's Lives of the English Chancellors, voL i. p. 548 ; Foss' Judges of England \
vol. v.

636 Six THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

der at the matter, since this way of punishing thieves was neither just in
itself nor for the public good ; for as the severity was too great, so the
remedy was not effectual ; simple theft was not so great a crime that it
ought to cost a man his life, and no punishment would restrain men from
robbing who coold find no other way of livelihood.' "

More was of opinion that concessions never satisfy an un-
principled faction, and history gives many similar evidences
down to the present time. As the policy of the party who were
pushing forward the revolution in religion and property gra-
dually became known, the conscientious and upright judge felt
bound to retire from the justice-seat that was now about to
be desecrated, and law and equity threatened with extinction if
they did not become the footstools of an arbitrary and an unjust
monarch. To the evident disappointment of the king, the chan-
cellor suddenly resigned the Great Seal. The church party felt
that some mighty changes were now at hand.

After consulting Archbishop Cranmer the king sent for
Cranmer's friend, Sir Thomas Audley, then Speaker of the
House of Commons. Audley, Thomas Crumwell, and Cranmer
were the private advisers of the crown at this critical moment.
Audley was sworn into office as lord high chancellor of Eng-
land. The Royal Supremacy was the first question raised in
order to overturn the connection with Rome. The question
was delicately touched upon by Sir Thomas Audley in his in-
terviews with More, but the latter cautiously evaded the expres-
sion of a legal opinion until the king demanded his judgment on
such a matter. Although possessed of but a limited patrimony,
he had no hesitation in surrendering his large emoluments and
splendid position when his conscience and honor were at stake.

As soon as the king's Council had arranged their plans the
oath of supremacy was offered to all the public men known to be
conscientiously attached to the papacy. Sir Thomas More had
no equivocation upon the matter. His opinions were placed
upon record at once. He was soon after arrested and charged
with high treason. His arrest caused a profound sensation at
home and abroad.

King Henry was well acquainted with Sir Thomas More's
fixed opinions upon the question of the Royal Supremacy in
spiritual matters. So the command to take the new oath was
nothing more or less than an order for the headsman to prepare
his weapon. Sir Thomas More was enjoying the society of a
few friends at Chelsea when a king's messenger suddenly en-
tered and informed him that his presence was required im-

1883.] S/j? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 637

mediately at Lambeth Palace. More obeyed the order of the
Council. At Lambeth Archbishop Cranmer and the other
commissioners tendered to him- the oath of supremacy ; but, as
they expected, it was respectfully and firmly declined. They
desired him to walk awhile in the garden, that he might re-
consider his reply. He was called before the Council again,
but only repeated his refusal. He was next committed to the
Tower with Bishop Fisher.

When More was committed to the Tower the constable
apologized to him for the " poor cheer the place furnished for
prisoners"; to which he replied, " Good maister, assure your-
self I do not mistake the cheer ; but.whenever I do, then spare
not to thrust me out of your doors." For one month More was
not permitted to see his wife or daughter, on whom he impress-
ed the solemn obligation of not repining for him, declaring that
he had violated no law and could never acknowledge the king
as " Christ's vicar on earth."

The Duke of Norfolk, Crumwell, and other members of the
council were sent to remonstrate with More ; and next Cranmer,
who proposed to argue the merits of the supremacy statute.
The archbishop, however, failed to convince, and only demon-
strated by his manner that he was a personal enemy. Almost
every day commissioners or spies visited Sir Thomas More ; but,
being an astute lawyer, he did not commit himself by any un-
guarded expressions. On one occasion, when his noble daugh-
ter, Margaret Roper, came to visit him, the Carthusian abbot
of Sion and three of his brethren of the Charter-house were
marched by his window on their way to execution for not ac-
cepting the supremacy oath, when More suddenly exclaimed :
" Lo ! dost thou not see, Meg, that these blessed fathers be now
so cheerfully going to their death as bridegrooms to their mar-
riage ? " He then hinted to her that a like destiny awaited him-
self. His daughter wished him to " yield to the king in some
way." He wrote to her a letter of rebuke, and concluded with
an assurance that " none of the troubles that might happen unto
him touched him so near, or bore so grievously on him, as that
his dearly beloved child, whose judgment he so much valued,
should labor to persuade him to do what would be contrary to
his conscience."' The good daughter's reply was worthy of her
parent. She submits reverently to his " faithful and delectable
letter as the truthful messenger of his virtuous soul, and rejoiced
at the philosophic grandeur of his mind under such trials." She
concluded in these words : " Your own most loving, obedient

638 Six THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

daughter and bedes-wOman, Margaret Roper, who desireth above
all earthly things to bear John Wood's stede, to do you some
service." * When his spouse visited him she " scolded him se-
verely for his foolery in being there at all." The poor lady was
sadly distressed at this time. In mental powers she was vastly
inferior to her illustrious husband. She was a " plain house-
wife," destitute of ambition, and devoid of all heroic qualities.
A woman of the world on a small scale, her family was her uni-
verse. She cared nothing for the respective claims of the injur-
ed lady of Arragon or her fascinating rival ; she had heard of the
greatness of Wolsey and other prelates and statesmen, yet she
knew not in what their greatness consisted ; she looked upon
Cranmer as a " schoolmaster " who had winning ways ; she
thought Fisher was too honest for the times, and Gardyner and
Bonner were sensible men because they pleased the king. She
had enjoyed a cheerful and a happy home, a gentle husband
and loving step-children. No wonder that her mind became em-
bittered, and that she appeared rude and ungracious in manner.

Here is the scene at the Tower between the " rude house-
wife," as she has been described, and her learned and witty
husband :

"'Ah, Maister More, I marvel that you, who have hitherto always been
taken for a wise man, will now so play the fool as to lie here in this close,
filthy prison, and be content to be shut up thus with mice and rats as your
companions, when you might be abroad at your liberty, with the favor both
of the king and his Council. ... I muse what in God's name you mean
here thus fondly to tarry ? '

" Having heard his wife's discourse to an end, Sir Thomas More, in his
usual good-humor, said : ' I pray thee, good Mistress Alyce, tell me one
thing."

" ' What is it ? ' said she.

" ' Is not this house as near to heaven as my own ? ' '

The " housewife " still maintained her views, and the husband
was unable to convince her that it was better to remain in the
Tower than to dishonor himself by accepting liberty at the sacri-
fice of what he considered the highest and holiest principles.
But when the dark hour came " Mistress Alyce " proved her-
self to be a true woman and a noble wife. She was compelled
by necessity to sell her wearing apparel to provide food for her
husband, so recently the chancellor of a great kingdom, then
wasting away his life in a damp dungeon in the Tower " amidst

* John Wood was an old and faithful servant whom Crumwell permitted to accompany his
master to the Tower.

1883.] Ssx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 639

mice and rats." " Mrs. Alyce " was, however, cheered in her
labor of love by her amiable children ; and they all now looked
on their poverty, under such circumstances, as a necessary offer-
ing at the shrine of truth and virtue.*

Crushing down every opponent who had the courage to
speak, the king became furious to find that a late member of his
Council had the conscience to declare against the monarch's
assumption of spiritual power. The battle of spiritual freedom
the battle of the Protestants against Mary Tudor, of the Catho-
lics against the despotism of Elizabeth, of the unprincipled and
hypocritical Puritans against Charles I., of the Independents
against the Presbyterians began at the moment when Sir
Thomas More refused to bend or to deny his honest convictions
at the command of a cruel and merciless tyrant who styled the
multitude as brutes only fit for the " rope," and sent the culti-
vated genius of the realm to the reeking scaffold to pay the pen-
alty awarded to honesty.

The most disgraceful of the many schemes used to adduce
evidence against Sir Thomas More was that of sending Maister
Rich to visit him in the Tower. Rich was appointed solicitor-
general from the fact that at the English bar low as it was in
morality and honor at that period there was, perhaps, not an-
other man who would stoop to the same infamy to promote the
policy of the king and his Council. Fortified by an order of the
Council, Maister Rich, accompanied by Sir Richard Southwell
and Mr. Palmer, went to the Tower for the ostensible purpose
of depriving More of the few books with which he had hitherto
been permitted to soothe his hours of solitude. While they were
packing up the books Rich, under the pretence of " old friend-
ship," fell into conversation with More, and in a familiar and
confidential tone, after a compliment to his wisdom and learning,
put a case to him.

" Admit," said Rich, " that there were an act of Parliament
made that all the realm should take me for king, would not
you, Sir Thomas, take me for king ? " " Yes, sir," said More,
" that I would." Rich became much elated, and put the case
further : " Suppose that there was an act of Parliament that all
the realm should take me for pope, would you not then take me
for pope ? " " For answer," said Sir Thomas, " to your first
case, the Parliament may well meddle with the state of temporal
princes ; but, to make answer to your other case, suppose the
Parliament should make a law that God should not be God,

* Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More ; Lord Campbell's English CJuincellors, vol. i.

640 5/v? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

would you then, Maister Rich, say so? " " No, sir," said Rich,
"that I would not; for no Parliament could make such a law."
Sir Thomas More, now suspecting that some dark plot was at
the bottom of this discourse, made no further observation on the
questions raised. On his departure Rich took leave of his " old
friend," as he styled him, in an apparently kind manner, " assur-
ing him of the regard he entertained for him and hoping that all
would end well." *

On the 7th of May, 1534, Sir Thomas More was arraigned in
the Court of King's Bench, but the trial was postponed till the
ist of July "to enable the crown to procure further evidence."
When the trial was finally arranged Sir Thomas More was com-
pelled to walk from the Tower to Westminster, clothed as a
malefactor, before the gaze of a multitude of people. His hair
had become gray since he last appeared in public ; his face,
which, though still cheerful, was pale and emaciated, his bent
posture and feeble steps, which he was obliged to support with
a staff, showed the rigor of his confinement, and excited the sym-
pathy of the people, instead of impressing them, as was intended,
with a dread of the king's vengeance. His presence in the King's
Bench as a prisoner for high treason awoke the bright memories
of his past career, when in that court, arrayed in the robes of the
lord high chancellor of England, he had knelt at the feet of his
venerable father, then the chief -justice of England, to ask his
blessing before he entered his own court to adjudicate as chan-
cellor. Very many of the spectators at the trial had witnessed
those scenes between the father and the son, and a bitter feeling
of sorrow and of indignation was perceptible in every face.
The king's Council being well aware that they were engaged in
an unpopular prosecution and that public opinion was against
them, Crumwell made preparations to crush any movement of
the populace. " I know," said he, " how to make the swinish
multitude become tame." His ill-favored and fearless presence
struck terror in the people's hearts.f " After the lapse of three
centuries," says Lord Campbell, " during which statesmen, pre-
lates and kings have been unjustly brought to trial in this same
court, considering the splendor of More's talents, the greatness
of his acquirements, and the innocence of his life, we must still
regard his murder as the blackest crime that has ever been per-

* Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i. ; Rossin's Life of Sir Thomas More.

t " Hang them up ! hang them up ! " so frequently uttered in a ferocious tone by Henry, was
first suggested by Crumwell as a means of striking terror into the populace. Perhaps it was
Crumwell who originated the term for the people, which has been so often misused.

1883.] vS/tf THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 641

petrated in England under the forms of law." * Sir Christopher
Hale, as attorney-general, conducted the trial, aided by Maister
Rich, the solicitor-general. When the frivolous indictment was
read Chancellor Audley, addressing the prisoner, said : " You
see, prisoner, how grievously you have offended the king's high-
ness, yet he is so good and so merciful that if you will lay aside
your obstinacy and change your opinions we hope you may ob-
tain pardon."

Sir Thomas More replied :

" Most noble lords, I have great cause to thank you for this your cour-
tesy ; but I beseech the Almighty God that I may continue in the mind I
am in until my death." The charges against him were substantially reduc-
ed to one namely, " attempting to deprive the king of his title and dignity."
This accusation was unsupported by evidence. His alleged treasonable
letters to Bishop Fisher were not proved, on the ground that they had
been destroyed. Judging from the legal position of the case at this junc-
ture, it was Sir Thomas Audley's duty to direct the jury to return a verdict of
not guilty. He, however, called upon the prisoner for his defence. A deep
silence now prevailed ; all present held their breath ; every eye was fixed
upon the victim. Sir Thomas More was beginning by expressing his ap-
prehension " lest, his memory and wit being damaged with his health of body
through long confinement, he should not be able properly to meet all the
matters alleged against him."

When he found that he Avas unable to support himself by his
staff his judges evinced a touch of humanity by ordering him
a chair. When he was seated, after a few preliminary obser-
vations he considered the charges against him in their order.
" As to the king's marriage," he said, " I confess that I always
told his highness my opinion thereon as my conscience pointed
out to me, which I neither would nor ought to have concealed.
I do not consider it to be high treason to give my opinion on
the subject where the king sought that opinion from me as his
councillor. I should have basely flattered him if I had not
uttered the whole truth unto his highness. As to the letters to
Bishop Fisher, the king himself stated the contents of them, and
showed that they were free from blame." f

On the charge that he had declined to declare his opinion
when interrogated respecting the supremacy, he answered
" that he could not transgress any law, or incur any crime of
treason, by holding his peace ; God alone being judge of our
secret thoughts."

The attorney-general interposed, with much rudeness of
manner saying : " Maister More, although we had not one word

* English Chancellors, vol. i. ' \ Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More,

VOL. XXXVI. 41

642 S/J? THOMAS MORE AND ins TIMES. [Feb.,

or deed to assert against you, yet have we not your silence
when asked whether you acknowledge the king to be the su-
preme head of Christ's church on earth, which is an evident
sign of a malicious mind in you ? " *

Sir Thomas More, however, reminded the crown lawyers of
the maxim among canonists and citizens, " Qui facet consentire
videtur" As to the last charge, Sir Thomas More argued that
the only proof was his saying that " the Statute of Supremacy
was a two-edged sword," which was interpreted as his reason
for declining to answer, and could not be construed into a posi-
tive denial of the king's supremacy. He concluded his de-
fence by solemnly declaring that he had " never spoken a word
against the Supremacy Act to any living man." f The jury
were of opinion that there was no evidence before them to con-
vict the prisoner of high treason. They hesitated, arid seemed
for a few minutes to disregard the unmistakable looks and ges-
tures of the judges and the attorney-general. But the sus-
pense was soon removed by the appearance of a new witness in
the person of the solicitor-general.

Maister Rich, " having been duly sworn," made a statement
as to the "confidential conversation " which he had had with the
prisoner in the Tower on the removal of the books, when Rich
raised a question, as the reader is aware, touching the supre-
macy law, and asking More's opinion of the statute.

Every honorable man in court apart from the judges and
prosecutors felt horrified at the conduct of the solicitor-gene-
ral and the chief commissioners who permitted it. The sup-
pressed murmur, however, subsided when Sir Thomas More
rose, throwing aside his staff, and, with renewed vigor of mind
and body, commenced his reply to the allegations of Rich : " My
lords, if I were a man that did not regard an oath I would not
at this time stand here in the way I do before you. If the oath
which you have taken, Maister Rich, be true, then I pray I
never see God in the face ; which I would not say, were it other-
wise, to gain the whole world." Having related the conversa-
tion with Rich, he continued : " In good faith, Maister Rich, I
am more sad for your perjury than for my own peril. Know
you that neither I, nor any man else to my knowledge, ever took

you to be a man of such credit as either I or any other would

* Bribery and fraud in the administration of justice became notorious in those times. Sir
Christopher Hales, the attorney-general, who prosecuted Sir Thomas More on the part of the
crown, received a grant of a portion of the lands of the Priory of St. Gregory for his unblush-
ing perversion of law and equity upon the trial of Sir Thomas More,
t Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. ii.

1883.] S//? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 643

vouchsafe to communicate with you on any matter of impor-
tance. As you well know, I have been acquainted with your
manner of life and conversation for a long time, even from your
youth upwards; for we dwelt in the same parish niany years,
and you were always considered very light in your tongue, a
great dicer, a gamester, and not of any commendable or virtuous
name in the Temple or elsewhere." *

Then, addressing Audley and the judges, More said : " Can
it, therefore, seem likely to your lordships that in a case of such
magnitude I should so unadvisedly overshoot myself as to trust
Maister Rich a man always reputed to be possessed of little
truth or honesty ? " Sir Thomas More continued his address foir
some time, and argued his case with all his wonted ability and
with the energy of conscious rectitude. He made a deep im-
pression n the spectators, and even Crumwell's carefully se-
lected jury were again bewildered at the turn the trial took. At
this juncture Rich felt alarmed and produced Southwell and
Palmer, who accompanied him to the Tower, in order that they
might corroborate his statements ; but these gentlemen declined
giving any evidence, declaring that they did not listen to the
" confidential conversation " which passed between Rich and
More. If Maister Rich presented a bold and shameless front at
this moment; the chancellor was his superior in the strength of
unblushing audacity at once regardless of the honor of the
ermine and the truth and equity that should characterize the office
of a judge. Sir Thomas Audley, as the lord-chancellor of Eng-
land, charged the jury. After complimenting the crown lawyers
on the " ability and impartiality " with which they had conducted
the case, he proceeded to dwell on the enormity of the offences
charged against the prisoner, the danger to the king's highness
and the tranquillity of the kingdom by the course followed by the
prisoner. He defended the conduct of Maister Rich, stating that
he gave his evidence with delicacy and reluctance, and from the
most .loyal and the most pure motives ; that his testimony stood
uncontradicted, if not corroborated, as the denial of the prisoner
could not, of course, be taken into account ; that as the words re-
lated by Maister Rich undoubtedly expressed the real sentiments
of the prisoner, and were only abiding a necessarv inference,
there was every probability that they had been spoken. If the

* Sir Richard Rich was descended from a wealthy mercer of London, who built and en-
dowed several almshouses for the poor and gave liberally to Peter's Pence. This worthy
man lived about 1440. I refer the reader to vol. ii. p. 373 of the Historical Portraits of ilia
Tudor Dynasty for an account of Rich's career down to the moment of his sudden death, when
he cried out, " Bring me a confessor" and the next moment expired.

644 -S/7? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

jury, therefore, believed what Maister Rich related to them, then
the case for the king's highness was established against the pris-
oner.

The jury retired, and returned into court in twenty minutes,
declaring " Sir Thomas More guilty of high treason against his
highness the king."

Sir Thomas Audley could not repress his too apparent plea-
sure at the verdict so recorded, and immediately proceeded to
pronounce sentence of death, but was interrupted by Sir Tho-
mas More. " My lords," said he, "when I was a judge it was the
custom to ask the prisoner before sentence whether he could
give any reason why judgment should not proceed against
him."

Sir Thomas Audley became excited and admitted he had
made a mistake.

The question was then put. Sir Thomas More, in his reply, de-
nied the power of Parliament to pass the statute transferring the
headship of the church from the Pope of Rome to the King of
England. He took exception to the framing of the indictment
and the manner in which the trial was conducted. But the judges
\vere unanimous in their approval of the verdict, and Chancellor
Audley pronounced sentence of death, " ordering that, after the
head was cut off, the body should be made four quarters of and
set over four gates of the city, and the head to be placed upon
London Bridge."

Sir Thomas More again addressed the court, and now more
freely expressed his opinions on the Supremacy Act. He said
that, after having " studied the question for seven years, he could
not discover by what possible means, or argument, or law a lay-
man could become the head of the church. It appeared to him
quite impossible."

Sir Thomas Audley asked him if he was wiser than all the
learned men of Europe.

More replied "that, with very few exceptions, the learned
men of Christendom were just of his way of thinking on this
great question."

Sir John Fitz- James inquired if the prisoner had any more to
.add.

After a pause Sir Thomas More proceeded :

" As the blessed apostle St. Paul was present and consenting to the
death of the proto-martyr, St. Stephen, keeping their clothes that stoned
him to death, and yet they be now twain holy saints in heaven, and there
shall continue friends for ever ; so I verily trust, and shall therefore heartily

1883.] Ss# THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 645

pray, that, though your lordships have been on earth my judges to con-
demnation, yet that we may hereafter meet in heaven merrily together to
our everlasting salvation. And now, my lords, I heartily say, ' May God
preserve you all, especially my sovereign lord the king, and grant him
faithful councillors ! ' "

When Sir Thomas More resumed his seat a profound silence
ensued, and after a few minutes he rose again, and, looking ear-
nestly round the court, bowed to the judges, commissioners, and
bar. He then took his departure for the Tower, with the heads-
man walking before him. Near the gates of the old fortress
a painful incident occurred. His beloved daughter, Margaret
Roper, rushed through the crowd, and, pushing aside the hal-
berd-men, threw herself upon her father's neck and kissed him
repeatedly, not able to speak, not able to cry. " And," writes a
spectator, " this scene made the hearts of the very halberd-men
full of grief; anon she did speak, and the tears rolled down her
face when she said, ' O my father ! O my father ! are you going
to leave us ? Are they so wicked as to take your life ? ' The
father replied that his daughter should submit to the will of
God and pray for his enemies. She again clasped him in her
arms, exclaiming, ' Dear loved father, your blessing again ! ' '
" After this farewell he felt that the bitterness of death was
over, and he awaited the execution of his sentence with cheer-
fulness." *

A few words as to Sir Thomas Audley. He held the Great
Seal for a period of twelve years, during which, to please the
humors of his royal master, he sanctioned, as lord-chancellor,
the divorces of that royal master's three wives the execution of
two of them ; the judicial murders of Fisher and More, and
many others who, animated by their example, preferred death
to a violation of conscience and dishonor ; tjie spoliation of the
church, and a large division of the plunder amongst those lawyers
and needy squires who aided in carrying out the sacrilegious
robbery ; the recognition of the king as Christ's vicar on earth ;
the condemnation to the stake of those who denied transubstan-
tiation, and to the scaffold of " all manner of persons " who had
the honesty or the courage to reject the royal supremacy. On
the passing of the Six Articles Sir Thomas Audley was vehement
against the Reformers and entered into all the king's mystical
scruples; he denounced the claims of the pope one day, and
those of the Reformers next. His conduct to the ag^ed Countess

* Condensed from Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i. ; also Foss' English Judges,
vol. v. ; Thorndale's Memorials ; State Papers of Henry's reign.

646 S/A' THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

of Salisbury is the most heartless on record. To mention Sir
Thomas More even in contrast with such a man as And ley seems
unnecessary, and the name of More's less estimable predecessor,
Cardinal Wolsey, acquires an added brightness when the modera-
tion of Wolsey's ministry during the earlier years of Henry's
reign is compared with the persecuting spirit which prevailed
while Sir Thomas Audley presided as chancellor. A close re-
view of Audley's disposition and actions at once condemns him.
He was false, treacherous, mean, cowardly, and thoroughly devoid
of any honorable principle. He professed friendship for many,
and may have sworn such amities ; but friendship in him had no
real existence. King Henry was not slow in discovering that
he had at last, according to his ideas of equity, put " the right
man in the right place." It may truthfully be said of Audley
that in every infamous action of King Henry he found a seconder
in his lord-chancellor.

Whilst speaking of Audley I cannot resist relating a remark
made by that high authority, Sir Henry Spelman, concerning the
noted chancellor. Spelman states that Audley was one of those
persons "punished for sacrilege by leaving no male heirs." Aud-
ley left 'an only daughter, who married the Duke of Norfolk
whom Queen Elizabeth put to death for his endeavor to free the
royal captive of Tutbury Castle Mary Stuart. Had Audley
lived till the reign of the "gentle Queen Bess " he would have
realized a retribution more strange than the fanciful stigma of
Sir Henry Spelman, as he would have seen the daughter of tJiat
queen (Anna Boleyn) upon whose trial he bad sat in judgment,
and to whose judicial murder he had lent the aid of his talents,
sign the death-warrant of his o^un beloved daughter's husband. *
Many cases resembling terrible retributive justice occurred in
the reign of Elizabeth. The learned and blameless daughters
of the Duke of Somerset, the man who struck down Catholicity
in the reign of Edward VI., died almost in poverty. The de-
scendants of the leading Puritans of a later period met with an
immense reverse of fortune. And one of the last of Oliver
Cromwell's family has been described by a writer of the last
century as " an old cobbler, eighty years of age at the period of
his death in one of the miserable back slums of London." The
Crumwell family "all came to grief" and were pursued by
strange misfortunes.

* Audley was raised to the peerage on the occasion of the king's marriage with Jane Sey-
mour. He also received a large portion of the monastic confiscations. The principal service he
rendered to the crown was that of arranging the trial and carrying to a successful issue the judi-
cial murder of Anna Boleyn.

1883.] Sfj? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 647

To return to the martyr in the Tower. The court party used
every effort to induce Sir Thomas More to make a recantation
of his opinions on the supremacy law ; but, in the words of
Audley, he " continued obstinate." The warrant was then
issued for his execution. Having been informed that the " king
was pleased to remit the severe parts of the sentence, and that he
be merely beheaded" he expressed a hope that none of his friends
might experience the like mercy from his highness the king.

The day before his execution he wrote with a piece of coal
(pen and ink being prohibited) a parting letter to his daughter,
Margaret Roper, containing farewell blessings to all his children,
and even to his domestics. Adverting to their last interview, he
says : " I never liked your manner towards me better than when
you kissed me last, for I am most pleased when your daughterly
love and dear charity have no leisure to look to worldly
courtesy."

At an early hour on the morning of Tuesday, July 6, 1535,
the illustrious prisoner received intelligence from Sir Thomas
Pope that it was the " king's command that he should die before
nine o'clock that morning." He was further requested to " make
no speech to the people."

Sir Thomas More expressed his thanks for the "good tid-
ings" and said he should obey the king's command. He beg-
ged one favor namely, that his daughter Margaret might be
present at his funeral ; to which Pope replied : " The king is will-
ing that your wife, children, and near friends may be present at
your funeral." *

In two hours after this interview with Sir Thomas Pope the
procession to the scaffold was formed. In his hand Sir Thomas
More carried a red cross, and his looks were raised towards
heaven. As he passed along the wife of a wine-merchant press-
ed through the crowd and offered him a goblet of wine. He
gently refused, saying : " Christ at the time of his Passion drank
no wine, but vinegar and gall." He was next addressed by
Mrs. Rachel Chylde, who rudely demanded some law-papers
she had given him to examine into, her case when he was chan-
cellor. He replied : " Good Mistress Rachel, in an hour hence
his highness the king will rid me of the care I have had of thy
papers."

Another 1 woman charged him with having given an unjus
judgment against her.

" I mind you well," he answered with much firmness, " and

* Roper's Life of Sir Thomas More.

648 S?x THOMAS MORE AND ins TIMES. [Feb.,

were I again to give sentence in your cause I would not alter a
word."

A mob was retained by the Boleyn party to deride and in-
sult Sir Thomas More as he passed along to the scaffold. The
conduct of the lower classes on this occasion was, according to
Griffin and Thorndale, " brutal and disgraceful " ; yet there were
many edifying exceptions " wives, children, and maidens stood
forth upon the highway waving the cross and other emblems of
religion." A citizen of Winchester threw himself at his feet
and asked his prayers. " Go," said Sir Thomas, " and pray for
me awhile, and when that while is gone I hope to be able to
pray for you in heaven."

Having reached the scaffold, a murmur issued from the vast
crowd, who were of the better class near the Tower, awaiting the
" last farewell." The sight of the late lord-chancellor in such
a position struck almost all present with horror, for there was
an earnest popular opinion of his exalted virtues, his rectitude
and amiability. Having knelt in prayer for a short time, Sir
Thomas More rose, and, addressing the chief headsman in an
air of pleasantry, handed him an angel in gold and said : " Pluck
up thy spirit, man, and be not afraid to do thy office ; my neck
is very short ; take heed, therefore, that thou strike not awry for
saving thy honesty."

Sir Thomas More then briefly addressed the populace, stat-
ing that he died a true member of the Church of Rome, and for
whose principles he was always willing to offer up his life. He
was a loyal and true subject to King Henry and his family.
From his heart he forgave his enemies, and died in peace with
the world.

When the martyr had laid his head on the block he desired
the executioner " to wait till he had removed his beard, for that
had never offended his highness the king."

A signal was given, and at one blow the head was severed
from the body and held up to the gaze of the horror-stricken
people. In the course of the day the head was spiked on a pole
and placed on London Bridge. The noble daughter subsequent-
ly received it, and preserved it as a precious relic during her
life, and in her dying hour ordered it to be laid with her in the
same grave.

Canon Dixon thus refers to the judicial murder of Sir
'Thomas More : " So died the noblest layman that the Church of
England has ever had,"

In what sense is the reader to understand the above words ?

1883.] S/j? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 649

Does Canon Dixon believe that More was a Protestant a Pro-
testant at a time when Protestantism could obtain no footing in
the land ? Of all the public men of the time lay or clerical
More was the undoubted champion of everything in connection
with the papacy. In some further observations upon the execu-
tion of More Mr. Dixon says : " His head -was hailed and then
fixed on London Bridge, when the head of Bishop Fisher had
been flung into the river." * I suppose this command came
from Lord Crumwell.

When the news of Sir Thomas More's execution reached the
king he was playing at " tables " with Queen Anna ; he was ap-
parently startled, and, turning his eyes upon her, he is reported
to have said, " Thou art the cause of this great and good man's
death," and immediately retired to his private room and per-
mitted no one to approach him. f The next day Henry was in a
different mood. If he felt any real sorrow or remorse at the re-
collection of the times when he put his arm round Sir Thomas
More's neck in the garden at Chelsea, or was instructed by him
on the motion of the heavenly bodies from the house-top, or was
amused by his jests and innocent stories at the dinner-table or
supper, the feeling was transitory indeed ; for he not only placed
the head of his " beloved friend " where it must have been con-
spicuous to his own eye as he passed almost daily from Green-
wich to old Whitehall, but gave further evidence of his unfor-
giving vengeance by expelling the widow and orphans from their
residence at Chelsea. The king " did not leave Dame More,"
writes a contemporary, " a seat to sit upon nor a blanket to
cover her, and the family were reduced to actual destitution ;
and the king's vengeance threatened any one who might aid the
More family with either food or money." Popular feeling was
thoroughly debased. The rabble applauded every action of the
king which might hand over another victim to the headsman.
The middle and upper classes only studied their own interests
and personal safety. The clerical party, who in former reigns
were ranged on the side of the oppressed, were now silent spec-
tators of the direst and most heartless tyranny. The bishops
were also silent. The invincible courage of Fisher was not to
be found in their ranks.

The correspondence of Erasmus diffused a feeling of execra-
tion throughout Europe against Henry and his Council, and

* History of the Church of England from the Abolition of the Roman Jurisdiction, by the
ev. Canon Dixon, M.A., vol. i. p. 295.

t Lord Herbert's Life of Henry VIII. ; Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i.

650 Ssx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

English ambassadors abroad were " looked upon as the agents
of an inhuman monster." Amongst Lutherans, as well as " papal
and anti-papal Catholics," there was an unanimous denunciation of
the murder of the "great, learned, and most worthy English-
man." * Charles V. sent for Sir Thomas Smythe, the English am-
bassador at his court, and addressed him as follows : " Sir Thomas
Smythe, we understand that your royal master, the King of
England, has put to death his wise and most trustworthy coun-
cillor, Sir Thomas More." Sir Thomas Smythe looked abashed
and pretended ignorance of what occurred. " Well," continued
the emperor, " it is true ; and this we will say, that if he had been
ours we should sooner have lost the best city in our dominions
than so worthy a councillor." f

It seems to have been the delight of Erasmus to introduce
men of learning and wit to More. Amongst the learned and
witty who visited the happy home at Chelsea were Stephen
Gardyner, Edward Fox, and other notable churchmen. Cres-
acre, the great-grandson of More, has chronicled anecdotes of
his rich humor. He never laughed at his own witticisms, which
flowed from him naturally and without an effort, but "he
spoke them so gravely few could Say whether he were in jest or
earnest ; yet, though he never left his mirth, his heart was ever
humble and mortified, and all the while he exercised acts of self-
denial which worldly men would have wondered at." Although
More had corresponded with Erasmus, he had not yet seen the
great scholar, who, with the desire to give a surprise customary
at the time, called upon the chancellor without announcing him-
self. Sir Thomas More was so delighted with the conversation
and learning of his visitor that he exclaimed : " You are either
Erasmus or some being of the other world."

Collett informed Erasmus that in More's youth he was the
greatest genius he knew of in England. Another contemporary
states that he had many personal peculiarities. " He had a
habit of walking with his right shoulder higher than his left,
from no known motive but a desire to be singular." Cranmer's
opinion of him was hostile. He thought Sir Thomas More
" somewhat too conceited and desirous of esteem ; that he
would never vary from what he had once expressed, whether
wrong or right, because he thought a change of opinion would
lessen his reputation." Lord Crumwell had a great admiration

* Reports from the English Ambassadors abroad as to Public Opinion concerning Maisler
More's Execution.

t Memoirs of Charles V. ; Despatches of Sir Thomas Smythe.

1883.] Sfx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 651

of More. When More refused to take the supremacy oath it
was reported that Crumwell " wished his only son had lost his
head rather than that Sir Thomas More should have refused the
oath." * One of More's most endearing qualities was his warm
friendship to those whom he selected for his intimacy ; he was
formed by nature for social attachments. Reginald Pole declar-
ed in after-life that he was prouder of the friendship of More and
Fisher than that of all the. great princes of Europe together.
Cranvild states that he " would not exchange the acquaintance
and sweet conversation and friendship of More for the wealth of
Croesus." On another occasion the witty chancellor told Cran-
vild that his "love and courtesy shook away sorrow from him."
" And," he added, u I know no other remedy for the shortness
of my friend's letters but to read them again and again." " I
know," says Erasmus, " my dear Sir Thomas, that your delight
is to be rich in faithful friends, and that in this you reckon to
consist your greatest earthly happiness. For the delight which
Other men take in dice, chess, cards, music, and hunting is less
than what you find in intercourse with a learned and congenial
companion. And so, though I know you are well stored with
this kind of riches, yet because I know a covetous man can never
have enough, and that this manner of dealing of mine has before
now changed luckily both to you and to me, I deliver to your
keeping one friend more, whom 1 would have you accept with
your whole heart. As soon as you know him I look to be
thanked by you both, as I was by Cranvild, who now so pos-
sesses your love that I am well-nigh envious of him."

In writing to Peter Giles, of Antwerp, More describes his va-
rious occupations :

" Whilst in pleading, in hearing or deciding causes, or composing dis-
putes as an arbitrator, in waiting on some men about business and on
others out of respect, the greater part of the day is spent on other men's
affairs, the remainder of it must be given to my family at home, so that I
can reserve no part of it to myself that is, to study. I must gossip with
my wife, and chat with my children, and find something to say to my ser-
vants ; for all these things I reckon a part of my business, unless I were
to become a stranger in my own house ; for with whomsoever either na-
ture or choice has engaged a man in any relation of life, he must endeavor
to make himself as acceptable as he can. In such occupations days,
months, and years slip along; and what time, think you, is left for writing?
without saying anything of what is wasted in sleep and meals, which con-
sume nearly half our lives."

Many accounts have been handed down of the domestic life

* Froude's History of England, vol. ii.

652 Six THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

of Sir Thomas More, but the incidents, as retold by Erasmus,
are delightful. In the happy household at Chelsea the duties
of religion were never omitted ; every hour was employed in use-
ful study or intellectual intercourse ; gentleness was the spirit
that guided, and love the bond that united, Sir Thomas More,
his loving daughters, and his faithful and admiring friends.
Erasmus says :

" With what gentleness does my friend regulate his household, where
misunderstandings and quarrels are altogether unknown ! Indeed, the
host is looked up to as a general healer of all differences, and was never
known to part from any on terms of unkindness. His house seems to en-
joy the peculiar happiness that all who dwell under its roof go forth into
the world bettered, in their morals as well as improved in their own con-
dition ; and no spot was ever known to fall on the reputation of any of its
fortunate inhabitants. Here you might imagine yourself in the Academy
of Plato. But, indeed, I should do injustice to his house by comparing it
with the school of that philosopher, where nothing but abstract questions
and occasionally moral virtues were the subjects of discussion ; it would
be truer to call it a school of religion and an arena for the exercise of all
the Christian virtues. All its inmates apply themselves to liberal studies,
though piety is their first care. No wrangling or angry word is ever heard
within the walls. No one is idle ; every one does his duty with alacrity, and
regularity and good order are prescribed by the mere force of courtesy and
kindness. Every one performs his allotted task, and yet all areas cheerful
as if mirth were their only employment. Surely such a household deserves
to be called a school of the Christian religion."

The Furnival Inn was the scene of Sir Thomas More's inte-
resting readings and public lectures. The king and his courtiers
and many foreigners of distinction attended those readings. On
one occasion six bishops and four judges were present, and the
king is represented as making a short speech congratulating
More on the delightful topics he brought forward. The lectures
were continued for four years. Thorndale relates that " King
Henry attended very often, and was the most unassuming, pleasant
gentleman amongst the assemblage, and seemed highly pleased at
the witticisms, jokes, and anecdotes elicited at those rare gath-
erings of English gentlemen with their king seated in the midst of
them." " Those were happy times," remarks Dr. Frances, " when
a king sat down and freely discoursed with his subjects upon the
commonplace incidents of life, and then to books, music, paint-
ing, and architecture. Who could contemplate the dark and ter-
rible future ? "

Sir Thomas More was not fond of money. He felt a plea-
sure in giving rather than in receiving. Nothing pleased him so
much as the power to do a good office for those who were in

1883.] Ssx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 653

need. When at Chelsea he " rambled about the lanes and by-
ways alone, giving alms to the poor villagers whom he sought
out in this way, with a liberality whose extent was known to
God alone." The south chancel of Chelsea church was rebuilt
by his munificence and furnished with a service of altar plate ;
the gift was accompanied with one of those observations almost
prophetic. " Good men," he remarked, " give these things, and
bad people take them away." Of a selfish husbanding of his
means he appeared incapable.' There is scarcely an instance on
record, perhaps, except the following, of his taking any pains to
recover money which he had lent, and then he made it the occa-
sion of a joke. Having lent fifty crowns to an attorney, who
showed no disposition to repay it, he ventured to give a hint on
the subject ; but the borrower commenced to moralize on the
contempt of riches and the sinfulness of hoarding up money.
He told More that, whether lawyers or citizens, we should not
set our heart on money ; that our time in this world was brief,
and that it behooved us to remember the maxim, " Memento mo-
rieris." " There you have it exactly," answered More ; " follow
up your maxim, my friend: Memento Mori seris " (" Remember
More's money ! ")

This illustrious man had an aversion to the profession of the
law. He admitted no lawyers into his " Utopia," and gives them
but a questionable character: " I consider them," he says, " as
a people whose business it is to disguise matters and to wrest
the law at their pleasure."

So intimate and offhand was the king with Sir Thomas
More that whilst the latter resided at Chelsea his sovereign
sauntered along the road, unaccompanied by a single attendant,
till he reached the happy home of his chief minister, and then,
" dropping in at dinner-hour," told his host that he " came in
a friendly manner to partake of his belly-cheer, have a walk in
the fields and a stoup of liquor in the library, and, as a matter
of course, a gossip about books and a game of chess." The
" happy home " was seldom without a few visitors " congenial
spirits," as Thorndale describes them. Amongst the " more
homely guests," as Dr. Logario puts it, " were Archbishop War-
ham ; Leland, the antiquary ; Father Haughton, the subsequent
martyr of the Carthusian convent ; and Dean Collett, Sir Thomas
More's confessor." What a gathering of the great and good !

Upon the burning of his outhouses and barns, which were fill-
ed with corn, More wrote a very consoling letter to " Mistress
Alyce," as he styles the antiquated dame who became his second

654 S//? THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

wife.* He begs of her " to be reconciled to the will of God in
all things." This document gives some idea of the manners and
customs of private life in a remote age. Its great charm is to be
found in the unaffected piety, in the faith of heart, and in the
kindliness of disposition which it evinces.f

I here introduce one of the chancellor's judgments, that has
been preserved amongst his legal notes :

" It happened on a time that a beggar-woman's little dog, which she
had lost, was presented for a jewel to Lady More, and she had kept it
some se'nnight very carefully ; but at last the beggar had notice where
the dog could be found, and presently she came to complain to Sir
Thomas More, as he was sitting in the Justice Hall, that his lady with-
held her dog from her. Presently Lady More had to appear in court,
accompanied by the little dog. Sir Thomas, taking in his hands the dog,
caused his wife, because she was the worthier person, to stand at the
upper end of the hall, and the beggar at the lower end, and, saying that
he sat there to do every one justice, he bade each of them call the dog;
which when they did, the dog went presently to the beggar, forsaking
my lady. When the chancellor saw this movement on the part of the
dog he bade the lady be contented, for the sensible dog did not belong to
her. The lady repined at the sentence, and in the presence of the chan-
cellor made a regular purchase of the dog from the beggar for one golden
angel. All parties seemed agreed; and the beggar retired comparatively
independent." Upon this incident the noble author of the English Chan-
cellors remarks : " It. must be acknowledged that Solomon himself could not
have heard and determined the case more wisely or more equitably."

I cannot omit the eloquent and earnest prayer said to have
been written by Sir Thomas More in his Latin diary, which may
be regarded as a reflex of his inner life of his ever-present de-
votion to the omnipotent Creator of heaven and earth :

''Illumine, Good Lord, my heart; Glorious God, give me from hence-
forth Thy grace so to set and fix firmly mine heart upon Thee that I may
say with St. Paul, The world is crucified to me, and I unto the world : take
from me all vain-glorious minds, and all appetites of mine own praise.
Give me, good Lord, an.humble, lowly, quiet, peaceable, patient, charitable,
kind, tender, and pitiful mind, and, in all my works, and words, and thoughts,
to have a taste of Thy Holy Spirit. Give me a full Faith, a firm Hope, a.
Fervent Charity, and a love to Thee incomparably above the love to my-
self. May I love nothing to Thy displeasure, but everything in order to
Thee. Give me a longing to be with Thee ; not for avoiding the calamities
of this wicked world, nor so much the pains of Purgatory nor of Hell, nor

* Two years after the judicial murder of Sir Thomas More the king granted twenty pounds
to his widow, who was then in distress a miserable instalment from the plunder of the great
chancellor's property.

t The letter in question is printed in Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i. I regret
that "space," always so valuable in a magazine like TyE CATHOLIC WORLD, makes it impossible
for me to produce it. ;

1883.] to THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 655

so much for the attaining of the choice of Heaven in respect of mine own
commodity, as even for a very love of Thee."

Many anecdotes are related of More as chancellor which,
while they show his integrity, raise a suspicion that corruption
in the judgment-seat had not been previously uncommon. The
poorest suitor obtained ready access to him and speedy trial,
while the wealthy offered presents in vain and the claims of kin-
dred found no favor. Even his son-in-law, refusing, in his reliance
on the chancellor's family affection, to fall into a reasonable ar-
bitrament, was obliged to submit to " a flat decree against him."
The custom of presenting New Year's gifts often afforded a cover
to suitors in his court for tendering bribes, which, when attempt-
ed, he would with sly humor evade. The other judges took the
presents, or bribes, in open court with unblushing audacity.
On one particular occasion a rich widow named Rose Croker,
who had obtained a decree against Lord Arundel, presented
Sir Thomas More, one New Year's day, " with a pair of gloves
and forty pounds in golden angels in the said gloves. Emptying
the golden pieces into the lady's lap, he told her that, as it was
against good manners to forsake a gentlewoman's New Year's
gift, he would take her gloves, but refuse the lining."

A portrait of Sir Thomas More, by Holbein, was to be seen
in 1867 in the Louvre, at Paris, which was supposed to be the
one of which Baldinucci relates an anecdote. " The King of
England," he says, "had a portrait of his chancellor (More),
which he placed in a largei room with the pictures of other
learned men. On the day of the chancellor's death on the scaf-
fold the king was angry with his queen and told her she was
the cause of his death. Queen Anna went to the apartment
where the picture was, and, looking at it, she was suddenly seized
with remorse and horror ; she fancied that its gaze was fixed on
her reproachfully ; she flung the picture out of the window, ex-
claiming : ' O mercy ! the man seems to be still alive ; he is
looking at me, he is looking at me ! ' It is further alleged that
the picture fell into the hands of some one passing at the mo-
ment, who sent it to the pope. Another tradition connected
with this picture states that it was amongst the rare collections
carried by Bonaparte to the Louvre, and that at the period
when the works of art were restored to the Vatican Prince
Talleyrand contrived to have this picture retained.

The hair-shirt which More wore in "penitential seasons" was
left by Margaret Roper, at her death, to her cousin, Margaret

656 Ss* THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. [Feb.,

Clements, a nun in the Augustinian convent at Louvain. At
the time of the French Revolution this community removed to
Spetisbury, in Dorsetshire, where the interesting relic is still
preserved entire, with the exception of one of the sleeves, which
had been presented by the Augustinian nuns to the convent of
St. Dominic at Stone, in Staffordshire. The shirt is made of
hogs' bristles twisted into a kind of net.

Margaret Roper was buried in St. Dunstan's Church, Canter-
bury. For one hundred years subsequent to her death the
leaden box containing her father's head was to be seen resting on
her coffin. In 1835 the Roper vault was examined, and a small
niche closed with an iron grating was found in the wall above,
into which the box containing the head of Sir Thomas More was
removed ; and I understand it still remains in the same spot.

One of More's early biographers observes : " With alacrity
and spiritual joy he received the fatal axe, which no sooner had
severed the head from the body but his soul was carried by
angels into everlasting glory, where a crown of martyrdom was
placed upon him which can never fade or decay."

" The innocent mirth," says Addison, " which had been so
conspicuous in his life did not forsake him to the last. His death
was of a piece with his life ; there was nothing in it new, forced,
or affected. He did not look upon the severing of his head from
his body as a circumstance which ought to produce any change
in the disposition of his mind, and, as he died in a fixed and set-
tled hope of immortality, he thought any unusual degree of sor-
row and concern improper."

The author of the English Chancellors remarks that " More's
character, both in public and private life, comes as near to per-
fection as our nature will permit." The noble author contin-
ues: " With all my Protestant zeal, I must feel a higher reve-
rence for Sir Thomas More than for Lord Crumwell or Archbishop
Cranmer. I am, indeed, reluctant to take leave of More, not only
from his agreeable qualities and extraordinary merit, but from
my abhorrence of the mean, sordid, and unprincipled chancellors
who succeeded and made the latter half of Henry's reign the
most disgraceful period in our annals." *

Although Mr. Froude holds a prominent place amongst the
hero-worshippers of Henry VIII., nevertheless he affirms that
" the execution of the philosophic chancellor of England was

Ellis' Royal Letters, first series, vol. i. ; Lord Campbell's English Chancellors, vol. i.
p. 588 ; Foss' English Judges, vol. v. ; and in Baga de Secretis are to be seen several interest-
ing matters in relation to the last days of More.

1883.] Ssx THOMAS MORE AND HIS TIMES. 657

sounded out into the far-off corners of the earth, and was the
world's wonder, as well for the circumstances under which it
was perpetrated as for the preternatural composure with which
it was borne. . . . Something of his calmness may have been
due to his natural temperament, something to an unaffected
weariness of a world which, in his eyes, was plunging into the
ruin of the latter days. But those fair hues of sunny cheerful-
ness caught their colors from the simplicity of his faith ; and
never was there a grander Christian victory over death than in
that last scene lighted with its lambent humor."

The Lutheran princes and their followers in Germany ex-
pressed their horror at the immolation of the illustrious chan-
cellor of England. The universities of Europe, through their
great scholars and philosophers, deplored ' the loss which .the
rising literature of the age had sustained by the sacrifice of
Thomas More. Erasmus in forcible language denounced the
judicial murder of the great genius Virtue's model of perfection.
Which of the crimes of Nero was comparable with the murder
of Seneca ? What weighed so heavily on the memory of Marc
Antony as the death of Cicero, on the mind of Augustus as his
resentment against Ovid ? " No such culprit as Thomas More,"
exclaims a student of history, " has stood at the bar of justice
in Europe for one thousand years." No wonder, then, that such
a universal shout of execration was raised against Henry Tudor.
The condemnation of Socrates is the only parallel in history ;
nor could Socrates claim a moral superiority over Thomas
More. Quite impossible. There is, however, little to lament in
the glorious end of such Christian martyrs as John Fisher and
Thomas More, who cheerfully laid down their lives in the cause
of the unity and truth of the Catholic Church, and the liberties
of England which were so long associated with that holy and
time-honored institution.

VOL. xxxvi. 42

658 ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. [Feb.,

THE ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN
WRITERS.

ONE of the characteristics of the present age is the spirit to-
wards the Catholic Church which is systematically manifested in
every department of literature. Take up a magazine, a review,
or a newspaper, and every subject will be found to be treated
not only from a w<?#-Catholic but from an anti- Catholic point of
view. It is assumed as a matter of course that all readers are
inimical to Catholicity and are pleased to see it abused and ridi-
culed. There was no excuse for this even when the number of
Catholic readers in English-speaking countries was inconside-
rable. There was no excuse for Sir Walter Scott, in the most
beautiful of his novels, Ivanhoe, to have described the monks and
priests as " fat," " jolly," and " lazy," and to have made the
worst character in the book a Knight of the Holy Temple.
Scott knew that it was the Catholic priests and bishops of Eng-
land who joined with the barons in wresting Magna Charta from
King John.

But if there was no excuse for this intolerant spirit sixty
years ago, when English Catholic readers were few and English
Catholic writers were unknown, it is absolutely unpardonable
<now, when some of the brightest intellects, the profoundest
thinkers and most gifted men, are members of the Catholic
Church. A religion which numbers, or has recently numbered,
a Wiseman, a Newman, a Manning, a Faber, a Brownson, a Ken-
rick, a Hughes, a Montalembert, an Ozanam, a De Vere, a Lacor-
daire, a Gorres, a Balmes, a Cantu, a Manzoni, and many others
more or less distinguished in literature, should command at least
the respect of all intelligent writers. Yet, notwithstanding this
glorious array of Catholic literati, the editors of some of our
" popular " magazines and many writers have no hesitation about
raising their voices against the religion of nine millions of their
fellow-countrymen and two hundred and twenty-five millions
of their fellow human beings. Even the brilliant but bigoted
Macaulay said there is not and never was on this earth a work
so well deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church.
In this country especially Catholics should be appreciated and
their religion respected : it was the Catholic Carroll who risked
more than any other of the signers of the Declaration of Inde-

1883.] ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. 659

pendence ; it was the Catholic Barry who first raised the Ameri-
can flag on a man-of-war ; it was a Catholic priest, the Reverend
John Carroll, afterwards the first Archbishop of Baltimore, who
was selected by Congress to accompany Franklin on his mis-
sion to Canada ; it was the Catholics Lafayette, Pulaski, and
Kosciusko who, with the brave Catholic soldiers of France, con-
tributed so much to gaining American independence. Evan-
geline, the most charming character in American poetical litera-
ture, was a Catholic.

Let us answer the anti-Catholic spirit of the age in the elo-
quent language of Montalembert in the French Chamber of Peers :
" Do what you will and can against us, the church will answer
you by the mouth of Tertullian and the gentle Fenelon : ' You
have nothing to fear from us ; but we do not fear you.' And I
add, in the name of Catholic laymen like myself in this nine-
teenth century : We will not be Helots in the midst of free peo-
ple. We are the successors of the martyrs, and we do not trem-
ble before the successors of Julian the Apostate. We are the sons
of the Crusaders, and we will not draw back before the sons of
Voltaire."

This anti-Catholic spirit is so general in modern literature
that even the gentle and gifted Hawthorne yielded to it. In the
Marble Fatin, the last and best of his romances, he indulges in
supercilious flings at what he calls " the iniquities of the papal
system "; he speaks of " that mass of unspeakable corruption, the
Roman Church "; he sneers at " scarlet superstitions," etc. He
denounces the Roman priesthood as "pampered, sensual, with
red, bloated cheeks," etc. He resurrects the stale and defunct
calumnies against the Jesuits which were first invented three
hundred years ago when the religious revolutionists of Germany
were driven back from the fairest portions of Europe by the in-
trepid sons of St. Ignatius. He charges that the "mighty ma-
chinery of the Catholic Church was forged and put together, not
on the middle of the earth, but either above or below. If there
were angels to work it before, there is a very different class of
engineers who now manage its cranks and safety-valves." He
makes one of his characters say of the most glorious temple ever
raised by human hands : " The best thing I know of St. Peter's is
its equable temperature. It has no cure, I suspect, in all its
length and breadth, for sick souls, but would make an admirable
hospital for sick bodies." He says " the exquisite ingenuity of
the [Roman] system stamps it as the contrivance of man or some
worse author." He makes the gentle Hilda, after unbosoming

660 ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. [Feb.,

herself of a terrible secret in the confessional, Puritan and Protes-
tant though she was, say to the good old priest who had consol-
ed her in her trouble : " God forbid that I should ask absolution
from mortal man ! Our heavenly Father alone can forgive sins "
just as if any Catholic supposed that man could forgive sin,
except by the power of God vested in him by the plain, unmis-
takable words of Jesus Christ : " Receive ye the Holy Ghost ;
whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven." We have no
intention to underrate Hawthorne's remarkable talents, although
we cannot agree with his admirers who have compared him with
Shakspere ; but as one of the most illustrious of American writers
we regret the spirit of bigotry that pervades his work. He
seeks not to describe beauty but crime, otherwise he might have
found beauty united with truth behind the veil which conceals
the Bride of Christ from profane or unbelieving eyes.

In Villette Charlotte Bronte introduces a scene similar to the
confession of Hilda, and, though the daughter of an English
clergyman and reared in the atmosphere of prejudice, she shows
in this instance less bigotry than our American Hawthorne.
But even she does not allow the occasion to pass without a
bigoted fling : " She would as soon have thought of walking into
the Babylonian furnace as venture again within that worthy
priest's reach." Such has been, such is, the literary spirit of
Protestants in the nineteenth century. If in this one instance
Charlotte Bronte was moderate (as the times go), she made up
for it in other places. She repeats the old charges of " super-
stition," " priestcraft," etc., until we throw down her books with
disgust. It is strange that Protestant ingenuity has not invent-
ed in all these years some new slander against the church of
God. Charlotte Bronte charges the church with " doing little
for man's good and less for God's glory " ; that the sole object
of all the church did was " that the priesthood might march
straight on and straight upward to the all-dominating eminence
whence they might at last stretch the sceptre of their Moloch
church." Her bigotry and ignorance come out fully in the fol-
lowing paragraph : " People talk of the danger which Protes-
tants expose themselves to in going to reside in Catholic coun-
tries, and thereby running the chance of changing their faith.
My advice to all Protestants who are so besotted as to turn Ca-
tholic is to walk over the sea on to the Continent ; to attend
Mass sedulously for a time ; to note well the mummeries there-
of, also the idiotic, mercenary aspect of all the priests ; and then,
if they are still disposed to consider papistry in any other light

1883.] ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. 66 1

than a most feeble, childish piece of humbug, let them turn pa-
pist at once, that's all. I consider Methodism, Quakerism, and
the extremes of High and Low Churchism foolish, but Roman
Catholicism beats them all. At the same time allow me to tell
you that there are some Catholics who are as good as any
Christians can be to whom the Bible is a sealed book, and much
better than many Protestants." Such amazing ignorance might
have been expected from an itinerant preacher addressing a
crowd of Yorkshire rustics in a barn, but coming from an edu-
cated Englishwoman who had lived in Catholic Belgium it only
shows the spirit of the age in regard to Catholicity.

Suppose a Catholic should write a novel a religious or non-
religious novel and speak of Protestantism as Protestant writers
speak of Catholicity, what a cry would be raised by the univer-
sal press, secular and sectarian ! The ignorance of even educat-
ed Protestants upon all Catholic matters is really astonishing.
Men who would be ashamed not to know the ceremonies of a
pagan system which perished nearly two thousand years ago
are not ashamed to be ignorant of the ceremonies of the church
which has existed with undiminished vigor for nearly two thou-
sand years.

The sublimest egotist of the nineteenth century, Carlyle, who
spent the greater part of his long life in querulous repining at
whatever was, without offering a practical remedy for the evils
complained of, thus attempts to throw ridicule upon the head of
that church whose literary, artistic, and scientific glory should
have commanded his respect, if its manifest divinity did not con-
vince his reason : " The pope is the supreme priest, who believes
God to be what in the name of God does he believe God to be ?
and discerns that all worship of God is a scenic phantasmagoria
of wax candles, organ-blasts, Gregorian chants, Mass-pratings,
purple monsignori, flowers, etc., all artistically spread out to
save the ignorant from worse." This philosophical dreamer,
who complaisantly sat smoking his pipe while his wife scrubbed
the kitchen-floor before his eyes, might have learned from the
teachings and example of the Catholic Church the spirit of
meekness, humility, and charity which were sadly wanting in the
self- worshipping sage of Chelsea. Length of life is a great maker
of reputations ; had Disraeli died at forty-six instead of seventy-
six the world would never have known of the fame of the Earl
of Beaconsfield, and his reputation as a public man would not
have been more enduring than the reputation of that epitome of
British prejudice and intolerance, Lord John Russell. Had

662 ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. [Feb.,

Carlyle died at forty-five instead of eighty-five his life would not
have been deemed worthy of being written ; he would have been
spared the affliction of having Mr. Froude as his editor and biogra-
pher, and the world would have been spared the painful details
of a domestic life unparalleled in literary history. Carlyle's
wife was a lady, gently reared and exquisitely gifted, but the
cold egotist made her a domestic drudge. She married him for
ambition, but was forced to confess that, although his career far
surpassed all her expectations, she was miserable. We frankly
confess that we cannot join in the enthusiasm for Carlyle in
which some, especially young men, indulge. We cannot help
thinking that language should be written plainly enough to be
understood. Carlyle thought, or affected to think, otherwise.
His Germanized jargon is so obscure that the meaning is often
lost in a cloud of words. In 1850 Macaulay wrote a sentence
which seemed to point at Carlyle : " How little the all-important
art of making meaning pellucid is studied now ! Hardly any
popular writer, except myself, thinks of it. Many seem to aim
at being obscure. Indeed, they may be right enough in one
sense ; for many readers give credit for profundity to whatever
is obscure, and call all that is perspicuous shallow." In the
happy language of Shakspere, we might say that Carlyle " speaks
an infinite deal of nothing. His reasons are as two grains of
wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: }-ou shall seek all day ere you
find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the
search."

Macaulay 's History of England is unsurpassed for brilliancy of
style and bitterness of prejudice. Written in the middle of this
century, when the Catholic Church in England had been re-
stored to its long-denied rights and privileges, he displays a spi-
rit of bigotry worthy of the worst days of Puritan intolerance.
" Popish priests," " Romish superstition," " Popish idolatry," and
other insulting expressions are found on every page of his work.
He was the Whig historian of a Whig revolution. He can see
no good in the Catholic James II. and no evil in the Protestant
William III. The one he paints as a fool and a tyrant, the other
as a hero and a patriot. He brings out all the worst points in
the character of James and suppresses all the worst points in
the character of William. He seems to hate the house of Stuart
with a personal hatred and to love the house.of Orange with a
personal love. Some of the most striking pages in Macaulay 's
History < of England are devoted to a rapid sketch of the Jesuits.
No writer, Catholic or Protestant, has given in so short a space

1883.] ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. 663

so graphic an account of this celebrated order. He speaks of
their learning-, their eloquence, their scientific researches, their
self-denying devotion and apostolic zeal, their courage and forti-
tude in the midst of dangers and tortures, but he attempts to
take away all the admiration justly merited by the Society of
Jesus by repeating the charges of " time-serving," " the end jus-
tifies the means," and other baseless fabrications which malice
and ignorance have used with unscrupulous pertinacity for more
than three centuries. All readers are familiar with the magni-
ficent tribute to the Church of Rome in Macaulay's review of
Ranke's History of the Popes. He says the church was great and
powerful before the Franks had crossed the Rhine, before the
Saxons had invaded Britain, when Grecian eloquence was still
heard at Antioch, when idols were still worshipped in the
temple of Mecca, and he adds that famous prophecy, " that the
church may still exist in undiminished vigor when some tra-
veller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude,
take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the
ruins of St. Paul's," but, in harmony with the spirit of the age,
he attributes all the marvellous vigor of the " ever-ancient and
ever-new " church to human agencies. He sees not the Spirit of
God inspiring and directing the church.

Macaulay was the best-read man of his day ; the ancient clas-
sics were as familiar to him as modern literature ; he spoke truth-
fully when he said,

" Mine all the past, and all the future mine."

It is strange that a man of such immense information should be
so prejudiced, that a man so enlightened on all subjects should
be buried in a Boeotian ignorance as to the divinity of the church
which he himself says " links together the two great ages of
human civilization." He visits Rome and goes straight from the
hotel to St. Peter's : " In I went, and I was for a moment fairly
stunned by the magnificence and harmony of the interior. I
never in my life saw, and never, I suppose, shall again see, any-
thing so astonishingly beautiful. I really could have cried with
pleasure." He appreciates St. Peter's because it stands in majes-
tic beauty before his eyes, but the tombs of the early martyrs he
does not believe in, though he has no doubt that Virgil's tomb is
authentic. '

We regret that so clever and graceful a writer as Mr.
Howells should sink to this anti-Catholic prejudice and pro-
nounce the august ceremonies of St. Peter's " tedious and

664 ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. [Feb.,

empty," and speak of what he is pleased to call " the revolting
character of modern Romanism." We confess we did not ex-
pect to find in so " enlightened " and " liberal " a writer such
coarse misrepresentation and childish drivel as the following
passage from his Venetian Life :

"To see this superstition in all its proper grossness and deformity you
must go into some of the Renaissance churches, fit tabernacles for that
droning and mumming spirit which has deprived all young and generous
men in Italy of religion, which makes the priests a bitter jest and byword,
which has rendered the population ignorant, vicious, and hopeless, which
gives its friendship to tyranny and its hatred to freedom, which destroys
the life of the church that it may sustain the power of the pope."

Mr. Howells spent a few years in Italy, but, judging from the
above specimen, we cannot say that travel has liberalized his
mind.

We shall make only a passing allusion to the polished pages
of Prescott, which swarm with Puritan prejudice against all
things Catholic, or to the narrow-minded bigotry against Catho-
licity which filled the heart, the mind, and the soul of Charles
Dickens.

In pleasing contrast with all these, and the peer of the best
of them, stands the broad-minded, whole-souled Thackeray. He
never sneered at or disparaged the church of Christian antiquity.
Driving through an American city, he passed a Catholic cathe-
dral, and said, " After all, that is the only thing that can be call-
ed a church." The reader of Henry Esmond will find how dear
to Thackeray was the Catholic doctrine of the intercession of
saints, " the departed soul still loving and praying for us "; when-
ever he introduces a " papist " it is not to sneer at him. The
priest, with downcast eyes, reading his breviary in the cars,
while the fierce and fanatical John Bull glares at him over his
Times ; Father Holt is Henry Esmond's early friend ; the world-
ly-minded Lady Steyne weeping when Becky Sharp plays some
of the familiar music of her early convent days ; and that pious
Catholic lady, Mme. de Florae, beautiful in her old age, remem-
bering in her prayers the soul of her dying lover, a ruined but
yet noble Christian gentleman these show the feeling which
actuated Thackeray wherever Catholicity is concerned.

The poets have generally been free from the spirit of intole-
rance towards the church which too often disgraces prose-writers.
Some of Longfellow's most beautiful poems are Catholic in subject
and treatment. Shakspere is so Catholic in many of his senti-
ments that it is still a mooted question whether he was not a Ca-

1883.] ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. 665

tholic. Even Byron, sceptic as he was, saw and appreciated the
beauty of that religion of which Dante was an humble believer.
Dryden and Pope were both Catholics, and, although they did
not always live up to the teachings of the church, they died for-
tified by its holy sacraments. One of Poe's most beautiful poems
is addressed to the Blessed Virgin, and had he lived longer his
love of the true and the beautiful might have led him to the
bosom of that church which Goethe was too proud to embrace.

The so-called modern scientists affect to sneer at Catholic
conservatism, forgetting or ignorant of the fact that Christen-
dom owes to Catholics all the leading scientific discoveries and
inventions in the past parchment and paper, printing and en-
graving, improved glass and steel, gunpowder, clocks, telescopes,
the mariner's compass, the reformed calendar, chemistry, etc.
Yet, in the face of these irresistible facts, the so-called " advanced
thinkers" of the day have the effrontery to denounce the church
as an enemy of modern progress she is indeed an enemy of that
"progress" which leads to infidelity, and of which Tyndall and
Huxley are the living representatives. These latter-day evangel-
ists of materialism wander in a maze of absurdity in their vain
endeavor to place nature above the God of nature, a man above his
Creator/ Their teachings are vague, uncertain, undetermined ;
like an undirected letter, they reach nowhere. They appear be-
fore the world with morality on their lips, but the experience of
six thousand years teaches us that virtue without religion is
dead, that morality without God is unknown. George Eliot,
after a doubtful connection with the man of her heart, proclaim-
ed as her creed that she desired no future that would break the
ties of the past. The language of these modern scientists is full
of sound, but really signifies nothing. What does Huxley mean
when he teaches that the " highest content is to be attained by
continually striving towards those high peaks where, resting in
eternal calm, reason discerns the undefined but bright ideal of the
highest good " ? This is simply words, words, words, a delusion
and a snare ; and this is what men of science offer in exchange
for God and heaven. In short, we, the "heirs of all the ages,"
are coolly asked to give up our supernatural birthright, our
heavenly home, a future happiness which it hath not entered into
the mind of man to conceive, for such stuff as dreams are made
of. What is this "highest happiness" of which these shallow
men speak so constantly? Has Professor Huxley ever enjoyed
it ? If so, when and where ?

Professor Huxley would use a cloud of words in attempting

666 ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. [Feb.,

to explain these things, but will his explanation satisfy any man
of sense a man not already degraded to the condition of the
positive thinker? The professor dogmatically denies that a man
has any right to supernatural faith, but declares positively that
he will not " for one moment admit that morality is not strong
enough to hold its own." These so-called philosophers, while
talking about " moral beauty," in fact open the way to the most
degrading depravity that the world has ever seen by leaving
man to his natural instincts witness the orgies at the suppers
of the Regent Orleans and the beastly licentiousness of Tiberius
at Capri. Leslie Stephen contemptuously declares that " the
impertinent young curate who tells me that I shall be burned
everlastingly for not sharing his superstition is just as ignorant
as I am myself, and I know as much about it as my dog." This
reminds us of the young " philosopher " mentioned in the Specta-
tor, who, after a season in London, returned to his country home
a complete infidel, and told his father that he did not believe he
had a soul any more than a dog. " Then," said the irascible
old gentleman, "if you think you will die like a dog you shall
live like a dog," and kicked him out of the house. Mr. Leslie
Stephen and his fellow-philosophers may glory in the belief that
they are like dogs, but we prefer to rest our hopes upon the
divine promises believed in for six thousand years, not upon the
vain delusions of to-day. How any sane man can look up to the
starry heavens, and say chance placed the myriads of worlds
there and holds them in limitless space, is beyond our compre-
hension. Show these " leaders of modern thought " a house, a
steam-engine, and ask them whether these things came into ex-
istence by chance ; they will tell you that they had a maker, a
creator. If such material things had a creator, how much more
the stars of the firmament and the great globe which we inhabit !
In the magnificent language of Antigone :

"The unwritten and. the enduring laws of God,
Which are not of to-day nor yesterday,
But live from everlasting, and none breathes
Who knows them whence begotten."

These "advanced thinkers "talk much about an earthly paradise.
Where is it? In what does it consist? Who inhabit it? Where
has it been these six thousand years ? The philosophic teaching
of these men is an idle dream unworthy the deliberate considera-
tion of intelligent minds. Has their gospel of irreligion brought
peace and good-will to the world? Has it improved humanity?

1883.] ANTI-CATHOLIC SPIRIT OF CERTAIN WRITERS. 667

Has it elevated the minds of men to better and nobler things?
Can these false philosophers hope that their teachings will incite
to virtues to which heaven could not incite, or lure men from
vices from which hell-fire could not scare them ? They argue
with some ingenuity against faith, but what do they offer us in
exchange for it? What do they believe ? If they believe no-
thing they are not qualified to teach others what to believe or
disbelieve. Matthew Arnold puts the case very clearly when he
says : " There is truth of science and truth of religion ; truth of
science does not become truth of religion until it is made reli-
gious. Let us have science from the men of science, and reli-
gion from the men of religion."

The heart of man is naturally religious, and even in the
midst of the irreligious spirit of the age there are many hearts
aching for the religion they have been taught to despise. Car-
dinal Newman says there is no medium in true philosophy be-
tween atheism and Catholicity, and a perfectly sustained mind
must embrace either the one or the other, and adds : " I am a
Catholic by virtue of my belief in a God, and if I am asked why
I believe in a God I answer that it is because I believe in my-
self, that I find it impossible to believe in my own existence
without also believing in the existence of God." The human
soul demands an object worthy of its faith, and finds such an
object in God alone, to worship whom elevates the worshipper.
In the language of the American Catholic poet, George H.
Miles, in his beautiful dramatic poem " Mohammed " :

" I would rather be a beggar with a God
To worship, than an emperor without one."

For more than eighteen hundred years the Catholic Church has
sustained unmoved the attacks of heresy, schism, and infidelity,
and is now more powerful and numerous than ever before. If
the church did not stand before the world as " the pillar and
ground of truth," ever battling against the spirit of infidelity, the
chaotic condition foretold by Pope in the conclusion of the
" Dunciad " would come to pass :

" Philosophy, that lean'd on heaven before,
Shrinks to her second cause and is no more.
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires. . . .
Lo, thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored ;
Light dies before thy uncreating word.
Thy hand, great Anarch ! lets the curtain fall,
And universal darkness buries all."

668 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

OUT OF THE WEST.

in.

AND now " hard times," that had been to them a rumor con-
nected with distant cities and the larger towns, began to make
themselves felt up at Gruenwald. The most prosperous of the
settlers began to retrench even their comparatively small ex-
penses, and that told directly upon the poorer still who depended
on these, and already with such it was " living from hand to
mouth." Edmond prudently forbore a contemplated dairy ex-
tension, and would have sold his only cow had it involved any
luxury of butter ; but it counted too largely in the living of the
hungry little flock, in its substitution for meat, to be spared.
But he went without the winter coat that he had counted on.
" Thank God," he would sometimes say, " with our abundant
wood warmth cannot fail us indoors, and we must move the
livelier outside."

But Margaret was equally self-denying, and it hurt him to
see her making the slow journey in the ox-cart on Sundays there
being no longer a horse to ride and covering little Waldemar
and herself in the well-worn outer garment that was now poor
protection for one. But they were well, and the children were
hardy, and both, cheerful in temperament, determined to encour-
age each other, rarely let escape a word that betrayed fear or de-
pression. Only one day when Franz and little Elisa were playing
" I've found a gold-mine" " What did you buy first with it? "
Edmond joined in their enfantillage and cried too : " I've found a
gold-mine, and I bought first the ' motherly ' \inuttcrlicK\ y a splen-
did cloak, fur-lined with ermine like a queen's." This was his
only hint of what he had seen ; but his voice betrayed his pain, so
Margaret exclaimed with courage : " Did you buy with it the
big, happy heart that beats under the old shawl ? For without
that you may keep it for sad queens."

At the Christmas which made little Waldemar eighteen
months old the household present was a baby-girl, and there
was no other except wood-carven toys from Edmond's hand, ani-
mals for the boys, and a doll for Elisa dressed by her mother.
Margaret would have called the new-comer for her mother,
Emma; but Edmond was persistent this time, and the baby Mar-

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 669

garet was called Margot (Margo) in common speech for distinc-
tion.

A good farming year made " the times " a little less severe
here, although the rumors from beyond were worse than those
of any preceding year in every commercial centre, and sooner
or later must be felt in the remoter dependencies. But the win-
ter wore away> and Margaret gave double diligence to the sim-
ple instructions of which the elder children were now capable,
while contriving with every possible invention the extension of
the little wardrobes at least possible cost.

From the outset Margaret and Edmond, singing about the
house and farm, had been examples that the children were quick
to imitate, and as early as possible Edmond had trained the little
voices to harmonious action. To hear the evening hymn in
which at night all joined was indeed a pleasure, and the unison
of clear, sweet tones was admirable.

For two years there was no material change at Gruenwald, but
to keep as they were Edmond had been obliged to sacrifice more
timber, and Margaret to draw upon her own deposit for the
most necessary articles of the children's clothing. And a rather
gloomy spirit was settling over the community, that was in-
creased by coming together on Sundays in clothing that told its
own story in nearly every household.

And there was difficulty in avoiding the painful theme of the
mutual want that was evident, and private conversation became
mutual confessions of individual privation. The festive gather-
ings were discontinued without comment, the trivial expenses
being too great to hint at as possible. Some of the men who
had cut down the most of their trees were soberly thinking of
selling the land at heavy loss, and one or two with small families
or none had -already done so and gone to Chicago to work in
the service of others or in manufactories. The sad report that
came from them of the city pinch and grind alone deterred some
of the rest from following their example.

The summer was beautiful this year, and the fields promis-
ing ample harvests, when Edmond was taken sick with typhoid
fever. There had been a few other cases, chiefly', like his own,
from overwork and underfeeding. He had tried to do with as
little hired labor as possible a grievous economy, as it proved,
opening the' way to disease when it appeared.

And now Margaret's courage began to be tested ; now began
a battle that was to show of what, she was made. For four
weeks it was steady contest, and during the last one face to face

670 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

with death. Then came a crisis, watched without an hour's ab-
sence by faithful Dr. Klein, and one pale gray morning, just be-
fore the sun rose, the happy verdict, " He will live," and with
its coming rays sweet recognition, and Margaret was banished
for a little rest.

How she lived and nursed him unaided, and fed and cared
for the five children, was one of the problems that other mothers
have had to solve in action, though it cannot be done in words ; but
that she did it in her own beautiful way " her unparalleled
way," said the doctor again and again is the wonder after all.
That she was able, with all the elements of noise and con-
fusion, to secure quiet for the sick man, that no child cried
with hunger or fell asleep undressed at night, were mysteries
indeed.

But added problems lay in the future, when, during the slow
convalescence and inability to think, Margaret found means to
hire the harvesting, and send away such as he habitually con-
signed to dealers, and nurse the coming appetite, and soothe the
sick caprices, and wear through all her beautiful smile. It told
heavily on her little savings, and the future frowned.

There were moments of deepest perplexity and dreadful
anxiety, when lines of anguish replaced the smiles and the relief
of tears was none too great ; but these were moments on her
knees, when Margaret laid her too great burden at the foot of the
cross, and, placing her sorely anxious heart within the Sacred
Heart of Jesus, offered her pain and received the sacred gift of
strength that carried her through all.

And now came sterner poverty than they had ever known.
Edmond's recovery had only reached the point of slowly moving
about the house and barn, doing the most necessary work in the
feeblest manner, when the little flock were attacked by scarlet
fever, and in cases of two of the children followed by diphtheria.
Edmond's low spirits were brought to something like dismay at
this crisis, so that Margaret, who had always shared with him
every condition of mind into which their children entered, had
now a sense of isolation in feigning hopes she dared not fairly
feel, and cheer him in her passage from one bed to another. To
nourish her little ones fairly during the last year she had drafted
largely on her savings, and the harvesting left now but twenty-
five dollars.

The usual payment from the dealers to whom Edmond sold
his wheat was often deferred in these times until Christmas, and
last year they had waited until the middle of January. What

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 671

this year might bring from delay or failure Margaret dared not
think, the need of thai money was so imperative, and failure had
just been reported of one such dealer, who owed half a year's
living to two of the farmers of Gruenwald.

This Margaret shut away from thought as she set herself to
repatch the little garments, now so mended and remended that
hardly a piece of the original cloth could be seen. And when
the doctor declared that " flannel next the skin was imperative "
for little Edmond and the baby, the diphtheritic ones, and Mar-
garet's scissors attacked the old shawl, " too thin " when Walde-
mar was a baby, it was first with a sigh at its inadequacy, then
with one little gush of gratitude that there was even so much to
lie between the little flesh and death.

One sharply cold week, the last in November, Edmond came
into the house blue and trembling with the cold that his ill-pro-
tected, under-nourished frame could scarcely resist. He said that
" if this continued he should have to borrow from the bedding."
Some of the men at Gruenwald had been obliged to do this, and
last of all Dr. Klein also ; for he was now as poor as any, with pa-
tients some years in arrears, none able to furnish him with money,
or with available food often, and he was now obliged to wrap him-
self in a bed-comfortable in order to accomplish his visits at all.
This week the five wan faces coming up as from the grave pre-
sented such an aspect that he spoke the word until now repress-
ed : " It is nourishment or death."

It was on the last night of November that, looking around
on her sleeping brood and thinking of another little one soon
to be added to it, the picture of her own helplessness at that
moment, with so many leaning on her, struck true terror to her
soul. Margaret involuntarily groaned, praying :

" At last, God, I have put my whole trust in thee. While these
hands could toil and this heart could pray I have not despaired ;
nor will I, for I love thee." With Margaret, to love God was to
trust him fully, fearlessly, though it seemed to her that she must
presently lie still and see some of them die.

With the morning came a letter brought up by the doctor
on his return from the station. It was from her brother, after
more than three years' silence, asking in the friendliest wav, as if
only as many weeks had passed, of their welfare, and asking, as
he was likely to come to Chicago before Christmas, if he could
send some one thing more acceptable than another for the chil-
dren, as he might perhaps " run up," if he had time. In a post-
script he added his mother's request for the names and ages of

672 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

"the two children," that she might write them in the family
Bible. Poor Margaret !

To write the response, that must be immediate to be of ser-
vice, she sacrificed the fly-leaves of her much-prized Shakspere,
and wrote by firelight that night, her first leisure. Without a
word that could intimate censure at their silence, she excused
her own, saying that " she feared a report of their steadily failing
condition for the last few years would have been construed as an
appeal."

"As long as we could live in health in the humblest way," she went on,
" I was undaunted, and it has not been until poverty and sickness united
have threatened to deprive me of my dear ones that courage has failed.
To give you a brief sketch of what has been I will go back to my last let-
ters, telling you chiefly of our prosperity, and happiness in the possession of
our little elder son, named Franz for Edmond's father, and with pleasure on
my part that it was so nearly brother Francis' name. Also there was a girl-
baby, as you will see in the list enclosed with dates of birth for mother, and
a young infant that you have forgotten. That was our junior Edmond,
whose life, the doctor says to-day, hovers between life and death, like that
of his younger sister, for the decision of a generous diet ' nourishment
or death ' were his words. With a year of prosperity that renewed all our
hope came our little Waldemar, and after him our 'hard-times' baby, Mar-
garet, whom I would have named Emma, if I could have chosen ; but the
name waits the possibility that the coming winter presents. God willing,
another little child will be ours, and, in spite of the hardships to which she
must inevitably be born, if the rest are but spared and we have the barest
means of living it will be welcome, and has been until now a pleasing
hope." Then, with half-apology for the details that must follow, she wrote :

" You ask, 'What would be acceptable? ' and I say, anything, from mo-
ther's rag-bag to the last shred of such clothing as I know you habitu-
ally give away. Could you see the children you would think the contents
of the first had already been showered over them in the many-colored
patches that compose every garment. I wish that I could say that there
were two pairs of stockings to each child, but the truth is that, to wash
a' portion of their clothing, I have to do as other neighbors do and send
them to bed.

"And the beds themselves are being despoiled, since the men here have
now to wear the comfortables as overcoats. There are six or seven who
have come to this besides Edmond and our dear Doctor Klein, and there are
others who would if they had them. If I had but one thing to ask, after
food and medicines for my delicate children/it would be drugs for the doc-
tor to use, quinine now being so dear that he can no longer buy it, no one
paying him money ; and if there was an old coat large enough for him to
wear ! He is quite as large as Uncle Gil, as we used to call him your good
partner and taller still, and this year his hair has grown gray with looking
on at suffering he was powerless to relieve. With all our sickness " (she
had told it earlier in the letter) " we have paid him nothing, nor given him

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 673

aught but the mouthful of food he has shared at table as our brother and
our friend.

"When I think of my children and the luxuries of my own childhood
I will say, for the interest it may afford yours, that they have not known
the taste of candy or sweets half a dozen times in their lives that is, the
elder ones; the three younger never. What would they say to a piece of
mother's cake ! It almost makes a baby of me at this moment to think of
it myself.

" If I have one thought more selfish than another for my own wants it
divides itself between my worn-out milk-pans, long since scoured to the
iron, and reading; if ever there is time again I could feast on old news-
papers from home and your magazines piled under the eaves."

In another place the doctor had induced her to ask specifi-
cally for cod-liver oil and wine, and a tonic prescription for Ed-
mond senior that he had written out and could dilute for the
children.

"And now," she said in conclusion, " I feel that I am causing you trou-
ble and expense that I would as far as possible avoid. Let it be met, where
it can, by the clothes you would give to others and the accumulations I
have so often known to lie in garret or cellar awaiting such distribution.
Above all, send me assurances of your continued affection."

Francis Chester, a now successful wholesale merchant in iron
and steel, received his sister's letter in his spacious, well-warmed
counting-room, and, after reading, handed it with sober face to
his partner, the bachelor, " Uncle Gil." " How soon can you
start, Francis ? " said the elder gentleman, with rather shaky
tones of voice.

"I had thought of leaving on the loth, as we arranged yes-
terday," said Chester, " but I think I will defer matters a day or
two longer, and take something besides the hand-valise and chil-
dren's presents that my fancy had suggested. Meanwhile I will
make a list of articles that I had better order as I walk home
from the office, and hasten the letter up to the house, that the
ladies may be busy, too."

" Leave the doctor to me, will you ? " said Uncle Gil briefly.
To say that Francis Chester's house was buzzing for several
days after would feebly indicate the stir in the domestic hive.
Really charitable people they were in a commonplace way,
ready to contribute to the casual calls of their neighborhood and
church ; and now that so deep a need lay close at home, it stirred
the pent-up fountains of the family heart and set all their pulses
working to a prompt and practical tune.

Mother and sister, wife and children, all joined Francis Ches-
ter in a famous box that he determined to carry or send, the
VOL. xxxvi. 43

674 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

only perplexity being to decide whether to hasten his departure
with little or wait until the most desirable articles on hand
should be augmented by those scarcely less so and forthcoming.
On the roth of December Mr. Chester came at an early hour
from his office, accompanied by Uncle Gil, and in the presence
of his family began to pack.

It was a picture to be long remembered : old Mrs. Ches-
ter, tearful and busy, striving to aid with the energy of a wo-
man once active, and adding more messages to her contributions
than any one man's mind could possibly remember; her invalid
daughter, and Mrs. Chester, also an infirm person, and the group
of boys and girls clustering around Uncle Gil or stumbling over
piles of things lying on tables, chairs, the floor everywhere. It
would be a shame to exclude the reader !

First of all in the bottom of a huge box were laid some yards
of rubber cloth, coming up at the sides, with surplus flaps for the
final protection of the contents. Then came a layer of under-
clothing, most of it outgrown or shrunken, but not outworn
space in this precious box being too valuable for worn-out ma-
terial. A few old friends of the family in easy circumstances
had been taken into confidence and materially increased this
layer and a contribution of boys' clothes. Next came new flan-
nel in the piece, both blue and red. " Now," said Francis Ches-
ter, "for the dummies." Turning to the extension- table, he
placed there six pairs of rubber boots, from a large man's size to
those for a child of five. In these, carefully padded in the feet
with cotton wool, he placed six bottles of cod-liver oil and as
many more of Madeira and Sherry wines, and around the bot-
tles poured rice in the grain until each was kept firmly in place,
then tied over the top soft caps and hoods of knit wool. As
they stood in the dim light they were not unlike a row of black
dolls. These were kept in place in the box with most closely
packed boys' clothes skilfully wedged by some dozens of pairs of
stockings, hand-knit by Grandma Chester for this family, but
speedily transferred to the little Western cousins.

Out of the suits, that for little city boys must be alike, there
were many unworn but unmatched garments, in such numbers
that it did not seem as if Margaret's boys could wear them out
in two years.

Around the sides of the box Mr. Chester cunningly bestowed
such tools as an axe, a hatchet, etc., etc., which, lying flat be-
tween the side and the rubber cloth, occupied a merely nominal
space. Then came a puzzle a grand plum-cake made by Grand-

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST.

ma Chester's own hands and liberally fruited. It filled the lar-
gest-sized milk-pan of a dozen of varied size. How could these
be packed without waste room ?

Before attempting to place these and, we may as well say,
at every other stage of the packing that offered crevices Mr.
Chester had sifted in grains'of unparched coffee from a supply
that stood waiting to be so used ; and only those who have pack-
ed where hair's-breadth space is counted can understand the in-
credible quantity that can be thus worked in.

When he began to pack the pans it was on a solid new floor
over the tops of the rubber boots. Standing one within another,
the dozen were placed next in threes, the box holding exactly
four in a square, the cake in one, delicacies in two of the others :
choice tea untasted at Gruenwald for four years gelatine, a
choice selection of candies and dainties for the children, to whom
peppermints were as fairy-tales told of by their mother, but
" true " and now about to be realized. Only a stern discretion
prevented these from swelling to a magnitude that would have
forbidden more valuable articles.

The fourth of the great pans held a choice selection of quinine
and the most valuable drugs, chosen by Uncle Gil's own physi-
cian for Dr. Klein's use. The sloping under-sides of the pan
were filled and wedged by Irish moss in a quantity that pro-
mised abundance of blanc-mange'.

The next layer was valuable again : waterproof cloaks for
Margaret and Elisa, and a large, old-fashioned long shawl for the
former unfashionable but nearly unworn. Then came Uncle
Gil's own great-coat, bought new for himself that winter, a great
knotted beaver, relinquished to Dr. Klein with a pleasure that
only the dear, large-hearted old gentleman knew. It was the
second he had parted from already, early in the season as it was,
and he wrapped himself in an old one pronounced " shabby " by
his friends, folding in such comfort as he could never have felt
in keeping the new one. The children cried, " Why, Uncle
Gil!" and even Mr. Chester asked, "Isn't this going too far,
Gilbert ? " But a vision of a Western home and pallid faces
round a sad hearthstone, with a spectral guest awaiting his awful
bidding, had been evoked by Margaret's pen-and-ink picture and
deafened his ears to remonstrances.

Now followed clothing for the younger children in various
stages of wear, but worthy their space, and some underwear
and two dresses, made over from old ones, for Elisa's size, as well
as could be guessed. Then Mr. Chester brought out a new suit

676 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

for Ed mond guessed at, too and an overcoat not new, but sup-
plemented by the best India-rubber one that he could buy, with
a smaller one for Franz. Most of these goods in rubber were
purchased from, others the gift of, a friend of the family and
deeply interested in Margaret's children. The fine filling of all
the upper layers was beans !

" What if the beans and coffee mix, papa? " asked a practical
little Chester. " Then the little Brenners will have the plea-
sure of assorting them and keeping their little fingers out of
mischief," said Papa Chester.

Slight as was the drollery of this trivial speech, it set the lit-
tle Chesters off in peals of laughter, and, the infection spreading
to their elders, they began to laugh too, because light-hearted
people laugh so readily, and they were light-hearted from being
engaged in a good action. " What a grand cure for the ' blues ' ! "
said Uncle Gil, taking breath.

Here the Chester boys begged room for some marbles, tops,
and fish-hooks gathered up from the play-room, having, of course,
" no money left," like other school-boys, the pockets of whose
wear are very melting-pots ; and then they fell teasing that some
prize poultry might go : " Real Plymouth Rocks " ; " They can't
have any out there like 'em " ; " Second prize." And the-n a din
of " points " and " strains " outside all ordinary comprehension.

With some blankets and other bedding long lying for some
imaginary need, as such things lie in well-to-do homes, the use-
less storage was now brought out by Mrs. Chester and the box
was pronounced full. But what was to become of the remaining
pile? There was a new unmade dress for Margaret, and a made-
up gray flannel wrapper and underwear suited to her needs, and
a box of Christmas presents, especially the gift of Mrs. Francis
Chester, who had a private income of her own-of late years. It
contained a knife for Franz, and a little music-box for Ed mond
"that poor little boy that had always to lie down or sit up on
pillows," as the little Chester girls pityingly said and some sol-
diers for Waldemar, and gay blocks for the baby, and a doll for
Elisa a " beauty of a doll," to which sick Aunt Sarah had given
.four days' labor, that " every stitch of its wardrobe could come
.off and on " at the demand of the critical Chester girls.

And with it was another box into which no one was supposed
to be initiated, but all the elders knew was to restore hope in
Margaret's heart in its provision for the little next one. It was
the gift, too, of her sister-in-law, but grandma had laid therein
with great solemnity her old string of gold beads, ancient and

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 677

heavy " if it should be a girl and named Emma," otherwise " for
Elisa, with grandma's love."

So a trunk had to be brought down from the garret, and a
large one, for there was still a new suit of clothes for Franz
made a little too large in view of the old ones in the box, but
seeming to Uncle Francis the most desirable gift that he could
make his namesake and it seemed as if there would really be no
room for Margaret's reading ; but there was, and for a Cardigan
vest that came in just before the trunk was shut, and some
choice garden-seeds were stuffed in for the next planting, and a
store of sewing materials, and some packages of nails and small
hardware, with a final sifting-in of shelled pop-corn.

But room could not possibly'be made for the corn-popper,
and so it was that the Chester boys at last carried the day on
the fowl question. A neat prize-cage was made to be sightly
enough for Mr. Chester's handling, and the corn-popper hung in
the top with forage for the trio ; and room failing for this, the
imitative youths rattled an extra supply into papa's valise among
the clean shirts, to his entire disgust, but was told in excuse,
" Just as you did, papa, to fill all the spaces."

And when the exposure to cold on the journey was consid-
ered, especially the woods transit at Gruenwald, grandma reopen-
ed her heart and her closets and brought out another bed-cover,
shut away only from the box's inability to hold it.

Another box but little smaller than the trunk stood packed in
the lower hall, full of oranges, dates, figs, and similar delicacies,
and when the expressman came on the morning of the I2th,
and the great box and hens and valise were added, he used
strong expressions about the "emigration of families in winter,"
and would not have touched the great box had not Mr. Chester,
foreseeing its weight, had it mounted on low iron wheels, which
he was sure would be of use in such a family.

A telegram had been despatched to Margaret as soon as the
date of departure had been definitely fixed for the 12th, asking
for means of transportation to meet him where railways ended.

The evening that witnessed the completion of the box pack-
ing saw Uncle Gil and Francis Chester in long consultation on
the business matters for which the latter was going to Chicago.

In spite of the pressure now heavily felt, and at its very worst
in the outlying districts, there was a little rallying in some branches
of trade in the cities, and the directors of a projected railway
were now making efforts in many directions to secure mate-
rial at the lowest possible bids before a rise in prices should be

678 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

the result of still stronger reaction. Believing that the occasion,
with certain facilities that they controlled, would warrant the
journey Westward, the active junior partner decided to risk it
and secure the contract, if possible.

There had also been in discussion between them a question
involving, perhaps, the fate of Edmond Brenner's long-projected,
now hopeless, scheme of constructing a saw-mill, in which Uncle
Gil finally left everything at the discretion of the younger man.
In fact, Chester was always the cautious, and Gilbert the impul-
sive, man in transactions appealing to feeling, while a principle
of liberality in one was met by natural generosity in the other,
which harmonized actions like these.

Poor Mr. Chester's care of live-stock on his journey would
make a story of its own ; but by dint of great watchfulness on his
part and timely gifts of cigars to freight-agents the feathered
trio were kept warm and well fed to the end.

As for the business in Chicago, on the morning of his arrival
he found one of the most important members of the " board "
absent from the city, and, laying the case briefly before the other
directors, made an appointment several days later, and, rejoiced
at the opportunity of hastening on, took the noon express to
Gruenwald not without having increased his freight, how-
ever ; for having an idle hour and a half, and saying, " In for a
penny, in for a pound," he had gathered up from the markets
a barrelful of fresh provision, especially meats, knowing that he
could depend upon the weather for their preservation.

At one o'clock he was again speeding Westward. At about
two he was accosted by a tall, handsome man of most pleasing
address, gentlemanly in spite of his brakeman's suit, who, touching
his hat in a most un-American manner, asked " if he were not
Mr. Chester ? " Surprised to find a friend so soon, he was no
less so when that friend proved to be his brother-in-law Brenner.

Going with him into the freight car, that they might converse
more freely and with less interruption to Edmond's duties, the
latter related what had been happening since Margaret's letter.

' The day that it was mailed to you," said Edmond, " I had
'taken little Franz and the oxen down to Gruenwald, hoping to
find some work at the station, as a few of us have done by odd
chances through the winter, and, if possible, pick up enough to
buy a bit of meat for soup for the children. Franz was just well
enough to venture out on pleasant days, being one of the least
ill. We had waited all day without result, and in awaiting the
'last train I had turned the oxen and cart toward home, setting

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 679

all right for a start, as it happily proved ; but my heart was heavy
with the thought of returning empty-handed to poor, tired Mar-
garet, who had worn through the day without my aid. When,
pflick ! stops the train short and they put down a sick man, a
brakeman. Out comes the conductor. It was a long train, with
many cars left over from the last week's accumulation. They were
behind time, and minutes were valuable, the weather bitter, and
no one to take the brakeman's place could be easily spared from
the other employees. ' Five dollars to the first able-bodied vol-
unteer,' says the conductor, ' and the brakeman's pay while he is
disabled.'

" I looked around ; other men, waiting like myself, had gone
home discouraged or I should not have had the chance to think
at all. The four men besides myself were less capable, two to-
tally unfit for the work, though my strength is not to boast of.
You see that I am very thin still. But it was bread, perhaps life,
for our children. ' I will go,' said I.

" Writing a hasty word to Margaret that was hardly explana-
tion, I said : ' Little Franz, will you take the oxen home and be a
man and take care of mamma while I am gone ? ' And fastening
the paper and money well within his clothes, I was on the train
and away. It did not occupy six minutes. The brakeman con-
tinues ill of fever, and, finding that Margaret is glad, yes, grateful,
for this bit of good luck, I have agreed to keep the place until
his recovery. But pray God it may be speedy and I can again
rejoin my family, for so dreary a fortnight I have never known
since my early hermit days in the woods."

"And how did you recognize me?" asked Chester. "The
freight-agent first called my attention to my name on the boxes,"
said Edmond; "then, walking through the cars, I saw my Mar-
garet's eyes in your head." And the tears could hardly be kept
back from his own as the warm-hearted man named her.

Francis Chester learned a lesson that afternoon that lasted
his life-long, as in the disjointed bits of conversation between
himself and his newly-found brother-in-law he detected some of
the results that the last ten years of Edmond's life had been pro-
ducing. He saw a man as faithful in duty and as humble in obedi-
ence as a soldier, as gentle and firm in direction as an officer ; for
there were several cases of command that fell to him in surplus
freight transportations. He saw a man meanly clad, in thin,
much-mended raiment, pretend to manliness and maintain it; and
that he won smiles and a good word from all with whom he dealt
on equal terms was no surprise. Edmond had in charge in the

680 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

second-class car an emigrant family, with whom he divided the
brief opportunities otherwise given to his brother-in-law ; and not
sweet Margaret Chester herself could have rivalled the thought-
ful care that her husband bestowed, so tender to the little children
of these wanderers, with thoughts of .those who needed it at
home. Pain is so expansive !

" And what will Margaret herself be like? " asked Chester of
himself. " For this man bears marks of a woman's moulding.
A silent, undeveloped girl, into what has she bloomed? 1 always
doubted if I knew her well."

It was quite dark when the train slowed at Gruenwald, and,
already behind time, greeting and parting were hurried, the con-
ductor impatient at the delay made by the big box ; so that
Edmond's most emphatic hug of little Franz and introduction
of him to his uncle were of the briefest. There they stood, great
man and small, with their formidable freight, while the train
whistled off into space. But the little man had the heart of a
hero, and, after one long, asking glance upturned to his uncle,
promptly called to his aid the friendly neighbors, whose assist-
ance with a second pair of oxen were required.

Fortunately a sufficient snowfall on the frozen ground per-
mitted the use of sleds and comparatively quick progress, or it
would have been a matter of delay and more aid still. As it
was, Francis Chester felt the experience a bitter one, and it
quickened his thoughts. More lessons ! He saw men walking
in such articles of apparel that he could not call them clothing
veritable Joseph's coats in color and variety. Some of them
wore the covers that served the beds at night, as Margaret had
written. To hide the poverty of their feet and save them from
frost-bite most of them had withed them in straw happy they
whose boots were whole beneath it and poor little Franz, run-
ning as long as he was able beside the last sled, was only fit to
move his straw-cased legs for short distances, and sit down, spent
and weary, behind the load. This carried the trunk and smaller
boxes, barrel, and coop; the forward sled, under an older driver,
bearing all that it could sustain in the heavy box on wheels.

Once or twice Mr. Chester would have tried to walk to keep
warm ; but the road was positively impassable to his low-rubber-
ed feet and clothes of fine fabric, that would have been quite
spoiled. Passing his hand once beneath the jacket of little
Franz, he shuddered at the thought of one of his own boys so
slightly protected, and this one but so lately an invalid.' An
impulse to wrap him in his own great-coat sprang into being,

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 68 1

but at the instant his attention was diverted by an addition to
the party.

A large man, looking in the dimness and to his quickened
senses half gigantic, came upon them at a cross-road, or path for
it seemed a mere opening among the trees and on the saddle
before him sat a little girl. It was Dr. Klein bringing little
Elisa from the house of a neighbor sick in bed, to whom she had
been lent for such small services as her busy little hands and
willing heart had been taught to render, while the husband and
father of three mere infants was absent on a distant piece of
work that brought food to his most needy household.

The doctor, dismounting, begged Mr. Chester to change
places with him and shorten the last half-mile, and Chester, really
exhausted and chilled, did not scruple to do so. The horse,
most familiar with his road, needed no urging or guidance to
what had often proved his resting-place for the night, and,
springing forward at a home-pace, soon brought the weary man
and Elisa to the house on the knoll.

Had he met Margaret elsewhere he would have failed to re-
cognize in the large woman that he saw the rather slender girl
of his memory. But there were gestures that he recalled direct-
ly, and her old smile with a dimple on one side that remained,
and a dry, quiet manner of speech, that provoked smiles while
she pretended gravity, that seemed familiar. But in the German-
speaking mother of many children she seemed again lost to him
wholly.

His attention was quickly drawn to a pale child stretched on
a kind of sofa by the fireside, whose wasted face and sad expres-
sion brought a pang as he thought, " For that one I have come
too late," and to two other little sleeping faces, thin and pale,
though less haggard than the boy Edmond's. Mr. Chester be-
lieved that through fatigue he was incapable of farther emotion,
but when the girl who had been his companion, removing her
outer wear, came into light, he thought that it shone on the most
perfect child-beauty that he had ever seen. Neither Franz nor
Elisa had been nearly as ill as the three younger children, and
the glow that the cold had laid upon her cheek was like the flush
of health. But all were wofully thin.

His well-cared-for stomach could with difficulty accept the
food awaiting him, and his "Thank you; only a bit of toast
buttered and a cup of tea, please," brought blushes to Marga-
ret's cheek at her inability to provide two of the simple articles
requested. Fortunately there had been a mine of food discov-

682 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

ered in the early fall in the mushrooms springing- up this year
abundantly in the old horse-pasture, the oldest grassy clearing,
and Dr. Klein had taught them to distinguish them from their
poison kith of the woods. These, dried, had stood between them
and hunger many winter days already, and from these Mr. Ches-
ter was able to make an imperfect meal.

In the night that followed this man had time to accuse him-
self of great negligence toward one so closely allied to himself,
but, after some restless hours of conscience-smiting, he slept
heavily and until a late hour next morning. Waking some
hours after the rest of the household, he started as if conscience-
smitten anew with the picture of the wan-faced boy by the fir-
side, and thinking, " I have delayed his chance for restoration by
so many more hours," hastened his dressing. Needless to say
that the bay bed-room had been devoted to his use, and coming
out of it into the great room, now encumbered with the boxes,
his first greetings were from the beautiful little girl. Very
modestly coming forward, she met him with a little speech meant
to be English, but strongly accented throughout : " Hast thou
well slept, mine uncle?"

To hear his sister speaking in a strange tongue with these in-
fants removed her again from his memory ; yet he found some-
thing very winning about this woman, even as a new character,
in whose genial presence he recalled Little of the rather reserved
girl at home. No one could feel long a stranger with Margaret,
and had they never before met Francis would soon have been
at his ease.

Now, as soon as his simple breakfast was despatched, he, right-
ly interpreting the glances of the young eyes, proceeded to the
opening of the boxes. First the Plymouth Rocks were released
in the barn until separate provision in the old hen-coops could
be arranged for the private occupation of these choice foreign-
ers. Cries of admiration in every note of the scale, and every
German expletive, greeted these fine specimens of poultry, un-
til Uncle Francis felt almost repaid for the trouble they had
cost him- and when from warm wrappings of wool a dozen eggs
were produced, in hope of some unseasonable setting-hen con-
tingency, Margaret's cheerful prophecies of an improved race at
Gruenwald showed appreciation. Ultimately five of these prov-
ed unchilled enough to hatch, and, with the caged trio, were the
progenitors of a breed called " Brenner Fowl " and " Eastern
Giants " indifferently, Plymouth Rock being meaningless here.

The provision-barrel next craved, attention, and before Mr.

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 683

Chester would go farther Margaret must sever and speedily
broil portions of a fowl for the children. The smell of the sa-
vory morsels so affected little Edmond that great tears gathered
in his large, sunken eyes and rolled down his white cheeks, but
not a word did he speak. " His silence hurts me," said his mo-
ther ; " he was the quickest of speech of any of my children."

When the first morsel was given him " his seizure of it,"
said Mr. Chester, "though a feeble motion from weakness, re-
minded me of nothing so much as the way in which I saw a
hungry tiger at a menagerie clutch a piece of meat that had been
tossed him, and I could only beg Margaret to cook and distri-
bute the fowl as rapidly as possible to all."

With appeased hunger on one side, and a lighter heart on the
other, they now turned to the opening of the other two boxes,
the trunk being an especial reserve for Christmas and to be kept
from the children at present.

And now it was Margaret's turn to feel her woman's weak-
ness as the collection of treasures was drawn forth clothing,
bedding, food, delicacies much more rapidly than they had been
packed. The bright new milk-pans shone so that the children
mistook them for silver, and the cries that had been smothered
before now broke into such as had saluted the fowls in the barn.
The fun that accompanied the first choking and strangling from
the peppermints sweet, slight misery for the moment was so
great as to put a stop to the unpacking.

The cake, which Mr. Chester had expected to be a crowning
delight, attracted them curiously ; but there was nothing like
recognition in their little eyes, and a pang went through his
heart as he said, half-aloud : " They don't know cake by sight,
and it is I who have defrauded them of this pleasure of child-
hood, as well as of their welfare in graver measure." And then
he could no longer restrain the accumulated feeling so long pent
up, and, turning to Margaret, said in a quavering voice, " I have
been a very poor brother " and could get no farther.

Margaret, deeply moved herself, was able to speak only after
a moment's pause, but hastened then, as he asked, " What have
you thought of me ? " to say, " How could you have suspected
our misery? And how can we ever think of you except as our
benefactor in the most trying hour of life, perhaps by God's
guidance tlie saviour of some of these little lives? Make no more
self-reproaches, dear brother, but enter into the joy that you have
created."

What more she might have said was interrupted by the com.

684 UT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

ing-in of Dr. Klein, and the warmly clasped hands of brother
and sister separated. And now, with a heart truly joyous,
Mr. Chester begged the doctor to take off his overcoat so
naming the comfortable which he assisted him in removing,
with a repressed smile as he thought: "He will not put that
on again."

Cunningly hiding Uncle Gil's garment, he allowed the doctor
to examine everything else, reserving the pan of drugs until the
last. The effect of this treasure upon the doctor was electrical.
Hugging his collection in both arms, he poured out such expres-
sions to his mixed audience, in German and English, that a stran-
ger like Mr. Chester might well have suspected him of a vice of
which no man than he was more innocent. But to see before
him the tools of his trade, so to speak, without which he had
been a crippled giant, his mind, as large as his body, unable here-
tofore to carry its results into action, and this in no mere ordinary
profession, but one in which the issues are life and death this
made him as a man out of his senses. Like the others, he had
suffered bravely so long.

Without delay he administered the desired tonic to the young,
er children, and with the wine prepared doses for the elder chil-
dren and their father. With his life-giving material in hand he
would have hastened forth on his work of mercy had not Mar-
garet pleaded for a brief delay, that she might supplement his
bounty.

" She will have to be restrained, Chester," said the doctor,
"or she will give away all that you have brought"; and in a low
tone delicately whispered : " She used to be the Lady Bountiful
of this region."

But Margaret was too terribly schooled now to yield to mere-
ly generous impulses. With speed taking the children aside
whose ages most nearly corresponded to those three of the
household where Elisa had been playing nurse, she clad them in
some of the newly-supplied garments, and, after careful conside-
ration and explanation to Elisa, made a parcel of those removed
for her to carry to this destitute family. For a part of the doc-
tor's errand was to convey Elisa again to the same house on his
good horse.

The clapping of her little hands and the light of her dancing
eyes demanded translation of her words to her admiring uncle,
whose enthusiasm grew with each glance at her beautiful little
face.

" She is glad that little Johnny Schultze will not have to lie in

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 685

bed again to-day, as he did yesterday, for cold, but can play with
his brother and sister."

Then came Elisa's own turn to be warmly dressed ; and when
her little garments were tossed out to mother from behind the
curtain, and Uncle Francis would have kept one, a perfect kalei-
doscope, to enforce the story he had to tell at home, he found
that it was still too valuable to be spared. " The orphan, the
orphan ! " came from all at once, and he learned of the existence
of an unfortunate child, a pauper now, supported each week in
a different family by charity, and the coming Sunday would
commence her week at the Brenners'. She was just Elisa's size,
though older, and was a protegee of this child, who had done
much to make life brighter to this waif, and was exultant with
this new opportunity.

Then a little, a prudent little, of the precious tea was taken,
and- Elisa taught how to make it for the sick woman ; and if ever
Margaret Chester rejoiced in the perishable nature of a blessing,
it was in the already evident truth that oranges will not keep.
Here she could conscientiously divide without defrauding her
own, so an addition the more was made to Elisa's bundle.

For one more only could the doctor be delayed Edmond.
With his brother-in-law he had despatched one of the little notes
that he was ever on the alert to sen^ Margaret, too lover-like still,
too like those written before marriage, for us to betray. This
sacrament is, or should be, a seal to outside confidence. But after
this old sweetheart a sweetheart still had unburdened his af-
fectionate reserves he owned to the suffering occasioned by cold
and prayed for the speedy despatch of any possible garment that
the boxes might hold. This had been so fully before Margaret's
eyes in the unpacking that the parcel stood already arranged
warm underwear, the Cardigan jacket and overcoat, and some
of Grandma Chester's knitted socks, and in one pocket the to-
nic and some words written late in the evening lest the crowded
day-moments should fail to allow of them.

Taking a final survey with care, Dr. Klein touched one of the
bottles of cod-liver oil, saying: " There is more in the other five
than can possibly be needed here, as after a certain progress
I should substitute something else, and if you will spare one

it will be the turning-point in H B 's case" naming a

patient, well known to Margaret, threatened with consumption
from inanition after fever.

And now, rising to go, little Elisa radiant in tying on a new
hood and wearing real mittens in place of yesterday's hay-bag,

686 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

the doctor would fain have " folded the drapery of his couch
about him " again, when Mr. Chester drew out the great knotted
beaver. " Try this first," said he.

Had it been a coat of ordinary dimensions it would not have
been so surprising ; but this great garment, looking as if made
for him he rubbed his eyes as if waking, slipped into it, and, if
any tailor could have criticised some trivial fold or misfit, our
good friends looking on saw nothing of the kind. Franz, the
keen-eyed, starting up, cried, completely puzzled, " But how did
they know the Herr Doctor's measure? "

And the Herr Doctor himself, hushed with a sense of a great
Goodness merciful and protecting, replied, in subdued and reve-
rent tones, " God knew my measure, child."*

So the missionary pair went forth, and Margaret had all that
she could do to divide her preparations for dinner with the put-
ting away of the contents of the box, while Mr. Chester, a charm-
ing father, made friends with the children. His attention was
especially given to little Edmond, who, after a long sleep, would
from time to time open his little jacket to look in and touch the
red flannel beneath ; and in the late afternoon, after a really good
dinner and more refreshing sleep, his feeble voice was heard
trying to pipe a shaky little tune, at which his mother stopped to
listen and send a smile of hope and gratitude to Mr. Chester.

At sunset came the doctor and Elisa with fresh material for
home delight. Poor Frau Schultze had cried so over the tea that
the herr had said " she was salting instead of sugaring it," and
" Johnny Schultze in our Eddie's old clothes was a happy dan-
dy," and " every one in the house had tasted that orange ex-
cept the week-old baby."

And the doctor's graver discussion of patients relieved or in
a way to be so, of grateful people who had invoked blessings on
him, on Mr. Chester and all his family, brought teaps more than
once. And Franz, who had contrived to be at the station, told
that the train only slowed, without stopping, and how the doc-
tor's well-directed toss of his great bundle " nearly toppled papa
over," and he shook his fists at him, pretending wrath, " and
threw kisses at me," said the breathless boy.

:< Warm and happy he is to-night," said Margaret, with a
meaning glance to her brother that added for her, " thanks to
you."

The children's supper over, they clustered around her for
evening talk or story, and soon came the evening hymn, which

* A^true incident.

1883] OUT OF THE WEST. 687

surprised Mr. Chester in its execution ; then, because of his
presence, the little ones retreated behind the curtain to say the
prayers in which he could not join, missing mamma, of course.

On the following day Elisa stayed at home, Mrs. Schultze
being now self-sustaining since the clothed children were less
care, and Margaret, arranging matters for an hour's absence, went
out with her brother to show him the farm. After an explora-
tion of the premises near the house, Margaret, fortified with her
hew rubber boots, essayed the cliff path, so fraught with momen-
tous decision to herself and Edmond.

The cold had abated with a fresh snowfall, and the world was
so full of beauty that they were tempted on to the point of view
that commanded the three ravines. ' These were most beautiful
in the distance, with their evergreens half hid, half revealed in
snow, and the near woods were outlined in white, the whole pic-
ture sparkling under a blue sky. Looking down upon all this
beauty in almost Alpine stillness, and happy in the result of his
recent good action, Mr. Chester's pulses stirred anew, and again
a question of import to Margaret was being weighed in the bal-
ances.

The sound from the stream below, too deep and swift to be
ice-bound, came faintly up and brought out the old story of the
aspirations for a saw-mill. " It used to be so tempting," said
Margaret, " and at one time we thought that the way was clear
to found our probable comfort for life. Even of late the Meyers
have sent their circulars to Edmond, full of brilliant and entic-
ing statements of people who have become rich with water pri-
vileges greatly inferior to ours. The Meyers are the firm who
establish the mills as soon as a certain fraction can be paid down.
They hold the mill and its site by mortgage, anci take the re-
ceipts and contr.ol until interest and instalments are paid."

. A droll* expression marked Mr. Chester's face as he spoke :
" And now and then, I suppose, when the debtor becomes em-
barrassed they sweep off mill, land, and all into their own pos-
session, having secured interest and instalments as they went
along. They must be rich and well able to renew the operation,
if they have continued it through many years and transactions."
Margaret only smiled at the picture and dismissed it as she
would any unpleasant consideration not likely to affect her.

" It would have been an added misfortune," said her brother
" had you in the present crisis' seen so fine a portion of vour pro-
perty involved, for they doubtless would have involved an ample
piece in the mill-site." Margaret pointed out the limits that

688 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

they had fixed, and Chester laughed outright. " Robbers ! " said
he, " since it is with the weak they deal."

Then, looking along the line of the stream, a new thought
struck him. " It would be fortunate for Edmond," said he, "if
any railway extension, should cross this. See, his land lies in a
belt on each side the stream, the only level in a long distance
among all these hills, as you point it out." " Yes," said Mar-
garet, smiling, " our fifty acres or mine, as I believe they still
are follow the stream between the hills. Behold a possible fu-
ture millionairess,'' she said jestingly, " who would barter her land-
right for the mess of pottage that insures a very moderate sup-
port for her children and the instruction due to ordinary intel-
ligence." But Mr. Chester was thinking too deeply to reply to
her jest, and soon they descended to the farm.

The next day was Sunday, and Mr. Chester did not fail to ob-
serve that in addition to the usual preparation there was a fresh
instalment of parcels. The remainder of the much-mended
clothing was carefully divided and laid out upon the table, and
to it were added 'such gifts of his bounty, especially in the more
perishable food, as their joint prudence advised, he being taken
into council.

In the end there were seven packages, and with each a sim-
ple tale of want that Mr. Chester felt was engraved on his
memory and he would imprint on those of his children. If the
packing of the articles so touched him, picture their distribution,
when at the Sunday gathering he was made to appear as their
benefactor to the recipients and encountered the personal gra-
titude of all. Not all : two elderly people and a sick boy, minis-
tered to, in their homes, sent their prayers and blessings after
him many days after he was on the homeward flight, and he
knew it well. To those present he seemed but little less tbe
messenger of good than he had to the little Brenners.*

On Monday he saw some of the country in the doctor's com-
panionship and learned something of pioneer poverty ; then
came a storm that imprisoned him with nephews and nieces un-
til his farewell. That was brightened by a very manifest im-
provement in the condition of the children, especially of little
Edmond, who had come back to his most original little self, and
would now and then launch forth droll speeches with his gath-
ering strength. " That's the brightest of the lot," said Chester
once to Margaret, adding to himself: "What a life to have
lost ! "

If ever a man was bound to domestic enjoyment and longed

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 689

for his own hearthstone, that man was Edmond Brenner ; and no
one word expressive of ordinary longing or homesickness can
fairly describe the state of mind which was a part of his experi-
ence during six weeks. Before Chester's arrival and the relief it
afforded there was the knowledge of the immediate necessities
that he was supplying ; but in the light of speedily subsequent
events his bondage became intolerable, and in result the effect of
this exile was life-long, he showing ever after an almost childish
reluctance to absent himself from home for any long interval.

But that is anticipating. What we have- now to enjoy is
Christmas a Christmas for which the opening of the trunk had
been reserved, and for which a final surprise was in reserve for
Margaret as well as the others.

She had aided Edmond too many years in the placing of the
Christmas-tree to be unskilful now, and the beautiful branches of
the small one that Franz and his mother were able to secure and
set filled the children with new joy without a gift thereon. But
what language can describe the scene when the tree shone out
to their amazed eyes laden with richer gifts than they had yet
known ?

The finer articles of clothing, the knife for Franz a famous
four-blader the music-box for Edmond the smaller, who r no\v on
his legs, was able to execute a feeble dance with the others around
the tree ; the tools for papa and the toys for the baby pair ;
for Margaret herself the secret box sent by Mrs. Chester, her
sister-in-law, brought smiles and tears in quick alternation. A
little wardrobe that seemed very simple to the one woman far
exceeded in luxury the daintiest preparation that the other had
ever dared make, and now in their extremest poverty, when the
barest needs were with difficulty foreseen, this gift spoke vol-
umes of delicate sympathy. It was the heart of one mother
speaking to'another, and it said :

" You in whom hope was ever triumphant, failing only in dir-
est need, hope again. You to whom the promise was dimmed
only by the sufferings entailed on your others, take heart. For
this little one, too, there is room and provision, and it shall bring
sunshine, too, to you, Heart of Gold [Edmond's name for her],
whose courage and faith are unfaltering." Who like a woman
can wound her kind, who like a woman fathom the intricacies
and delicacies of woman's being? No well- filled purse could
have said to Margaret Brenner what the little white pile of mus-
lin and linen and flannel said and sang that Christmas eve.

Elisa's doll had been pronounced " really lovely " (though
VOL. xxxvi. 44

690 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

inexpensive) at home by the little Chester girls, critics as they
were of many shop-windows, and it shone out in the wilderness
like a fairy creature. "Ah ! beautiful one," said the child, " what
a world you must have come from." And she looked as if ex-
pecting to find wings on the creature.

And some weeks later, when Margaret found that the gold
beads were not to be Elisa's, she had no fear of arousing jealousy
on the part of the elder child in telling her that she might have
possessed them ; for, besides the love for the last new-comer, the
child, whose affectionate nature exceeded all love of adornment,
turned to the doll, saying : " Have I not mine own little beautiful
one? How could I want the beads? "

More than ever did Margaret long for the holy celebration of
the day, more than ever feel the poverty of Gruenwald in its ab-
sence. On two Christmas days only since their marriage had
a priest been able to reach the settlement.

One great pleasure they gave and received, though of brief
duration. On the chance of the merest glance at the dear hus-
band and father Margaret assembled such of the little group as
were fit, and not without difficulty, at the station, thinking: " He
shall see what he can of their improved condition in health and
clothing."

As may be imagined, the train was not full or hurried, no one
travelling on Christmas day who could avoid it, and there were
a few freights for Gruenwald. For nearly ten blissful minutes
Edmond was reunited to wife and four of his children, and in
those ten minutes how much was exchanged !

But the great news, the surprise, was after all from the good
brother who had lately visited them. Mr. Chester had ascer-
tained from Edmond on the return trip a pretty exact account of
the land, its value and resources, and what he would be able to
pay from crops in way of interest on any mill investment. So,
having concluded his own business in Chicago to his entire
satisfaction in securing a large contract, he had made it his plea-
sure to investigate the subject of saw-mills.

The Meyers were, as he suspected, a firm who had made a
great deal of money out of too eager settlers, too anxious to
grow rich and too poor to sustain their enterprises, and who
either continued the mills they had started with profit only to
the Meyers, or, if in undesirable locations, saw the machinery
transferred to some other mill and the land swept away. Of late
the old machinery was often an evil in itself, carried, as it was,
from one place to another.

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 691

The railway company, anxious to stand well with Mr. Ches-
ter, put him in better hands. An honorable and well-known
firm, learning- the particulars from him, offered terms far more
business-like, and which were practicable on the advance of
a slightly larger proportional sum than that demanded by the
Meyers. If Mr. Chester would pay the expenses of their pro-
specting agent, and the situation proved what he had described,
most reasonable terms might be made, and Mr. Chester had
written to say that " the surveyor's visit might be expected be-
fore New Year's, and that on his favorable report Uncle Gil and
himself were prepared to act." " So go home and make ready
for company, dear," said Edmond, and then it was leave-taking
and away.

Another important measure had been effected in Chicago by
the collection of the payment due for the wheat crops sold not
only by Edmond but also by one of the Gruenwald men, which,
by bringing this amount into circulation at the settlement, was
the first movement of relief in several households in fact, the
first break in the long-felt " hard times " there. Edmond's own
family were now beyond danger of any such crisis as they had
just passed through.

The weeks of separation seemed like years instead. Twice
Edmond sought and obtained favors from the conductor, having
made himself a favorite, as he was wont to do in his youth every-
where. Once he took Franz over the road, which he did experi-
mentally, and once Margaret herself, who was able to absent her-
self from home for the requisite twenty-four hours by the ad-
mirable management of Elisa.

But Edmond's own home-coming was the festival of the
year, and a feast indeed they made of it. Nothing less would
serve the children than having out the Christmas-tree and re-
decorating it. " It was so lonely a Christmas without the Vater-
lie," said they. And so the branches were clothed anew, and
special prominence assigned his shining tools and his clothing,
while Elisa's doll was made to hold a little banner of "Wel-
come " for the occasion. And the great cake made by grand-
mamma's own hands had been left to be cut at this time, and
proved to be a fruit-cake fit to " keep " for months. And Dr.
Klein, who had loaned Edmond his horse at the station that he
might hurry home, came up with the slow oxen, bringing more
treasure. For Edmond, finding himself in prosperity on the pay-
ment of certain wages, could not resist sending a trifle for Mrs.
Barbour's investment for Margaret and the children. And the

692 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

something 1 proved to be for Margaret the handsomest .great
bureau with brass trimmings of unusual elegance. Mrs. Bar-
bour had long " had her eye on it," as she said, but her own hard
times forbade the indulgence. Turned into the auction-room
with its surface bruised and ornaments in verdigris, it had finally
fallen to Mrs. Barbour at a low price. With her usual energy
she had planned its restoration, and partly hiring, partly polish-
ing with her own hands, there was developed a massive and cost-
ly piece of furniture. A piece of carving, whose loss had helped
its utter sacrifice, had been matched and replaced by Edmond,
who had worked out dreary evenings on it.

In its drawers were some small matters for the children pic-
tures, a toy or two, a little box of small cost fitted as a work-box
for Elisa, and a few tools (real tools, not playthings) for Franz,
treasures from the same old mine, the auction-room. That there
was joy in the household need not be stated ; the violin took its
part and spoke for all. That there was thanksgiving need
scarcely be added ; these glad and happy hearts knew whence
all these good gifts and great blessings proceeded, and which-
ever heart had most cruelly suffered, been most severely tried,
had the fullest share of gratitude to offer.

" He prayeth best who loveth best."

And now with the turn of the tide came that flood of pros-
perity that seems, in the telling as in the truth, to belong to some
page of Arabian recital as fairly as to the American West, where
alone such extremes are lived put in a generation.

In the later January days, a week after the home-coming of
her father, another little girl was counted in the household, to
whom grandma's name and gift were but expressions of all the
welcome extended to her. For the day before the final negotia-
tions had been completed between Edmond and Mr. Chester and
Uncle Gil, and the Chicago firm, and farther delay was now
only occasioned by the season and weather. Want had fled from
this hearthstone.

The mill was a success from first to last, threatening, indeed, to
sweep away the farming interests altogether in the business that
it created. But Edmond was no longer a man to be carried by
the fever of speculation in any form. Agreeing absolutely with
Margaret in feeling that the mill should be their own, bought
and paid for before the money it brought should be reinvested
for increase of business, the trade that would have ensued was

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 693

delayed for a year or two, but even that found Edmond growing
a rich man with a rapidity that would have proved a temptation
to a less well-balanced mind.

In their prosperity they were as unselfish as they had been
in their poverty, and, bringing into their employment one after
another of the Gruenwald men and boys at mill or farm, there
was hardly a family who at the end of a few years had not in
some degree shared the prosperity growing up with " Brenner's
mill."

Now Edmond reaped to the full the benefit of his uncut
woods, every tree more than trebling its former value, and the
rich new land, brought under such cultivation as he could now
afford, smiled in its harvests. The drawbacks to their perfect
enjoyment in these days was the absence of Franz and Elisa,
whose education they felt thus obliged to secure, and, placing
them first with good Mrs. Barbour, and later in the quieter
home of Mrs. Neale, they saw them only during school vaca-
tions. This was a matter in which Edmond showed less forti-
tude than Margaret, and it seemed as if the suffering that he had
experienced in his own absence of years before would imprison
him and his children unreasonably. But the bright, strong
woman at his side prevailed, and while she stayed there was
abundant consolation. Poor Margaret dared not imagine a visit
to the East, far less suggest it.

" One of these days, Heart of Gold," said he, calling her by
the old, fond name, " we'll have schools of our own at Gruen-
wald, and the little ones shall not leave us, as Franz and Elisa
have done, for great changes are coming to Gruenwald." And
so it proved. While their healthy, happy children were divided
between city streets and now thinning woods, the busy brains
and swollen purses of financiers were seeking outlet in a grand
new scheme.

A railway director, working over land and upon real surfaces
while other directors sat in their offices and studied the illusive
surfaces of maps, discovered that a route unnoticed, unthought
of by any other person would make a connection between two
most important existing railways weaving several States to-
gether. It seemed at first so circuitous that, as he expected,
derision greeted its proposal to the " board." But as this
patient gentleman, unfolding a map of his own, showed tract
after tract of level plain, or prairie, unbroken by rock and only
by smallest rivers, and showed by clear, accurate calculation the
small cost in proportion to the distance accomplished, the faces

OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

changed expression, the proposition was listened to, adopted.
We pass the wire-pulling, negotiation, enmity, and delay that
seem the birth-pangs of every such scheme.

To render it a success at the Gruenwald station now a junc-
tion twenty-five of Margaret's acres were needed. Five years
ago it could have been bought at a very moderate price, if we
receive Margaret's statement made to her brother, but to-day
the position of things had greatly changed. The very projection
of this railway gave Gruenwald a place in the world and on the
maps, and the directors, coming up to the place to look matters
up, had no thought of approaching the richest man in the town
with offers such as they would have made the brakeman or the
brakeman's wife. The proposal that they actually made Marga-
ret quietly telegraphed to her brother's business friends in Chica-
go, who, being " posted," responded, " Double the amount and
accept." This little manoeuvre was one of Edmond's surprises in
life, he thinking the first sum ample, and to this day likes to
praise Margaret's thought and coolness when she answered the
directors. The money was paid, and twenty-five of Margaret's
acres were left to feel the benefit of the new road, and the town
that sprang into existence quickly upon it.

Now came wealth ; heretofore we have spoken only of pros-
perity. Margaret's first use of her moderate finances from the
sale of her land had been to devote the most sightly and com-
modious spot of the remainder to the construction of a chapel,
the timber and sawing to be Edmond's share, the rest to be paid
for from the money of the sale. " There is plenty left," she said,
"to spoil them all," when some one hinted at wronging the
children.

This gift she would have liked to offer completed to the
bishop of the diocese ; but, free from conceit as she was, she
sought his counsel first. The bishop, a man of large experience,
informing himself well about the position of things at Gruen-
wald, accepted the gift of land, blessed the donor and her family,
and begged them to wait two years more for the construction
of the chapel, while the offering of money secured by its interest,
the hire of a plain building and defrayed the expenses of a priest
for weekly Mass.

At the end of the appointed two years the bishop came in.
person to Gruenwald with an architect and two gentlemen,
members of firms with whom he would probably contract. By
the fortune that follows certain railway combinations the wealth
of three outlying districts was pouring into and through Gruen-

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 695

wald as a centre, and one of the phases of growth seen only at
the West was taking place here.

Gruenwald, a settlement, then a town, had bloomed into an
incorporated city. The advance of civilization had stretched
out in every direction, bearing its influences to the very cliffs
that sheltered the Brenner household. A fine road replaced the
rude approach that Margaret and Mrs. Barbour first traversed,
Edmond's neat carriage and bay span trundling the bishop and
his companions smoothly over the really elegant bridge, and
without the least jolt at the spot where Mrs. Baibour had once
felt obliged to get down and walk.

The house which Edmond and Margaret could never bear to
abandon had been so enlarged and 'added to from time to time
as to present quite a massive building, but in strict harmony
with its first design, and so maintained a most rural appearance
on the edge of the rapidly approaching city. Ample expendi-
ture had made the interior one of taste as well as comfort, and
certain people who liked to visit there would excuse the exte-
rior to other friends in a patronizing way as " such a dear, quaint
place." Needless to say they were not intimates ; such never
felt that place or people wanted excusing or idealizing. No
increase of wealth could convert the Brenners into pretentious
people.

Welcomed by an attractive and intelligent family, the bishop
unfolded his plans for a much larger and more imposing church
than any one would have dreamed of two years before, but
which did not now seem impossible ; nor did any one doubt his
grace when he pointed out the opportunities for future enlarge-
ment, saying that " they would be needed." Then, addressing
himself directly to Margaret, he told her of his knowledge of her
work during all these years, as reported again and again by visit-
ing clergy, in terms that woke the happiest sentiments of her
being, and then bestowed his blessing on this household.

To portray the continued growth and prosperity of Gruen-
wald it will be as easy an illustration as any to state that, large
as was the bishop's scale of building, the additions had to be
made, transepts and galleries, in less than four years for the full
Accommodation of the people, two Protestant churches being re-
quired for such members of the community, but smaller and in
larger debt by the variation of some members who leaned to a
third denomination and wished to worship after the manner of
" Six-Principled Baptists," as they described themselves. Bap-
tists at the West are a flora of many species.

696 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

And now we approach a leave-taking that fills us with pain.
We should have liked, step by step, to follow the fortunes of this
family and a score of others, their companions from their early
days, during the subsequent ten years, to illustrate more fully
truths of a great prophecy which is opening its scroll to an on-
looking world in this swift, gigantic spread of civilization at the
West.

But we are permitted only to follow the fortunes of our first
friends, and look in upon them at their last reunion at the wood-
land home, now an elegant "place" whose only hint of the
forest lies in its chalet-like construction, resembling much the
larger Swiss houses in Berne, and in the groups of trees of such
growth as only long years in primeval woods develop.

The busy engineer, Franz Brenner, has come from his Cali-
fornia home to introduce his wife and infant daughter to the
Margaret for whom she is named. His career has so far been
one of marked prosperity, the result of industry, natural ability,
and long study of European work, which he seems to have
fathomed and applied in a manner of his own in America. His
townsmen say that he has " a genius " for such work, and dub
him, in their patois, " a rising man."

Hardly less prominent, as the editor of a Chicago newspaper,
is Edmond, Jr., whose dry, intelligent observations by the fireside
were the earliest indications of a talent that reaches and influ-
ences hundreds of homes. His readers in general believe that
here is a man who, though warm in interests, religious, political,
social, is both impartial and incorruptible. " But he has not
lived his life out yet," said Mrs. Barbour one day, " and that
speech is safer to make after a man is dead."

Waldemar, first associate with, has finally succeeded, his god-
father, Dr. Klein, and is looking for a partner to divide his over-
large practice in Gruenwald, though there are other doctors to
share it without invitation. Edmond complains that there is not
a child left to share his own work, which has been the care of
his property since the city swallowed up the saw-mill, unless he
find such aid in Johann or Berl, younger boys born since Emma.

Margot is a graceful young lady in the household, more
nearly resembling her mother in person and manner than any o|
the children, and Emma, the last baby in which we interested
ourselves, a school-girl still, full of promise. She brings a prize
from her last examination to show the home-returning brothers
and the most eagerly expected sister.

For of all this talented family, whose qualities would seem to

1883.] OUT OF THE WEST. 697

justify the theory of a superiority in mingled races, Elisa Brenner
is the most beautiful and gifted. Educated for a time at the
East and under her uncle's proud protection, the voice that
rose so sweetly in the evening hymn proved to be the voice of
a great singer. In the schools and conservatories of Europe it
grew to a fame that, preceding her return to her native land,
prepared the laurels that have already fallen at her feet, while
the tribute of the press has been undivided in approval of this
young singer. For four years she has been a star in the musical
world, and because she has in her direct, singularly simple na-
ture scorned any other than her American-German name with
no Italian turn or prelude, we have been obliged to veil it and
that of her family.

She is a woman of great beauty and her soul reflects her
personal loveliness. Nothing pleases her better than to be ask-
ed to sing by some poor child or old woman in the institutions
of charity that she is ever visiting in great cities. Then it is
that her soul finds expression, if ever, and happy the ear that
listens then. One day, when she had been singing to some blind
children, a bird, perched on the branch of a tree, poured in a re-
sponse through an open window, as if greeting something akin to
himself, and she took up the characteristic turn of his notes and
warbled an improvisation of her own from it that was strong-
ly suggestive of Edmond's old manner on the violin.

And now she is going home to the woods with keener antici-
pations of singing to mamma and papa and the boys than she
has often felt before critical audiences. Her song is a gladness,
not a pride, and she is carrying it home with an inner self as un-
spoiled by praise as she bore it away.

With a bound she has cleared the carriage-step, dismissing it
at a distance from the door, that the too-curious driver may not
mar the greeting. Papa Edmond stands at the door, thinking
that he heard wheels just now ; and seeing his noble daughter,
whose name is destined more than any other to shed lustre on
and perpetuate his own in fame, he calls eagerly to her mother,
who is near, in the old loving words, " Heart of Gold ! "

Dr. Klein has been an inmate of the house since his wife's
death, which left him less alone than before, and is a second
father to them alt. His own report of himself is this, written in
his last letter to Mr. Chester : .

" My valued friend, my dear friend, do you not feel life intensify? I
do. Minutes now contain more to me than hours used to in depth of feel-
ing and condensation of perception and experience. Will this go on ?

698 OUT OF THE WEST. [Feb.,

What, then, will it be at eighty ? How will it be in eternity ? I continually
picture myself looking back from there to this dear world with its mysteries
unravelled, its sorrows dimmed or forgotten, its joys ah ! its joys brighter
than ever. It seems as if in a happy future it would be such a dear little
world to remember."

" I believe," said Uncle Gil, listening to the reading of this
letter, " that it is with such feelings that healthy, happy people
approach old age and death."

And to the doctor there was peculiar joy in Elisa's visit, for
she was the very embodiment and illustration of his theories.
It was words falling from their lips in conversation that stirred
this chronicle :

" Into the great alembic of nations, the West, the races are
pouring their elements. Swede and Norwegian, Irish, French,
German, Italian, and Russian, they come high and low, rich
and poor, ignorant and cultivated, the impoverished noble and
the tramp, every element of being and in every stage. And what
will the fusion produce? The highest and finest will survive,
the worst and weakest being most perishable."

So far the doctor spoke and paused, then Elisa :

" It lies in the question of Christianity and its speedy, wide-
spread introduction whether the enormous development in this
expansive West, the Coming Man, be a gigantic barbarian, or
whether, in this great soul-chemistry, the infusion of the highest
element will result in something grander and stronger, mightier
yet gentler, than has before existed something that, lower than
the angels, ranks higher than man has yet stood."

Here Mr. Chester, who had arrived unannounced, entering
heard Elisa's words, and, looking back on a crisis in his life and
hers, says :

" Not to the West alone belongs the responsibility. Let the
Eastern Christian asking, ' Am I my brother's keeper ? ' reflect
on what, in the final demand, shall cause the recording angel to
write against his name, ' Fidelis fuit ! ' "

1883.] A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. 699

A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE.

" Yet to the relics of thy splendor past
Shall pilgrims, pensive but unwearied, throng."

Childe Harold.

" CUT deeper," said the French soldier to the surgeon ; " you
will find Napoleon in my heart." Pity the idol were not a no-
bler one ; but be that as it may, it illustrates the fact that taste
rather than style, as Buffon says, is^the man. We all have our
idols, and with most of us the difference is more of kind than of
degree. Speaking the same mother-tongue, England's literature
is ours by right of inheritance, and, quarrel as we may with our
English stock,

" Yet still, from either beach,
The voice of blood shall reach
We are one."

Next to the literature which belongs to a nation's history there
is nothing of greater interest than the haunts of its scholars and
men of genius. Every spot connected with authors grows in im-
portance as time pronounces its verdict upon the value of their
productions. Old churches and buildings, often in themselves
of little moment, are visited by the traveller because within
their walls or their churchyards rests the mortal part of those
who have enriched our language and its literature. St. Giles'
Church, C.ripplegate, suggests the image of Milton, who is buried
there, and of rare Ben Jonson, who was married at its altar.
Hampstead recalls Keats and his walks over the daisy-covered
fields. Highgate reminds us of Coleridge, the inspired charity-
boy, and his good friends the Gilmans, who never deserted him
in his darkest days. St. John's Wood is always associated with
the genial Elia and the unfortunate sister to whom he was so de-
voted, and with his delightful friend and brother humorist, Tom
Hood. What visions of the best days of English letters do the
Temple, Temple Church, and Temple Gardens revive! Within
the walls of the old church John Selden lies buried, and in the
Gardens one looks with sorrow on the neglected grave of Gold-
smith, while the Inner and Middle Temple are for ever linked
with the greatest names which adorn English annals with
Shakspere, Johnson, and Burke, with Cowper, Clarendon, Field-

700 A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

ing, and Rowe. Congeniality of taste and pursuit draws men
together in every age, and the so-called artificial distinctions
of society have their essential origin in the very constitution of
affairs. The club and the salon occupy a large space in the his-
tory of literature. Mme. Mohl, in her Life of Mme. Rfaamier, re-
marks that "the clubs in England and the salons in France have
long been places where, like the porticoes of Athens, public af-
fairs have been discussed and public men criticised." The resi-
dence of Aspasia drew Pericles and Socrates within its enchant-
ed walls ; with Vittoria Colonna's one always thinks of Michael
Angelo and Raphael, with Elenora d'Este's of Ariosto and Tasso,
with Mme. du Deffand's and Mme. Recamier's of Voltaire and
Chateaubriand, and with the Hotel Rambouillet of Racine and
Bossuet. In the closing chapter of the Final Memorials of Charles
Lamb Talfourd has sketched in relief the two celebrated resorts
of London literary society of fifty years ago. The suppers of
Lamb at his unpretentious home in Inner Temple Lane, the din-
ners of Lord Holland at Holland House, and the remarkable men
and women who frequented these different circles, call up almost
every name of note in England since the beginning of the cen-
tury. No one who has ever read Macaulay's noble tribute to
the late Lord Holland can have forgotten the graphic picture he
has given of Holland House, its surroundings and its habitues.
" They will remember," says he, " how the last debate was dis-
cussed in one corner and the last comedy of Scribe in another,
while Wilkie gazed in modest admiration on Reynolds' ' Baretti ';
while Mackintosh turned over Thomas Aquinas to verify a quo-
tation ; while Talleyrand related conversations with Barras at the
Luxembourg, or his ride with Lannes over the field of Austerlitz.
They will remember, above all, the grace and the kindness, far
more admirable than grace with which the princely hospitality
of that ancient mansion was dispensed. They will remember the
venerable and benignant countenance and the cordial voice of
him who bade them welcome. ' They will remember that temper
which years of pain, of sickness, of lameness, of confinement
seemed only to make sweeter and sweeter ; and that frank polite-
ness which at once relieved all the embarrassment of the young-
est and most timid writer or artist who found himself for the
fir'st time among ambassadors and earls. They will remember
that constant flow of conversation, so natural, so animated, so va-
rious, so rich with observation and anecdote ; that wit which
never gave a wound ; that exquisite mimicry which ennobled in-
stead of degrading ; that goodness of heart which appeared in

1883.] A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. 701

every look and accent, and gave additional value to every talent
and acquirement." * The history of Holland House calls up a
long and illustrious roll of men distinguished in every depart-
ment of thought. In its library, stored " with the varied learning
of many lands and many ages," what a tableau vivant does Mac-
aulay's outline present ! In statesmanship there are Charles
James Fox, Grenville, Sheridan, Brougham, Palmerston, Lynd-
hurst, Melbourne, Grey, Eldon, and Grattan ; in literature, sci-
ence, and art, Sydney Smith, Jeffrey, Horner, Washington Irv-
ing, George Ticknor, Guizot, Byron, Moore, Rogers, Mme. de
Stael, the two Humboldts, Landseer, Lawrence, Leslie, Canova,
and Chantrey. Did ever the private residence of one man gath-
er together such a brilliant coterie ? It is no matter of surprise
that the cultivated traveller should seek out, among his earliest
pilgrimages in London, the mansion so intimately connected with
the genius and wit of both the Old and the New World. Litera-
ture and science and art, in truth, know no nationality. The
world of mind is the universe of man :

" Respublica literarum est totius mundi."

Leaving Hyde Park on a charming August morning, a drive
of two miles brought us in front of Holland House. We were
disappointed in the appearance of the edifice, having associated
in our mind an exterior as well as an interior grandeur. It is
a substantial old pile of red brick somewhat after the earlier
Renaissance style. Its architecture is of the mongrel Gothic of
the age of James I., and in spite of the cumbersome fagade there
is about it a certain picturesqueness which alwaj-s accompanies
age when well cared for. This venerable domain, embowered
amid trees and shrubbery, still retains an air of dignified seclu-
sion, suggesting that idea of privacy which is so marked a cha-
racteristic of the English mind. The demands of trade are so un-
ceasing that suburban retreats of historic renown must yield in
course of time to its insatiable behests. Macaulay has predicted
that even the last survivors of our generation will search in vain,
amid new squares and new streets, for the site of this once far-
famed dwelling. That Holland House will become but a mem-
ory we have no doubt, but that its associations and traditions,
so closely .interwoven with the best literature of England for
a century, will pass away with the dismantling of its turrets is
an impossibility. The 'annalist and the engraver will preserve

* Essays, vol. iv. p. 72.""

702 A LONDON' LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

all the essential features which have made it the most notable
mansion of modern London. Although its spacious rooms are
now almost silent and deserted, yet, with no great stretch of
imagination, we could retouch the stately edifice and well-kept
grounds with all the splendor that once shone there. Like Ales-
sandro <Verri, in his Notti Romane, we could repeople it with the
illustrious dead who had once enjoyed its magnificent hospi-
tality, and bid them renew the scenes which literary history and
biography have made so familiar. Every spot within and with-
out has its own associations, embalmed with some delightful
memory of poet, philosopher, statesman, artist, or wit. At no
period in its history do the reminiscences glow with such match-
less coloring as when Sheridan, Erskine, Burke, and Windham
together shared

"The feast of reason and the flow of soul."*

What splendid sallies of wit and wisdom were evoked by men of
such high gifts the drollery of Sheridan, the eloquence of Ers-
kine, the criticism of Burke, and the courteous attention and
polished bearing of Windham, who was considered " the finest
gentleman of his age " or a few years later when Mackintosh, the
cold, self-contained Scotchman, encountered the magnetic en-
thusiasm and argumentative skill of Mme. de Stael ; when the
gay poet of Erin, with spirit light as air, charmed every one
with his Irish ballads, sung with pathos so exquisite that all
hearts were touched ; and when Byron, just coming into fame,
proud and self-conscious, looked coldly on, a silent spectator,
unmoved either by mirthful sally or pathetic song. But the
history of Holland House has its dark chapter. The clique of
George Selwyn, entertaining but dissolute, gained a fatal hold
upon young Charles James Fox and enticed him to reckless hab-
its which wasted his substance and embittered his life. Upon
themes like this we do not wish to dwell, and gladly turn aside
to less painful reminiscences.

A frequent visitor at Holland House was Lord Brougham,
who in the midst of his immense labors managed to secure time
for the social demands upon him by rising at daybreak and set-
tling himself in the breakfast-room for hours before the fam-
ily were astir. It was here that his host found him quietly
at work upon his Education Bill on the morning of the day
upon which he was to make his magnificent defence of Queen

* Pope, Satire i. book ii.

1883.] A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. 703

Caroline an effort which became a leading sensation of the time.
The wrongs of the ill-fated woman appealed deeply to his gene-
rous heart, and he threw his whole strength into her cause. Un-
happy as was her lot, its greatest misfortune was the being united
in any way to the heartless, brainless libertine whom Thackeray
so well characterizes as " nothing but a coat and a wig, and a
mask smiling below it nothing but a great simulacrum." * It
was in the Gilt Room, first fitted up by Rich, Earl of Holland,
for a sumptuous entertainment in honor of Charles I. and his
royal bride, the Princess Henrietta Maria, that at a later period
Henry Fox, the first Baron Holland, gathered at a memorable
ball the beauty and fashion of the English metropolis. It was
" then that the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, so unmercifully
satirized in the Letters ofjtmius, "cut in at whist " with Rigby
and Lady Townshend Smollett's Lady of Quality while Horace
Walpole and Calcraft " only looked on " ; and George Selwyn,
the Beau Brummel of his day, enjoyed the light fantastic toe
with Miss Kitty Compton. It was in what is now the dining-
hall that Addison, who had married the Lady Warwick, sent for
his ward, the young Earl of Warwick, whom he had tried to re-
claim from what Macaulay facetiously calls the fashionable amuse-
ment of beating watchmen, breaking windows, and rolling wo-
men in hogsheads down Holborn Hill that he might see how a
Christian could die. Addison's was a strange preparation for
death, for in this same room, towards the close of life, he would
pace up and down with a bottle of port at one end and a bottle
of sherry at the other. Before his health began to fail, to es-
cape the arrogance of the then mistress of Holland House he fre-
quented the taverns and clubs, where he could enjoy in peace
the companionship of old friends. At no period in the history
of English letters were. public morals so degenerate ; but it must
be remembered that it was the day of Swift and Sterne, who
held ecclesiastical livings within the gift of the Anglican Es-
tablishment. The convivial excesses of Addison were perhaps
more the result of these post-prandial visits than of the timidity
of his disposition, whose spell was broken, as Macaulay says, by
the free use of wine. Matrimonial infelicities certainly increased
the temptations to which he easily yielded. Addison's writing-
table still stands in the library of Holland House. It is a curious
little table, covered with a green cloth, now faded into a yellowish
color and here and there bespattered with ink. It was formerly
in the possession of Rogers, the poet, and occupied a corner in

* The Four Georges, p, 184.

704 A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

his beautiful residence in St. James' Place. When Rogers died
his elegant home was broken up and his art collection, so rare
and so valuable, scattered. The last Lord Holland purchased
Addison's table at the sale of Rogers' furniture.

The library passage is quite a unique feature of Holland
House. Although narrow and low, its walls are lined with ob-
jects of great interest. From two queer little windows the
light falls on some of the rarest treasures of art in which that
mansion abounds. An odd story is told of a portrait which
hangs near the last autograph of Addison. Until lately it was
believed to be a portrait of the author of the Spectator, taken
from life. Macaulay speaks of it as genuine, and as such it was
formerly pointed out to literary visitors who had access to Hol-
land House. Time and again it was engraved as an original of
Addison, but it was ultimately discovered to be a portrait of his
friend, Sir Andrew Fountaine, of Narford Hall in Norfolk, vice-
chamberlain to Queen Caroline and the successor of Sir Isaac
Newton as warden of the Mint. On the same walls is a minia-
ture portrait of Robespierre, on the back of which Charles Fox
has inscribed the words " Un scelerat, un lache, un fou." One
is struck with the contrast between two Italian faces, those
of Machiavelli and Galileo. In the forfner the brows are knit,
the mouth is firmly closed, and there is a furtive glance in the
eyes, as though suspicion lurked in the heart. The outlines
are severe and the features harsh and unrelenting. Taken alto-
gether, one is puzzled to determine whether the face is more
satirical than misanthropic. The countenance clearly shows the
consummate adept in the art per -fide ; and is not unworthy of the
man who advocated the base principles contained in his Prince.
The portrait of Galileo is a copy from Titian made by an Eng-
lish artist during a visit to Florence in 1794. The face seems to
wear a settled melancholy, appealing but not repulsive. The
brow is high and noble, and every feature is clearly cut. The
contour is rather of the Shaksperian cast. There is a deep
pathos in the penetrating eyes, which seem to be looking far
away into the future for the realization of that fame that is to
crown the aged astronomer of Arcetri as the sidcreus mmcius
of the century. Among the other remarkable portraits in the
library passage is one of Franklin, painted in Paris, and another
of Locke, the father of English materialism. The ring and snuff-
box of the First Napoleon, which were brought from St. Helena
by Count Montholon as precious relics of the idol of the Fox-
family, are of special interest to all who are fascinated by the

1883.] A LONDON LITERARY* PILGRIMAGE. 705

military career and romantic history of that extraordinary man,
who deluged Europe in blood and left a name whose talismanic
influence is undying with the French people. These mementoes
awakened poetical rhapsodies from more than one habitue of
Holland House. Moore, who knew so well how to turn a grace-
ful compliment, offered his tribute to Lady Holland :

" Gift of the hero, on his dying day,

To her whose pity watched for ever nigh.

Oh ! could he see the proud, the happy ray
This relic lights up in her generous eye,

Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay
A friendship all his kingdom could not buy."

Another apartment, called the Sir Joshua Room, contains a
number of fine portraits by Reynolds, the most beautiful of which
is that of Lady Sarah Lennox. Thackeray calls it " a magnifi-
cent masterpiece, a canvas worthy of Titian." Wonderful in-
deed must have been the beauty of Lady Holland's fair niece
when even George III. yielded to its spell, and, as is believed,
laid his royal crown at her feet.* In the painting she is repre-
sented with two other figures, Lady Sarah Strangways, daughter
of the first Lord Ilchester, and Charles James Fox at the age
of fourteen. The boy stands holding a copy of verses, which
by his ardent expression he may be supposed to be addressing
to his dark-eyed cousin, who leans from a window of Holland
House to listen to them while at the same time caressing a bird
perched upon her finger. " The royal bird," as Thackeray says,
" flew away from lovely Sarah," and " she had to figure as
bridesmaid at her little Mecklenburg rival's wedding, and died
in our own time, a quiet old lady, who had become the mother
of the heroic Napiers." f Another picture, the most valuable
of the whole collection, is Murillo's " Vision of St. Anthony of
Padua." China vases and bronze monsters, Venetian mirrors and
gorgeous tapestries, the adornments of the modern drawing-
room, however rich and elaborate in themselves, only seem to
bring out by sharp contrast the higher lines of beauty and the
truer art of color which are the product of such a master-hand
as that of Murillo. The " Vision of St. Anthony " is a marvel
of delicate coloring, the blending of which almost equals the
lovely hues of the skies of southern Italy. It glows with those
warm tints 'which are chief features in what is known as his

* The story of the attachment of George III. to Lady Sarah Lennox was related by Mr. Pitt
to Mr. Grenville, who has given an interesting account of the royal episode (Grenville Papers,
vol. iv. pp. 209, 210). t The Four Georges, p. 146.

VOL. xxxvi. 45

- 6 A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

calido style. In the management of light and shade. Murillo
reached the perfection of art.

When Henry Fox purchased Holland House the room after-
wards fitted up for the library had fallen to decay. It was
unfloored and full of windows down to the days of Addison,
and presented the appearance of a conservatory. Lord Holland
blocked up many of the windows, and reduced the remainder to
two large bay-windows ; but for all that it was still said that
Holland House had a window for every day in the year. The
formation of its splendid library was begun in 1796, and number-
ed fifteen thousand volumes during the lifetime of the last Lord
Holland. While the eccentric John Allen, satirically called
Lady Holland's atheist,* was librarian it increased to such an
extent that it drove the family portraits from the walls of the
long gallery and two adjoining rooms. A general survey of its
contents shows that the value of the books does not consist in
their rarity, but in their completeness as to individual subjects.
As a private library it is especially rich in French and English
memoirs and in Spanish and Italian literature. Among the
unique treasures, which we examined with something of that
appreciation with which Charles Lamb kissed a folio of old
Chapman's translation, is a small copy of Homer, once the pro-
perty of Sir Isaac Newton, with a distich in his writing on the
fly-leaf. It^vvas a great favorite with Charles James Fox, who
had often conned its pages.

Washington Irving, in speaking of the taste with which the
English gentry have developed the unrivalled combinations of
nature, says 'that " those charms which in other countries she
has lavished in wild solitudes are here assembled round the
haunts of domestic life." f Nothing in rural scenery can sur-
pass the sequestered grounds of Holland House. Embellished
by all the art that the hand of man could lend to beautify the
landscape, there is neither nook nor corner but has received his
skilful nurturing. Remote from the din and traffic of old Lon-
don, and situated on a height which is said to be on a level with
the stone gallery of the dome of St. Paul's, the tranquillity of
the scene, so secure from intrusion and so teeming with histori-
cal reminiscences, invites to meditation and repose. There is
hardly a great landed estate of modern England but awakens
melancholy reflections in the mind of the Catholic, and recalls
those earlier days when faith had penetrated every outlying
hamlet of this fair realm. Kensington was anciently known as

* Crabb Robinson's Diary, vol. i. p. 178. f The Sketch-Book, p. 78.

1883.] A LONDON- LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. 707

Kenesitune, and was the royal gift of William the Conqueror to
Geoffrey, Bishop of Constance. Somewhere on its old manor
once stood the venerable abbey of Kensington, whose lands be-
came vested in the crown under the Act of Spoliation the pre-
conceived object of Lee and Layton, those infamous Commis-
sioners of Visitation : *

" Threats come which no submission may assuage,
No sacrifice avert, no power dispute ;
The tapers shall be quenched, the belfries mute,
And 'mid their choirs unroofed by selfish rage
The warbling wren shall find a leafy cage,
The gadding bramble hang her purple fruit,
And the green lizard and the gilded newt
Lead unmolested lives and die of age."t

For a considerable time the abbey lands of Kensington were
leased to various persons, and finally conveyed to Sir Walter
Cope, the father-in-law of Henry Rich, first Earl of Holland, to
whom we have already referred. The family of Rich was a new
creation, and its escutcheon from the beginning was stained
with the best blood of England with the blood of men

"Like saintly Fisher and unbending More." \

A writer of our own day has well said that " it is not easy for
a reflecting man who has studied its origin to feel any vehement
enthusiasm for Anglicanism; Henry VIII. and his Parliaments
have taken care of that." Execrable indeed is the memory of
those who during the English revolt were ennobled for treach-
ery and perjury, and enriched by grants of the dissolved abbeys.
Among the officers of the crown no name is more blackened
with infamy of every kind than Richard Rich, lord-chancellor,
and founder of the family to whom the princely domain of Hol-
land House once belonged. Father of the first Earl of Holland
and friend in early youth of Sir Thomas More, he won his way
to the woolsack in 1547 through crimes which grow darker, if
that were possible, when brought into contrast with the clean
hands and pure hearts of those against whom he plotted for the
sake of royal favor. When the aged Bishop of Rochester was

*" Henry VIII., rich with the abbey money, himself built or repaired no less than ten
palaces : Beaulieu in -Essex, Hunsdon in Herts, Ampthill in Bedfordshire, Nonsuch in Surrey,
York Place at Whitehall ; besides Bridewell and Blackfriars, St. James', Westminster, Kimbol-
ton, Huntingdonshire, Sheriff- Hutton in Yorkshire, and King's Langley, Herts " (Thornbury's
Shakspere 's England, vol. i. p. 72).

t Wordsworth's Eccl. Sonnets, xxi. J Id. xxvi.

Matthew Arnold's Essays in Criticism, p. 500.

~o8 A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

lying a prisoner of state in the Tower of .London, Richard Rich,
then solicitor-general, approached him with a secret message
from the king touching the royal supremacy a question which
R*ich represented as troubling the conscience of his majesty.
When reminded by the prelate of the danger to his case of ex-
pressing an opinion, in view of the new act of Parliament, the
solicitor responded that the king commanded him to assure the
bishop, upon the honor of a king, that, whatever he should say, he
would be at no peril, be his words for or against the statute, as
his declaration was secretly for the conscience of the king alone.
Rich gave his solemn promise, as an officer and messenger of the
crown, that the words uttered should never be mentioned save
to the king alone. At the mock trial which soon followed no
witness against the venerable prisoner appeared but the solicitor-
general, Richard Rich. On his testimony, suborned by treachery,
Bishop Fisher was convicted of treason, sentenced by Lord
Audley, then chancellor, and executed. At the trial of Sir
Thomas More, ex-lord-chancellor of the realm, which took place
a few days later, the conduct of Rich increased in baseness. But
he had the most diabolical of games to play, upon the success of
which all future preferments depended ; for he " had been made
solicitor-general," says the late Lord Campbell, " on an under-
standing that he was effectually to put in force the recent acts
against all recusants, and most especially against the refractory
ex-chancellor." * His first step against the noble object of his
machinations was quite in keeping with the rest of his delectable
history. Having obtained an order from the Privy Council that
Sir Thomas More be deprived of the books with which his im-
prisonment had hitherto been comforted, Rich himself accom-
panied the men appointed to remove them, and, while the work
went on, cunningly drew the ex-chancellor into conversation.
Complimenting him in highest terms of friendship, he put inge-
niously-worded questions by way of entrapping Sir Thomas into
some reply which should hereafter be used against him ; and al-
though he utterly failed in his purpose, through the caution and
skill of the answers given, yet at the trial those answers were so
tortured from their real shape as to bear out the monstrous de-
signs of the wretch who sought his ruin. The prosecution was
conducted by Sir Christopher Hale, and Rich was his assistant.
When, from shame, the jury were on the verge of dismissing the
case through absolute lack of evidence, Mr. Solicitor Rich, leav-
ing his official place, offered himself as a witness against the

* Lives of the Chancellors of England, vol. ii. p. 58.

1883.] A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. 709

prisoner. Perjuring himself with calm effrontery, he declared
Sir Thomas More to have asserted in direct words to himself
that denial of the king's supremacy which was all that was
needed to constitute the crime of treason in a case so thoroughly
prejudged. This point passed, the end was hurried on, and the
sacrifice of that unspotted life gives added blackness to the atro-
cious record of Richard Rich, unequalled in the statecraft of
nations : *

" From this pregnant spot of ground such thoughts
Rise to the notice of a serious mind
By natural exhalation. . . .

. . . Earth is sick,

And Heaven is weary, of the hollow words
Which states and kingdoms utter when they talk
Of truth and justice." t

The grounds which surround Holland House were laid out
in 1769 by Mr. Charles Hamilton, a friend of Lord Holland,
and the general appearance is still proof of his discriminating
taste and fertile resources in landscape-gardening. Under the
shade of lordly oaks and cedars one sees at a distance the
southern Pentlands and the Surrey hills. Here a fountain sends
forth its silvery spray, and there stands a granite column bear-
ing an inscription from Homer and surmounted by a bust of
Napoleon, the work of Canova. On yonder elevated spot, a few
hundred yards from the southern front, Scott repeated to Moore,
during a moonlight ramble, his own verses as they surveyed
Holland House :

" If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild but to flout the ruins gray."

A secluded retreat, lying on the north side and shaded by ma-
jestic trees, is the alley Louis Philippe, called in honor of the
exiled king of France. He came to Holland House immediately
after his abdication, stung by the memories of those last hours in
the Tuileries. During the revolution of 1848 Emile de Girar-
din pressed upon the king the necessity of abdication, which he

* " After the lapse of three centuries, during which statesmen, prelates, and kings have been
unjustly brought to trial under the same roof [i.e. t Westminster Hall], considering the splendor
of his talents, the greatness of his acquirements, and the innocence of his life, we must still
regard his murder as the blackest crime that ever had been perpetrated in England under the
forms of law " (Lives of the Chancellors of England, vol. ii. p. 59).

t Wordsworth's .:rcK/-.r;0, book v. .

7 io A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

opposed with all the arguments which he could command. The
Duke de Montpensier, who was present at the interview, showed
so much irritation at the declension of his father that, forgetful
of his filial duty at such a crisis, he uttered language unworthy
of the youngest son of the king. Smarting under the insult, the
face of Louis Philippe by turns became flushed and pale. Almost
blinded by tears, he took a quill from his desk and wrote in a
large hand the deed of abdication. Having signed it, he again
dipped his pen into the inkstand and thrust it, full of ink, into the
face of the duke, exclaiming, with voice quivering with anger and
sorrow: "Es-tu content maintenant?"

But if one should recall even a tithe of the names, distinguish-
ed in rank, learning, or brilliant deeds, which cluster around the
memories of Holland House a volume would be required rather
than a single paper. We cannot leave our subject, however,
without some recollections of the last Lord Holland, whose ge-
nial temper and remarkable social gifts so eminently fitted him
for his role of host in this most hospitable of English homes.
His great modesty and rather retiring manner were apt to mis-
lead the casual observer as to his really unusual mental strength,
but always and everywhere he seems to have been held the ideal
of a true and noble manhood.* Our own accomplished country-
man, the late George Ticknor, says of him : " Lord Holland is an
open-hearted gentleman, kind, simple, and hospitable, a scholar
with few prejudices, and making no pretensions either on the
score of his rank, his fortune, his family, his culture, or anything
else." f Meeting him again at a later date, Mr. Ticknor writes:
" I cannot help agreeing with Scott that he is the most agree-
able man 1 have ever known." \ Lord Holland's powers as a
raconteur were such as to render him almost the equal of his
frequent guest, the witty canon of St. Paul's. In his repertoire
was one anecdote which he used to tell with a quiet humor
which was quite irresistible. The gay and dissolute but amiable
George Selwyn, an habitue of the house under the former Lord
Holland, had a sort of ghoulish fancy for witnessing executions
and viewing the dead bodies of criminals. On one occasion,
calling at Holland House, he was denied access to its master on
the ground of serious illness. Upon learning of his visit Lord

* The following verses were found on Lord Holland's dressing-table after his death :
" Nephew of Fox and friend of Gray,

Be this my meed of fame,
If those who deign to observe me say

I injured neither name."
t Life of George Ticknor, vol. i. p. 264. \ Id. vol. ii. p. 176.

1883.] A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. 711

Holland said to his valet : " On his next be sure you let him in,
whether I am alive or a corpse ; for if I am alive I shall have
great pleasure in seeing him, and if I am a corpse he will have
great pleasure in seeing, me" In sketching the wife of this
great-hearted Englishman one finds a subject far less attractive.
Look where we may, in the lives, journals, or table-talk of the
men who frequented her house, there is no really hearty word
in praise of Lady Holland. She could do a generous act at
times, as is proved by her kindness to the poet Campbell, to
whose relief she more than once contributed munificently ; and
by her treatment of Francis Horner, offering him rooms in her
own house and every attention needful for his invalid condition.
But her general demeanor was certainly most singular, and some
instances are related of brnsquerie, and even downright rude-
ness, which would seem like a leaf taken from the days of the
royal vixen, Queen Bess. One day, when Sydney Smith was
dining at her table with a brilliant company, she inquired, in a
tone to be heard by every one, " if it was true that he was about
to marry his daughter to an apothecary," alluding to the dis-
tinguished physician and scholar, Sir Henry Holland. Another
outrage was her having dared to ask Sir Philip Francis if he
were the author of the Letters of Junius. " Madame, do 3*011
mean to insult me? "was his only [reply. Leigh Hunt could
never be induced to 'go to Holland House, and Lord Dudley,
whom she especially desired to have as her guest, was equally
intractable. Upoi\ being asked by a friend what was his reason
for always refusing he said " that he did not choose to be
tyrannized over while he was eating his dinner." There is a
certain malicious satisfaction in knowing that her imperious
lad}*ship was frequently overmatched in her own special line,
and on one occasion it happened that. Mr. Ticknor completely
mastered her. She had the insolence to inform him that the
New England States were settled by convicts from the mother-
country. With unmoved urbanity he replied : " Ah ! I was not
aware of it, but now I remember some of the Vassall family had
settled at an early date in Massachusetts. Indeed, a house built
by one of them is still standing at Cambridge, and there is a
monument to some member of the family to be seen in King's
Chapel, Boston." Taken completely by surprise, Lady Holland
said not a word ; then, recovering herself, she asked various ques-
tions about the monument and requested of him a drawing of
it when he should return to America. Another anecdote illus-
trates a still more unenviable side of her character. Having lost

7 12 A LONDON LITERARY PILGRIMAGE. [Feb.,

a pet kid while abroad in Spain, she had the English burial of-
fice performed over its remains, having represented to the An-
glican clergyman that it was the body of the daughter of her
former husband. The young girl grew up bearing the so-
briquet of The Kid. Fanny Kemble,* who always avoided an in-
troduction to Lady Holland, says that upon her death the only
lamentations she heard were for the loss of the pleasant house,
and not at all for its mistress. Upon the demise of Lord Hol-
land she had removed to the family mansion in South Street,
London, and there gathered around her many of the former
habitues of Holland House. It must be added, in justice to
Lady Holland, that she was a loyal and steadfast friend, and
that she never lost an opportunity of showing kindness to any
whom her generous husband had in his lifetime been in the
habit of aiding.

The beautiful old mansion, with ^its wealth of art treasures,
its princely library and unnumbered relics of great men of a
past generation, is now held by strangers, and it is become only
one of the "homes of England " to which the careless traveller
may devote a casual -hour of sight-seeing. But to the man who
realizes that England and America, whatever the differences be-
tween them, are one one in ancestry, one in literature, and one
in the future of the Anglo-Saxon race there is a deeper in-
terest in visiting a spot around which hover so many recollec-
tions of men and women who have made the world richer and
better by their lives and by their deeds. And so long as such
memories are held in common by the two nations there will be
between us a link which cannot be broken. Quarrel as we may
through pride, avarice, or ambition, yet through all and above
all we feel that we are brothers.

* Record of 'a Girlhood, p. 177.

1883.] THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY. 713

THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY.

THE school question is a question of conscience. All of the
Catholic body and a respectable portion of the Protestant have
conscientious objections against sending their children to schools
in which religious teaching is, from the nature of the case, ex-
cluded. These eight or ten millions of citizens are firmly per-
suaded that such schools favor unreligion and tend to form men's
lives according to the maxims of the world rather than those of
the Gospel. It appears, indeed, as if the majority of the people
are willing that their children shall become, as far as their edu-
cation is concerned, regular wards of the state. But an impor-
tant minority are unable to make any such surrender of paren-
tal right and duty ; and the reason why is that their consciences
will not let them do it. They are therefore forced to look upon
the present public-school system, as far as their children are
concerned, as a delusion and a snare.

If the state has heretofore gone on the assumption that the
common schools are of equal use to all the people, it cannot do
so any longer : a large portion of the people cannot use the pub-
lic schools, except in cases of actual necessity, without violating
their consciences.

Does anybody doubt the existence of this conviction in such
a large body of citizens? Some seem at least anxious to ignore
it, declaring it to be confined among Catholics to an ambitious
clergy, and among Protestants to a few eccentric and fault-find-
ing individuals. But the actual fact is that this plea of con-
science is plainly uttered in every way that human conviction
can gain expression : public journals by the score, and these by
no means all of one religion ; numerous conventions of public
bodies; solemn decrees of church authorities; the expenditure
of millions of money to substitute religious schools for the public
ones ; the protest of an always increasing number of men of sta-
tion and culture.

Now, when all these millions of American citizens solemnly
declare, by every organ of utterance public and private, that the
public schools as at present conducted are perilous to the souls
of their children, how should they be met by their fellow-citi-
zens?

The first thing to do is to actually recognize that there is a

714 THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY. [Feb.,

case of conscience involved; that the law is actually forcing
multitudes of men to pay for a system of schooling which they
are firmly persuaded is unchristian and highly detrimental to
their children's eternal welfare. It is, indeed, hard to believe
that laws are actually enforced in this country which oppress
consciences. But such is the fact. The first thing, therefore, is
to wake up to that fact. Let the American people fully realize
that they are face to face with a grievance of conscience suffered
by a portion of their countrymen who for numbers, respectabil-
ity, and patriotism are among the foremost in the land. A plea
of conscience is always worthy of respectful hearing, though it
concern the veriest paupers, or even convicts, in our public in-
stitutions. When it concerns several millions of men and wo-
men living in every part of the country, engaged in every voca-
tion, and embracing multitudes gifted with every quality that
can adorn the patriot, then, if religious liberty have aught to do
with our form of government, a problem touching it awaits pub-
lic solution. When the word conscience is spoken in this coun-
try it calls up another word like an echo freedom. To the
American mind freedom of conscience is a watchword. Every
true American will say that in matters of conscience no one por-
tion of a free community ought to override another. The ques-
tion to be met and settled is, in plain words, just this : Can we
honestly tax our neighbors to maintain schools to which they dare
not in conscience send their children ?

Discussion will not settle the matter. Discussion has had its
day and done its work. It has bub brought out more clearly
than ever before the following great truths :

That the present school system is a departure from the fun-
damental principles of our republic and the primitive practice of
its founders, and is an odious abridgment of personal freedom.

That in a free state a man should never feel so free as when
deciding how his children shall be trained.

That when the law begins to put its foot over the circle of
parental authority it is time to ask whether we are not being
governed too much.

That it is idle to say that where all religions are excluded
there is no room for complaint : to an earnest man the difference
between particular denominations is not half so great as that be-
tween his religion and none at all. Wrong belief is better than
none.

That the public school should not antagonize the Christian
family.

1883.] THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY. 715

That when the state undertakes the part of educator it must
do so in subordination to those who are educators by divine
right that is to say, parents.

That if the right of the state over a child be subordinate to
that of the parent, then to assist the parent, and not to set him
aside in the education of the children, i's the state's province.

That there is no reason why a good schooling may not be
best promoted by the state without hurt to religious sensibili-
ties.

That a school is more apt to be efficient if the attendance of
children depends, at least in some measure, upon the approval of
parents than upon mere public authority.

That a system of schooling which substitutes mere authority
for the stimulus of competition is an unwise system and un-
American.

That in many of the States we are fast coming to this mise-
rable condition : no teacher need apply who has not been trained
in a State normal college, drilled in one certain method, and
been made a member of a certain caste. The most sacred office
(next to the parental) which one human being can exercise over
another that of teacher is thus fixed and limited by State
legislatures and bestowed as a favor by local politicians.

In bringing out plainly such results as the above, discussion
has done its work, and this, too, in spite of much unfairness on
the part of some of the partisans of state domination over family
right. The side of patriotism and religion and personal free-
dom combined has been .shamelessly bullied and threatened.
Hard names have been called, and many words uttered against
us ringing with the harsh tones of hate. Appeals have been re-
peatedly made to sectarian fanaticism. Race-prejudice has been
enlisted against us. In spite of all this the cause of denomina-
tional schools has gained much by discussion ; and although the
religious sentiment has grown perceptibly weaker among the
people generally, yet the number of prominent advocates of reli-
gious schools has steadily increased. We now find them among
the Protestant clergy in great numbers ; the columns of the Pro-
testant religious press are often occupied with able articles in
their favor. Even the secular daily press shows plain .signs of
having admitted the grievance to the list of public controver-
sies. The result of discussion could not be different. Men may
cast religion put of their own lives, and even look with apathy
on the religious condition of their children. But it is hard to
find a man who will fail to respect a neighbor who is determined

716 THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY. [Feb.,

to throw the influence of his child's schooling on the side of his
eternal destiny.

The present unreligious school S} 7 stem has thus been proved
false by argument. That is one test, and it is a good one. But
it is not the best. Experiment is the best test of' any human
system. And the present school system has been weighed in
the balance of actual use and been found wanting.

It should train all the children, and especially those of the
poor. It has failed to do it. In every large city many thou-
sands of the children of the poorer classes are in schools erect-
ed and supported by themselves, and thousands more run the
streets for want of room in any kind of a school.

It should be economical., It is lavish and prodigal in its ex-
penditure of money, and is ever crying for more.

It should give a good, solid training. In many places its fail-
ure to do so has been demonstrated, and even admitted ; and this
especially in not imparting a practical knowledge of the elemen-
tary branches to the children of the poor.

It was designed to help harmonize religious differences. It
has itself become the sharpest and most poisonous thorn in the
side of religious harmony.

It should train up industrious, law-abiding citizens. And by
excluding religious and moral teaching it has lowered the moral
tone of the whole population. It has increased the number of
those who wish to enjoy life without labor. It has quickened a
perverted taste for dangerous reading, leading to the present
vast increase of crime, pauperism, and insanity. It, more than
anything else, is to blame for the wide-spread dishonesty, love
of idleness, and impurity with which the community is infected.

Actual trial has thus demonstrated that a system of educa-
tion which fails to teach moral beings how to keep the Com-
mandments of God cannot be relied on to train up good citizens.
What, then, shall be done about it? It is not difficult to
tell what the advocates of religious schools will do. Alway
and everywhere, publicly and privately, they will be men and
women true to their consciences, and will advocate religious
schools by every peaceful form of agitation till justice shall be
done and equal rights obtained.

At this point of time, when it appears that an effort is being
made by the interested partisans of the public-school system to
obtain immense sums of money from Congress, from State legis-
latures, and from municipalities for the support and extension of
their pet schemes, would it not be wise and prudent for those

1883.] THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY. 717

who are held responsible for the right and proper use of the pub-
lic moneys seriously to consider and deliberate whether the end
proposed, the education of all the children of this country, might
not be in some other way more efficaciously promoted, and more
in accordance with the spirit of American liberty, than by be-
stowing millions of the public treasury upon a system of educa-
tion which from its nature excludes so large a body of American
citizens from participating in its results? Illiteracy is bad, but
the sacrifice of parental rights and liberty is worse. Education
can never advance as it should, in a free country like ours, if
these be ignored. Parental rights and liberty secured, educa-
tion will progress with giant strides, for there is no portion of
the American people who do not "sincerely desire education.
Then, and not before then, shall we see an education worthy of
our country secured to all the children of the land.

As to a practical settlement, we ask only to be met in a fair
spirit of accommodation. On our part we are willing to be taxed
for unreligious schools for the children of unreligious parents, if
such parents are willing on their part to be taxed for religious
schools for our children.

We are in favor of a good common-school system for all the
children of the land. To secure this we are in favor of even try-
ing a fair compulsory law, if it only put the children into schools
which are as well the choice of the parents as approved by the
state. With the present system coercive schooling is out of the
question.

We are heartily in favor of a cordial feeling of amity between
the members of different religious denominations.

If some citizens wish to maintain schools exclusively secular
let the state help them. If other citizens wish to have denomi-
national schools let the state help them also ; and let the state
aid in every case be in proportion to the numbers benefited and
the success obtained in such instruction as the state judges nec-
essary to form good citizens. Let us have fair play and pay-
ment for results.

As to just how the public funds shall be applied, we are will-
ing to stand any test which does not invade the sanctuary either
of home or of religion. In the application of public money for
schools for the people we are in favor of a broad interpretation
of the rights of the state.

In a word, if the present unreligious schools were part of a
system which embraced religious schools as well, we should be
in favor of the system.

7i 8 THE SCHOOL GRIEVANCE AND ITS REMEDY. [Feb.,

Some such adjustment of the claims of citizens will go far
towards-llniting the whole nation in a determined war as well
against .y3c&'s ignorance. It will vastly augment the number of
childreri'errjoying a good schooling in secular branches. It will
enhance the efficiency of the teachers by introducing the leaven
of competition. It will greatly lessen the expense. It will put
an end to a hateful government monopoly. It will set at rest the
consciences of millions of the best citizens of the country, of all
races and creeds, concerning the education of their children,
without in any degree lessening the state supervision over their
secular training.

It will thus be seen that we are open to any fair proposals of
accommodation, insisting upon nothing except that compromise
shall end where conscience begins. We wish to divide neither
the public funds nor the public authority. We only ask of the
state to promote common and universal schooling for the whole
people.

Does any one say that this is impossible? Then how have
they succeeded in doing it in Great Britain, in Austria, in the
Dominion of Canada, and also in other countries ?
i The reconciliation of public order with equal private rights is
the first task of statesmanship ; who is willing to admit that the
statesmen of our country are unequal to the task of devising a
system of public schools which shall satisfy the consciences of
religious parents without detriment to good secular training ?
It is just such questions that offer the fairest field for the states-
man's skill.

It is never the part of wisdom to postpone the inevitable, and
it is idiotic to resist it. Now, if there is one thing more certain
to happen in this country than any other, it is that sooner or later
no one class of citizens shall be taxed to support a public-school
system which they themselves are prohibited from using by the
dictates of an enlightened religious conscience.

I883-] NE W FUBLICA TIONS.

NEW PUBLICATIONS., .-

HERBERT SPENCER CN THE AMERICANS, AND THE AMERICANS ON HERBERT
SPENCER. Being a full report of his interview, and of the proceedings
of the farewell banquet of November n, 1882. New York : D. Apple-
ton & Co. 1882.

The grub-worm has its work to do in the divine economy, but it is by
keeping underground that it does it. Hie positivist is the intellectual
grub-worm, and the agnostic is one of the species of the grub-worm genus.
Let him work in his place, and he too may serve a good purpose. But no
man can ignore the light of Christianity arid be considered, at this stage of
Christian civilization, a philosopher. A philosopher, in the light of Chris-
tianity, is one who looks forward and upward, and not backward and down-
ward. Since the Word has been made flesh it requires no little audacity to
write and to publish in a Christian community, in the year of our Lord
1882, that God is the " Unknowable " ! And in a Christian society to feast
this man, and to assemble men of note, many of whom profess to be
Christians to do this thing, this is the sublimity of audacity. Cicero,
though suckled in a pagan creed, had he been present at this banquet
might have rebuked these professing Christians, as he did not fear to re-
buke his contemporary agnostics when he said : " Alas ! that this God whom
we know by our reason, and of whom each one bears traces in his breast,
by the labors of these philosophers is wholly obliterated from the minds of
men."

There is one feature of this farewell banquet which makes the gorge
rise, and that is the fulsomeness of the praise bestowed upon their guest,
particularly the contents of the letter of the president of Columbia Col-
lege. Had these opinions been expressed in an after-dinner speech there
would have been some room for an excuse ; but such a letter to have been
deliberately written, in sober moments, and by a president of a deservedly
eminent college this is indeed strange ! Science ! Let us have science
plentifully, but let it be science unadulterated with infidelity. Let our
young men drink freely from the untainted sources of science ! Is it ask-
ing too much from so-called scientists to leave the wells of science unpoi-
soned ? The letter of President Barnard, of Columbia College, displays a
condition of mind that prompts us to exclaim : " Something is rotten in the
state of 'Denmark ! "

Thank Heaven there is not a name of even a nominal Catholic ap-
pended to this graceless banquet, where professed Christians were misled,
by a badly understood courtesy to their guest, to the shameless betrayal of
Christianity !

A CATHOLIC PRIEST AND SCIENTISTS. By Rev. J. W. Vahey, pastor of St.
Lawrence's Church, Elkhorn, Wis. Benzigers.

The " scientists " of Milwaukee who threw down the glove to Father
Vahey are no great things, except in boastfulness. Father Vahey, having

720 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Feb., 1883

consented to hold a public discussion with them, afterwards declined, by
advice of the late Archbishop Henni, to do so, " from a conviction," he
says, " that with men who rejected the authority of divine revelation it
would be folly to argue " a conviction, in our opinion, not well founded.
The <( scientists " could not let pass such a fine opportunity to boast that
Father Vahey " feared to meet them in open debate, owing to the inherent
truth of their systems, which would clearly establish the eternal being of
matter, disprove the existence of a First Cause, the Blessed Trinity, and
Christianity, which were purely mythical." This taunt stirred up Father
Vahey to consent once more to the discussion, "on condition that two re-
porters would be admitted ; but this they declined on the plea that, until
some future time, they did not wish to give their argtiments publicity." Their
wish to keep dark was more prudent than valorous. With such antago-
nists, having nothing but the crudest materialism, and a mass of equally
crude objections against the truth of revelation, to put forward as " sci-
ence," victory was easily won. The book which Father Vahey has pub-
lished is a good and sensible exposition of a certain number of important
truths with a refutation of the opposite errors. It is a good book to cir-
culate among those who from their imperfect education are puzzled or in
danger of being disturbed in their faith by the shallow and sophistical ar-
guments of the vulgar infidelity which is spread abroad in so many ways
and is so unspeakably noxious.

SOLID VIRTUE: A Triduum; and SPIRITUAL CONFERENCES. By Rev. Fa-
ther Bellecius, S.J.

NEW-YEAR GREETINGS. By St. Francis of Sales.

MAXIMS OF ST. FRANCIS OF SALES. New York, Cincinnati, and St. Louis :
Benzigers. 1882.

Father Bellecius' treatise on Solid Virtue is well known as having itself
the most solid virtue. The Retreat for Three Days is an abridgment of
this work, arranged in the form of meditations and conferences by the au-
thor's own hand. The translation has been made by a Father of the So-
ciety of Jesus.

The two little books which are translations from the writings of St.
Francis de Sales, one by Miss M. A. Colton, the other by Miss E. McMahon,
are neat miniature volumes, each containing something precious from the
treasures of that delightful teacher of holy wisdom. The Maxims are spe-
cially adapted for the guidance of persons endeavoring to live devoutly,
and for their consolation and encouragement amid the difficulties and suf-
ferings which they may have to encounter on their journey through this
world.

STEPHANIE : The Story of a Christian Maiden's Love. By Louis Veuillot.
Translated from the French. Baltimore : John B. Piet & Co. 1882.

A very delightful little romance by the most famous of French Catholic
journalists. The moral is, of course, edifying, the plot is ingenious, the
characters true to life, the scenes and conversations full of interest. The
translation is well done.

THE

VOL. XXXVI. MARCH, 1883. No. 216.

THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN.

PART II.

THE Apocatastasrs, or Restitution of all things, is not an in-
vention of Origen, but a doctrine of Holy Scripture.

The Lord had scarcely ascended when his vicegerent Peter,
in his great sermon in Solomon's Porch, announced that

"Times of refreshment shall come from the presence of the Lord, and
he shall send him who hath been preached unto you, Jesus Christ, whom
heaven indeed must receive until the times of the Restitution of all things "
(Acts iii. 20, 21).

" Until the day of judgment, when God will restore man lapsed into
sin, suffering-, and death to glory and a happy immortality, and will thus
restore the ruin wrought among the angels. He will then likewise restore,
together with man, heaven, the elements, and the whole world to primeval
integrity, incorruption, and splendor. For there shall be then a renovation
and, as it were, a regeneration of the whole world, as the apostle teaches
Rom. viii. 21, and St. Peter 2 Ep, iii. 13 " (Corn. A Lap. Comm. in loc.)

St. Paul declares the same truth fully and repeatedly :

" God hath also exalted him, and hath given him a name 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" (Philipp.
ii. S-ii).

" For the expectation 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 subject In hope : because the creature

722 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Mar.,

also itself shall be delivered from the servitude of corruption into the lib-
erty of the glory of the children of God. For we know that every creature
groaneth, and is in labor even until now " (Rom. viii. 19-23).

" As in Adam all die, so also in Christ all shall be made alive. . . . For
he must reign [i.e., rule over the church militant] until he hath put all
enemies under his feet. And the enemy death shall be destroyed last. . . .
And when all things shall be subdued unto him, then the Son also shall be
subject to him who subdued all things unto him [i.e., cease to rule over the
order which has passed away], that God may be All in all " (i Cor. xv.
22-28).

It is this doctrine of the Scripture which St. Gregory under-
takes to explain in all that he writes concerning the universal
apocatastasis, however much or little he may do so by the aid
of Neo-Platonic philosophy.

His doctrine may be summed up in this brief statement: That
all HOiKia, that is, vitiosity, is removed from nature, which under-
goes an drtOKaraffTaaiZ, restitution, Ttakivyeveffia, regeneration,
into the naXor, the state of good, and ^anapioTrjv^ beatitude.

This last term, Beatitude, to our modern Christian concep-
tion, and according to our usage of speaking, is the one which
is strongest and most expressive. It is, therefore, the best one
we can select for explanation, as presenting most distinctly the
difficulty of understanding St. Gregory's doctrine in another
sense from that of universal salvation. We commonly under-
stand by Beatitude perfect and everlasting happiness in the pos-
session of the Sovereign Good, that is, in the Vision of God.
Undoubtedly the Restitution, the Regeneration, the perfect
order of Good, Beatitude, find their culmination in the holy and
blessed angels and men who will reign in glory and felicity, with
Christ, for ever, in his eternal kingdom. If the banishment of all
HotHioc and dpapria, evil and sin, from the whole universe, was
equivalent in St. Gregory's mind to the removal of every im-
pediment to this perfect beatitude in all rational creatures, and
restitution to this state of perfect beatitude was taught by him
as, without exception, universal, his doctrine was diametrically
contrary to the Catholic faith. But this is not the true inter-
pretation. There is a key to the difficulty which unlocks it
without violent wrenching or breakage, a perfect solution of the
enigma ; which Huet, Petau, and Stockl failed to discover, be-
cause they used a wrong combination, applying modern termi-
nology to an ancient theology which had its own peculiar Ian-
guage.

The key is found in a correct definition of the term ^ana-
?, translated into Latin by the word beatitude, in English

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEX. 723

beatitude, which terras have come in both languages to denote a
state of perfect felicity, and specifically that of the blessed saints
in heaven. This is not the primary signification of the Greek
term in classical authors, or in the usage of the earliest Greek
Fathers. Eustathius says that a person is called judxapa napa
TO HTJ vTTOHeiffOai nf/pi, with alpha privative, *>., quinon subjicitur
fato t namely, who is immortal. In this sense the term was ap-
plied to the gods of Greek mythology. Etymologically it de-
notes expers fato, exempt from mortality. In the ancient Chris-
tian writers its generic sense is the same, signifying a state of
incorruptibility and immortality ; and it is in this sense that Ori-
gen and Nyssen use it when they speak of the universal resurrec-
tion and apocatastasis of all men without distinction. When it
is used to denote the everlasting felicity of the saints it is used
in a more specific and comprehensive sense, not embracing in its
extension all men but only the elect.

Moreover, it does not directly denote subjective freedom
from pain with pleasure in the enjoyment of good, but rather the
participation in a certain objective good of a high order, the
possession of great natural or supernatural dignity. The beati-
tude of holy angels and saints consists in their possession of the
endowments of their respective natures in full perfection, to-
gether with the superadded endowments of the state to which
they have been elevated by grace. It is their dignity as intel-
lectual or rational beings in the condition of full development,
in which they resemble God ; but in a higher sense, as beings
made capable by the light of glory of the immediate, intuitive
vision of the Divine Essence, and thus, after the manner possible
in a creature, deified.

The fallen angels, although they have irrevocably forfeited
grace and the light of glory, have not lost their intellectual na-
ture and dignity, or any of their essential endowments. Man-
kind has suffered, through the fall, the loss of the integrity and
incorruptibility of its mixed and composite nature, as a species,
and become physically degenerate. This is a consequence of the
loss of supernatural endowments which the human species in-
curred by the sin of Adam. It is not repaired in this life, even
in those who are regenerate and sanctified by grace. A second
effect of redemption is necessary-, in order that they who have
been sanctified in the spirit may be fully restored and made
perfect in their complete nature ; and this effect is not fully ac-
complished until the regeneration, the apocatastasis, that is, the
resurrection of the human race, is accomplished. This resur-

724 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Mar.,

rection is universal. By it corruptibility and liability to death,
together with all natural degeneracy and defect, are removed
from the human race, as such, and in all the individuals of the
species. The state to which all men are alike brought by the
apocatastasis is what St. Gregory calls beatitude in the generic
sense. In a specific and more comprehensive sense, the beati-
tude which the saints completely attain in the resurrection in-
cludes glorification and all the rewards of their personal merits.
But from this beatitude a multitude of those who rise from the
dead are for ever excluded, and suffer, moreover, the penalties
due to their personal demerits.

In the sense of St. Gregory the Haxia, evil, which is banish-
ed from the universe, is not the alienation from God, the destitu-
tion of grace, the exile from heaven, the penal consequences of
the transgression of law, to which some angels and men have
become subject by voluntary abuse of their liberty during the
period of probation. It is the defect and disorder of physical
nature. The restitution of all things to nakov, the state of good,
is not the conversion to God, and the restoration to fellowship
with him and to participation in the inheritance of the saints in
light, of all rational beings who have been turned away by sin
from the sovereign good. It is the reduction of all species and
individuals in the creation to due order, each after its kind and
degree, under the absolute government of God.

This is the apocatastasis to which St. Peter and St. Paul are
continually referring as the grand finale of God's creative and
redemptive work. It is that which, as Vincenzi shows, was
taught, in agreement with the doctrine of St. Gregory, by
Tatian, Tertullian, St. John Chrysostom, St. Epiphanius, St.
Proclus, St. Augustine, and other ancient writers, and by the
Angelic Doctor, St. Thomas.

St. Thomas says :

"It pertains to the perfect goodness of God, that he should not leave
anything inordinate in existing things" (Con. Gent. Hi. 146).

And in respect to the resurrection of men he says :

" By the merit of Christ defects of nature are removed in the resurrec-
tion from all in common, both the evil and the good. . . . Now, the souls
of the evil have a nature which is good, as a creature of God. . . . There-
fore their bodies, in respect to thafwhich belongs to their nature, will be
integrally repaired, because, namely, they will rise in a perfect age, without
any diminution of members, and without any defect and corruption, which
an error of nature or infirmity has introduced " (ibid. iv. 85, 89).

. Vincenzi suras up the doctrine of St. Gregory as follows :

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 725

"When God restores man by the resurrection to his pristine state,
strength will succeed to weakness, glory to ignominy, beauty to baseness,
incorruption to corruption, immortality to mortality, and, in one word,
beatitude will succeed to vitiosity. Or (as Nyssen himself has defined that
kind of beatitude, distinguishing from the beatitride which is according to
nature that which is supercelestial}, there will succeed in the nature of every
man, whether he be just or unjust, not the very supernal beatitude itself,
but the type and image of the same, which shows merely the representa-
tions of the beatific characters, according to the words of Genesis, He made
him to the image of God. Which characters, designated by the terms al-
ready cited, by St. Gregory, are also called by St. Augustine (Nat. et Grat.
con. Pelag. c. iii.) the natural goods ; with which Adam was endowed by
God the faultless artificer, in his form, life, senses, and mind, at his creation ;
and with which, since he has lost them by sin, he will be re-endowed in the
resurrection " (vol. i. p. 63).

We will now quote the exact words of Nyssen, in which he
distinguishes the supernal and supercelestial beatitude which
God alone possesses by his essence and nature in infinite pleni-
tude, from that beatitude in a generic sense which is an image
of the former, and is reflected in every rational nature in propor-
tion to the similitude of God which it expresses :

"Beatitude, in my opinion, is a certain comprehension of all those
things which are understood to come under the name oigood, from which
nothing is absent of .all things which are the proper object of desire as
being good. . . . That nature which truly possesses this beatitude is the
divine nature itself. . . . But since he who made man made him after the
image of God, that nature must be regarded as beatified in a secondary
sense, which is so designated on account of a participation or communica-
tion of that which in very deed is beatitude.

" Beatitude, in the primary sense, is that incorrupt life, that unspeak-
able and incomprehensible good, that indescribable beauty, essential grace
and wisdom and strength, the true light, the fountain of all goodness, ex-
ceeding all things in excellence, the only lovable power, the perpetual
exultation remaining always the same, the sempiternal joy, concerning
which how much soever any one may be able to speak, he will say no-
thing adequate to its worthiness. . . . But since he who made man made
him after the image of God, in a secondary sense that nature is to be con-
sidered as having beatitude (juaxaptdrov, beatum) which, on account of
the participation of that which is the true blessedness, comes under the
figure of that name. For as in an excellent bodily form its prototypal
beauty is in a real and living subsistence which is visible, and an 'image
which represents this by imitation is a different thing entirely; so also
human nature, which is an image of the supernal beatitude, is itself also
marked by a character of beautiful dignity, because it shows forth in itself
representations of the beatifying characters " (Orat. i. de Beatitudinibus).

Vincenzi observes that "we must understand according to
this second signification the beatitude with which human nature,

726 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Mar.,

having long ago lost it by sin, will be a second time endowed in
the resurrection. The frequent use of this word in the writings
of Nyssen in the same sense as the image of God, incorruption and
immortality, takes away all obscurity from his language" (p. 45).
The time of the universal apocatastasis, according to St.
Gregory, is the Day of Resurrection. The preceding period is,
for men, a time of probation while they are living, of remedial
and purgative punishment, so far as they need it, after death.
After the Judgment comes eternity with its endless retributions.
The purgative and temporary punishments of sinners between
the period of death and that of the resurrection, in the Nyssenian
eschatology, are distinct both from the purgatory of the just and
the eternal punishment of sin. The purgatory of the just com-
pletes the purification of baptism and penance. The purgatory
of sinners removes the vitiosity of nature and restores it to in-
corruptibility. All nature being restored and reduced to per-
fect and permanent order at the time of the universal restitution,
there is no room any more for purgative discipline, and there is
no further probation for any rational beings. Then begins the
eternal retribution awarded to the demerits of those who have
voluntarily and freely transgressed the law of God and have not
been forgiven. The reason given by St. Gregory and by all the
orthodox writers on this subject, why there must be a restitution
of all nature, but not a restitution of all rational beings to grace
and supercelestial beatitude, is that God must make his own
work perfect, but is not bound by his justice or goodness to
make any individual being more perfect than the exigency of its
nature demands. Irrational nature has received from the Crea-
tor an exigency for perpetuity in existence and perfection in its
own order. So, also, has intellectual nature, and the rational
nature which is composed of soul and body. This exigency will
be satisfied by the Creator through the exercise of his divine,
creative power, directed by his own sovereign will. Every
creature possessing intelligence and free-will, who has been ele-
vated by grace and placed in a condition to merit perfect beati-
tude, if he does merit it, has in himself an exigency for receiving
completion in the supernatural order from the Creator. But if
he is found at the end of his term of grace without that decisive
determination of his will in the rectitude of supernatural justice,
and without that merit, which are requisite, there is in him
no exigency of nature demanding the restoration of the goods
which he has forfeited. In a word, God will not invade the
domain which he has given to the exclusive dominion of free-

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 727

will, which is within itself, the seat of merit and demerit. Out-
side of this realm he will repair all the disorders and defects
which sin has introduced into the world which he made all
good, and remove the imperfections belonging- to an inchoate
state. And this is what St. Gregory teaches that God will
operate in human nature, without respect to the holy or unholy
character of single persons, so that in the resurrection all shall
be endowed with incorruption and immortality.

" Evil is something which comes out of a deliberate determination, and,
considered according to its proper essence, has no existence in the nature
of things ; for every creature of God is good : and all things which Cod made
were very good" (De Virgin.)

"What is the scope of the discourse which the divine apostle delivers
in this passage : Then the Son also himself shall be subject to him who subdued
aU things unto him ? That, namely, at some time the nature of evil shall
pass away to nothing, being entirely effaced from that which is, or from
the essence of things : and they will be very good ; and that goodness which
is divine and every way imperishable shall contain every rational nature,
no one of those who were made by God being excluded from the kingdom
of God, when, all vitiosity which had been mingled with things being con-
sumed as foreign matter by the fusion of the purgatorial fire, it shall be-
come entirely the same as it was from the beginning, when it had not yet
been contaminated. . . . Sin having been first taken away and then death
destroyed, nothing except good will be left in nature " (Sertno in verba
Pauli Tune et ipse Filzus).

This vitiosity or sin St. Gregory frequently and fully de-
scribes as a base element in human nature which must be purged
out of it by fire, that it may become pure and refined gold.
When it becomes incorruptible and immortal it will have no
more capacity or desire for gross, sensual pleasures, but only its
natural appetite, implanted in it by the Creator, for that good
which is either the uncreated good in God or the created good
which is from God and an object of rational desire. Evil in the
physical universe, having no substantial nature and being merely
disorder and privation of the beauty which is due to it by the
law of congruity, will disappear when all existing things are
reduced to perfect order. God will be All in all : Dens erit om-
nia in omnibus.

" In this place," says Nyssen, " the Scripture seems to me to teach the
perfect and absolute destruction of all vitiosity and evil. For if God will
be in all things, there will be no vitiosity and evil in the nature of these
things. For if any one supposes there will be any vitiosity and evil, how
can the proposition stand that God is in all ? For an exception of that
kind makes every comprehension imperfect and incomplete " (De Anim. et
Resurrect)

728 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Man,

It is plain that St. Gregory must include the fallen angels in
this perfect and complete comprehension. Yet there are but two
passages in which Huet and Petau think they find the opinion
advanced that they will be ultimately restored to grace.

In one of these Nyssen says that the " deceiver," the "ene-
my," by whom man has been seduced will himself experience
the benefit of the remedy by which human nature is restored ;
in the other, that " the demons will also with one accord confess
the sovereignty of Christ." Vincenzi does not consider either
Of these passages as referring to the fallen angels. He under-
stands by the " enemy " the inordinate concupiscence of the
flesh, and by the "demons" human souls in Hades (pp. 20-35).
His very ingenious reasoning in support of this explanation,
whether it be or be not correct, does not seem to be necessary
for the vindication of St. Gregory's orthodoxy. For the same
reasons which prove that the restitution of human nature does
not imply restoration to grace are equally applicable to the case
of the demons, regard being had to the difference of their nature.
They must be included in the universality of the proposition that
no evil or receptacle of -evil is left anywhere in existing things,
and that " beatitude," in the sense already explained viz., as
the type and figure of the beatitude which God alone possesses
by nature and which he imparts only to the saints is the lot of
the whole creation after the apocatastasis.

" It is requisite that evil should at some time be thoroughly and alto-
gether removed from that which is, and, as has been said above, which in
reality is not, nor in any way to be. But since evil has no nature, so that it
can be, outside of deliberate volition, when every deliberate volition or will
shall be in God, by its absolute abolition vitiosity will have no place, so
that not even any receptacle of it will be left " (De Anim,, etc.)

In the First Homily on the Canticles, among other things
which relate in general to all creatures, and particularly to men
who rise again at the Resurrection incorruptible, Nyssen says :

"Vitiosity being removed, the soul will not be impeded from the con-
templation of good ; in the resurrection there will be a consent of all in
good ; at that time we all shall celebrate a feast with one accord in the
confession of him who is truly God."

The most obscure and difficult sentences, in our view, among
all those which are contained in St. Gregory's writings are
those in which he speaks of every volition, choice, or will be-
ing in God, and of the consent of all in good ; and it would
have been well if Vincenzi had given more precise explanation

1883.] THE EscffATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 729

of these particular passages. This explanation is necessary in
order to show what St. Gregory means by the abolition of sin,
and that this does not imply the conversion to God of the angels
who sinned or of all sinful men from the state of alienation into
which they fell by sin, the cessation of all penalty, and the
restoration of all to the lost Paradise. We must, therefore, un-
dertake to give it briefly.

Ignorance and error are completely removed from all intel-
lectual beings by that manifestation of truth which is made at
the Last Judgment. This manifestation compels assent so ab-
solutely that henceforth, the divine reason being made the in-
trinsic law of every mind, all intellectual revolt against God is
impossible. Every intelligent being is compelled by his nature
to desire and choose good, and can only choose evil, not as such,
but under the aspect of good, which presupposes an error of
judgment. When such an error becomes impossible there can
be no object which presents itself to the intellect as the term of
an act of volition except that which is truly the uncreated good
or the created good. The creation being reduced to a perfect
order which cannot be disturbed, there is nothing in it to elicit
any inordinate appetite. Thus the law of God being identified
with the intrinsic appetite of the will, it is subject to that law by
its own nature and of necessity.

This is what St. Gregory means by the universal concert of
harmonious praise in which all creatures join around the throne
of God. God is glorified in all his works. Christ has triumphed
over all rebellion and opposition. He has subjected all things
to God. The Son himself is subject to him in his humanity, as
the head of all creatures. The blessed in heaven are in a filial
subjection, glorifying God in their glory. Other rational crea-
tures are subject to him as servants, glorifying him by the mani-
festation of his perfections in their nature, and in the testimony
which is rendered to the sovereignty, goodness, truth, justice,
and sanctity of God by their perpetual existence in the state
where God has placed them. Irrational creatures glorify God
by their physical excellence and perfect order, under their own
laws. The final result of God's works and ways in the creation,
and the ultimate, unchangeable condition of all existing things in
the order which he has brought to perfection, is all good, with-
out defect or flaw. He regards it with complacency, and every
intelligent being must necessarily approve it, and see in it the
glory of God, and bow down before him in homage. The Son
has accomplished this subjection of all things to God through

730 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Mar.,

his humanity and by means of his Mediatorial reign. There-
fore every intelligent creature in the universe must be subdued,
not by a merely extrinsic coercion, but by the intrinsic, irresisti-
ble power of truth and reason, to bend the intellectual knee of
the mind, and confess by the intellectual tongue, which manifests
to all his interior judgment, that Jesus Christ is in the glory of
God the Father. His rule is established and acknowledged in
heaven, on earth, and in hell, which all appertain to his kingdom.
All opposing principalities and powers are abolished, all conflicts
are ended, the last enemy is subdued, the peace of eternal order
succeeds, and God is All in all, reigning with a sovereignty
which is neither resisted nor contested.

St. Gregory, as we have seen, calls this state " beatitude"
and "the kingdom of God." We have already explained the
sense in which he uses these words. By giving them a sense
foreign to his intention the foregoing description might be un-
derstood to imply that all fallen angels and sinful men will at
last be made partakers of the " supercelestial beatitude " and of
the kingdom of the saints, in which they live and reign with
Christ in glory. But it is absolutely certain that he never held
or thought of even suggesting as a conjecture such an unscrip-
tural, anti-traditional, and heretical opinion. The apocatastasis,
St. Gregory distinctly affirms, is completed at the Resurrection.
All the beatitude given to rational creatures is accomplished
when that event takes place. There is therefore no opportunity
for any further restitution during the succeeding eternity. But
the Judgment, St. Gregory teaches, in accordance with the Ca-
tholic faith, takes place after the Resurrection, and in that Judg-
ment Christ pronounces the sentence which divides for ever
mankind into two classes with separate destinies : Venite, bene-
dicti ; fte, maledicti. In more than fifteen different places in his
works he expressly teaches that the exile and punishment of
those who receive their doom from the Judge at the Last Day
are eternal. It is impossible to explain away its eternal dura-
tion as signifying only "age-long."

That St. Gregory's meaning and his agreement in this matter with the
Catholic Church may be more fully manifested, we must observe the terms
aiGoviov diStov, (sternum, sempiternum, which are everywhere and always
used as a token of Christian faith to express the perpetuity, i.e., the end-
lessness, of beatitude and condemnation. In these locutions, which are
equal to each other in import, the holy doctor expressed a sense from
which the notion of an age which has an end is excluded, and which com-
prehends in itself a boundless duration. Wherefore, speaking against the

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 731

heretic Eunomius in his Tenth Oration on the Eternity of the Word, he says :
4 If, therefore, eternal life is not found in the Son, he is convicted of having
spoken falsely when he said, I am the Life ; there is, indeed, a life which is
not eternal, dA.A.a TO y.rj aiooviov Ttpotinaipov Ttdvraj?, but what is not eternal
is altogether in time. But such a kind of life is common to beasts.' And
in the First Oration he writes : 'That which is not capable of death and
destruction is without end ; in the same way that which is not said to be
for a time is eternal. Therefore that which is neither eternal nor endless
is perceived to be exclusively in a corruptible and temporal nature.' How
can it be possible, then, that St. Gregory, his testimonies on the topic in
hand being compared together, used the same words, eternal, viz., and
sempiternal, sometimes to denote infinite, and at other times finite dura-
tion ?" (p. 18).

We will now cite some of the passages, of which there are
more than fifteen to be found in his writings, in which St. Gre-
gory distinctly teaches that the doom of punishment pronounced
against sinners at the Last Judgment is eternal.

" Do not change the boundaries which our fathers have placed ; nor
despise that simple form of preaching which is adapted to the minds of the
ignorant ; nor any longer pay regard to various traditions, but walk by the
rule of the ancient faith " (Ep. ad Ambrosiam et Eustathiam).

St. Gregory undoubtedly followed himself the rule which he
laid down to others. The teaching of Christ, the apostles, and
their successors, on the eternity of the retribution awarded to
merit and demerit at the Last Judgment, is absolutely certain ;
and was distinctly recognized in the church in the age of St.
Gregory, just as much as in later ages. It is impossible that he
should have held and taught the contrary doctrine, or that he
should have proposed in connection with it private interpreta-
tions of Scripture or philosophical opinions which were dia-
metrically opposite to and subversive of the faith. In point of
fact, whenever the occasion required him to do so, he spoke
clearly and perspicuously in the same sense with the other
Fathers.

Explaining the sentences of Christ, the Final Judge, Venite,
benedicti ; Ite, maledicti, he writes :

44 Thus the just judgment of God is also assimilated to the moral quali-
ties by which we are affected ; giving to us from his own, retributions of the
same quality with the actions which have been done by ourselves. Come,
he says,_y<? who are judged worthy of benediction (Venite, benedicti); and,
Go, ye who are judged worthy of malediction (Ite, maledicti). Is it, per-
chance, an external necessity which assigns a joyful sentence to those who
are placed on the right hand and a bitter one to those who are standing on
the left? Or, rather, have not the former obtained mercy on account of
the things which they have done ; the latter, on the contrar) r , have they

732 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Mar.,

not rendered the divine judgment severe and unmerciful to themselves
because they have been merciless and inhuman to their fellows and to the
common people ? That Dives who was spending his life in delights and
luxury did not have compassion on the abject, miserable beggar in his
vestibule ; therefore he cut off mercy from himself, when he implored
mercy he was not heard : not that one drop from the great fountain of
paradise would be missed, but because the drop of mercy cannot be
mingled with and communicated to inhumanity. For what communion is
there of light with darkness ? Whatsoever things a man shall have sown, the
same also shall he reap " (Orat, v. de Bened^)

Of those who deferred their baptism and were at last cut off
by death, unbaptized, he says that their fate is the same with
that of Dives :

" Weeping and repenting in vain, not otherwise than the rich man who
was clothed in purple and fine linen, and. whose chosen and delicate food
of every sort nourished the matter of inextinguishable fire, vXyv rov ddfieti-
TOV itvpoS" (cited on p. 15.)

In his Oration on Beneficence, picturing the Day of Judgment,
he says :

" I hear those who are on the right hand called sheep, and those on the
left goats. For they receive this appellation on account of a moral simili-
tude. I hear the judge questioning them and giving reasons. I hear
what they answer to the king. Finally, I perceive each one indued ac-
cording to his deservings. To those who shall have been good and be-
nignant, and who have lived in an excellent manner, supreme and per-
petual repose is assigned in the heavenly kingdom ; but to the inhuman
and those destitute of virtue the punishment of fire, and that of an endless
duration, rtjuaopia rtvpoS xal avrrj Siaittvi^ovtia."

The idea that there can be any transition from hell to heaven
is completely shut out by St. Gregory's explanation of the abyss
or chaos which Abraham, in the parable of Dives and Lazarus,
tells Dives, lies between the separate abodes of the saved and the
lost namely, that it is not a physical barrier, but a separation
of destiny which has been caused by difference of conduct dur-
ing life, and which divides the just from those who have lived in
sin and have not repented before death.

" For the one who has once chosen in this life whatever is sweet and
pleasant, and does not, led thereto by penitence, correct and amend his
foolish and rash counsel, makes for himself in the hereafter the place of
the good inaccessible and unapproachable, since he has dug out opposite
to himself this impassable necessity, which is like a kind of vast and path-
less abyss " (De Anim. et Resttr)

Finally, the holy doctor furnishes himself an explicit and
clear explanation of his genuine sense in the passages we have
quoted above, in which he describes the universal harmony and

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 733

consent of all rational creatures in confessing the sovereignty
and glory of God and Christ.

" For when, as the apostle says, the figure of this world shall have passed
away, when, moreover, the King and God, Christ, shall have appeared to
all, er'ery unbelieving soul having been brought to full faith and certain know-
ledge, and every evil-speaking tongue restrained ; and the vanity of the Greeks
and the error of the Jews, and the diseased, untamed tongue of heretics,
shall have come to a standstill : then, indeed, all nations, and the peoples
who have been from the beginning, falling down, will offer a concordant
adoration, and there will be a kind of wonderful concert of glorification ;
the saints, indeed, intoning their hymns with a willing mind, but the impious
supplicating from necessity. And then, in very deed, the song of victory will
be unanimously chanted by all, as well by the conquered as by the con-
querors. Then also that flagitious servant, the author of perturbation,
who had arrogated to himself the dignity of his own Lord, will be observed
by all 'while he is being dragged by angels to punishment; and all the
ministers and co-operators of his iniquity will be subjected to due torments
and punishments. Then will be shown that there is One King and Judge,
whom all will confess as their common Lord " (Serm. iii. de S. Pasch. Fest.)
"There will be an entire dissipation of all vitiosity when all men have
been recalled to life by the resurrection ; and those of them who are just
being translated into the celestial repose, they who are obnoxious to sins
will be delivered over 'to the gehenna of fire "(Serm. in Chr. Natal.)

"It is absurd that those who have a care of the soul not to anticipate
the uncertain day of death and the heat of that excruciating fire which
burns throtigh eternity and never admits any solace " {De Pasnit.}

"The goods which are set before those who have lived rightly, in the
promises, are not of such a kind that they can be described in words ; for
how can they be, since they are such things as eye hath not seen nor ear
heard, nor have entered into the heart of man ? Nor is the miserable and
painful life of those who have sinned similar to anything here which tor-
ments the sense. For whatsoever in those torments is called by the name
of anything which is known here is nevertheless very different. When you
hear of fire, you perceive that you must understand something different
from the fire which exists here, because something is added to the name
expressing this difference. It is, viz., inextinguishable, whereas there are
many ways of extinguishing the fire which we are familiar with. Now,
there is a great difference between a fire which is extinguished and one
which admits of no extinction. Therefore it is some other kind of fire, and
not the fire of this world " (Orat. Catech. i. 40).

Considering in a fair and reasonable manner all the intrinsic
and extrinsic evidences of what was the genuine scope and pur-
port of the theological and philosophical argumentation of St.
Gregory' of Nyssa concerning the last things, we conclude that
it has been misunderstood by Father Petau and others who
agree with him. In the first place, the beatitude of which he
speaks in a universal sense is wholly within the natural order.

734 THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. [Mar.,

In the second place, it does not directly denote exemption from
pain and enjoyment of complete happiness, but only a certain in-
corruptible and immortal state of being which is in harmony with
a perfect order established in the universe by Almighty God.
St. Gregory was not in any way controverting or calling in ques-
tion the common and Catholic doctrine of eternal punishment.
His arguments were wholly directed against pagan philosophers
and heretics, with a view of refuting such notions as the eter-
nal and substantial nature of evil, the essentially evil nature of
bodies, the impossibility of the resurrection, and a host of simi-
lar anti-Christian errors.

It was his great aim to vindicate the doctrine of the creation
of all things by the One God, the essential goodness of all cre-
ated things, the benevolence and omnipotence of Divine Provi-
dence in a word, the dogma of faith, which is also a certain con-
clusion of reason, that God is the First and Final Cause. In the
development of this argument it was necessary for him to show
that sin and evil are merely privative and accidental predicates
of existing things, not taking rise from the volition of the Crea-
tor but from the deficient and inordinate volitions of creatures ;
and, moreover, that it is both congruous to the goodness of the
Creator, and within his power, not to leave finally anything in-
ordinate in existing things. All Catholic theologians and philo-
sophers are in perfect accordance with St. Gregory in these
principles, most notably and explicitly the Angel of the Schools,
St. Thomas. The reason why St. Gregory's doctrine of the
restitution of all things has been supposed to be contradictory of
the doctrine of eternal punishment has been that the two ideas
of the privative and negative nature of evil, and of the essential
difference between the natural and supernatural order, have been
lost sight of. The statements that all evil and deordination are
banished from the universe, and that a multitude of rational be-
ings remain for ever alienated from God as the penalty of trans-
gression, seem to be incompatible, viewed in a certain aspect.
But they are not. The sta^e of the lost is one which is only pri-
vative and negative in so far as it is deficient from good. St.
Gregory, it is true, affirms that this evil of privation and disorder
will cease when God restores all things. But this is true only
of nature and physical existence. The supernatural and super-
celestial beatitude is not due to nature. It is a free gift to those
who have by the grace of God merited the promised rewards of
his kingdom. Those who are deprived of it do not suffer priva-
tion of that which is due to them as they actually are, but only

1883.] THE ESCHATOLOGY OF ORIGEN. 735

of what would have been due to them in a possible condition.
They remain where they ought to be, and suffer what they ought
to suffer, in the order of justice. If they were endowed with the
beatitude of the saints, the amount of physical good in the uni-
verse would be augmented, but the good of the moral order
would be diminished. In fact, that moral order which God has
established in his infinite wisdom and sovereign power would
be subverted. It is the sovereign will of God to bestow the su-
pernatural good only in proportion to the merit gained by the
exercise of free-will, and as the result of the con-creative exer-
cise of this power in created natures, acting with and under his
own power as First Cause. This sovereign will is fully accom-
plished, and the retribution awarded to demerit is necessary to
its full accomplishment. St. Gregory fully recognizes this truth.
While he teaches that God will make perfect everything which
depends exclusively from his own creative omnipotence, he af-
firms also that whatever depends in part from the exercise of
created free-will will remain for ever, as this exercise of free-will
has given it its perpetual determination. Therefore, in the same
exposition of the final state of things in which he affirms that all
vitiosity will be banished from the realm of existing things, he
declares also that in the state of final and perfect order retri-
bution will be awarded to angels and men according to their re-
spective merits and demerits.

This great doctor has no need of an apology for his ortho-
doxy at the expense of his intellectual insight and his consis-
tency. His character is vindicated as one of the greatest and
most profound of the ancient theologians and philosophers of
the Eastern Church. He is one of the brightest stars in that
Pleiad of Saints to which he belongs.

We have taken up a great deal of time before coming to the
direct treatment of the main topic in hand the Eschatology of
Origen. Really, however, we have gained the great point which
is necessary for the vindication of the illustrious Alexandrian.
His doctrine is substantially the same with that of St. Gregory.
It is only necessary to show this similarity, and his cause is
gained. Having opened the way now to vindicate his ortho-
doxy to the best advantage, we hope to continue our pleasing
task in the next part of this article.*

* For a fuller exposition of the most important topics treated of in this part of our article
see an article entitled "The Destiny of Man in a Future Life," in THE CATHOLIC WORLD of
May, 1878, and another, " The Principle of _Beatitude in Human Nature," in the number for
July of the same year.

736 TWILIGHT STARS. [Mar.,

TWILIGHT STARS.

POISED in yon blue is a home,
Reached by a stairway of stars,

Whither the footstep of thought,
Silently mounting, repairs.

High o'er the mustering clouds,
A shadow profanes not its air ;

Needless a sheltering roof :
The snow nor the tempest is there.

Lit by the sun nor the moon,
A lustre illumes that abode,

Shed as from dewdrops or gems
'Tis the effulgence of God !

Verdure and bloom without blight,
Home without death or a care,

Friendships and shining pursuits
Who would not si:h to be there?

Loves that bring not a chagrin,
And pleasures that end not in rue,

Lives that compel not a prayer,
Entwine in that home of the true !

Ah ! could we follow our thought,
Be where it lures us alway,

Then the blest Future were now,
Then the sweet Morrow to-day !

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 737

AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK.

THERE is no chapter of Canadian history more tinged with
romance and with sadness than that which relates to the once
lig-ht-hearted dwellers in " Acadia the happy." With relentless
accuracy we are shown how the poor Basque and Breton pea-
sants were tossed about from France to England, and from Eng-
land to France, now forced to swear allegiance to one monarch,
now to the other, and finally how they were surprised, surround-
ed by an armed force, and placed on board of attendant vessels
that conveyed them from their country to be scattered through-
out the English colonies in America. Acadie then comprised
what are now the provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.
History tells us that the northern part of Nova Scotia was in
1632 purchased by the King of France from Sir David Kirk, one
of those marauders who played so disgraceful a part in the cap-
ture of Quebec. This " northern part of Nova Scotia "is now
believed to have been the old county of Northumberland in the
province of New Brunswick.

The poor exiles of 'the notorious loth of September, 1755, fared
badly, as was intended. Some were landed in Massachusetts,
friendless and starving ; many died ; over one thousand became
a public charge. Others were taken further south and were
reduced to such misery that they were sold as slaves. Others
took refuge in Cape Breton and in St. John's (now Prince Ed-
ward) Island. After peace was proclaimed and the footing of
the English colony firmly established the embargo was taken off
Acadian settlers. Some of these poor people who were longing
for their "dear Acadie," and who were near enough to carry out
their wishes, returned, but returned to find their homes occupied
by the invader. Their clearings and houses thus being lost to
them, they settled along the shores, and, as time wore on, became
quite a thriving population, gaining their living from the trea-
sures of the sea, and establishing fisheries now a source of vast
wealth to the Dominion.

Between the counties of Northumberland and Gloucester, in
the province of New Brunswick, is a broad and beautiful bay,
that, narrowing, forms a river navigable for large vessels thirty
miles from its mouth, and that, spreading into many branches,
irrigates a large section of the province. This bay and river,
VOL. xxxvi. 47

738 AT Tx ACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. [Mar.,

together with the well-wooded district through which it flows,
are all called " Miramichi," signifying in the Mic-Mac language
" Happy Retreat." Through many vicissitudes has this district
passed : the scourge of war visited it, the devastating breath of
fire laid it low ; but phcenix-like it rose from the ashes and lies
smiling in peace and plenty, one of the fairest spots in the pictur-
esque province of New Brunswick. The name of New Brunswick
supplanting Acadie will suggest the fact that the Hanoverian
religion succeeded the old faith, and, as a matter of course, among
the many new erections that sprang up for the sects to worship
in there was little or no room for the " chapel" of the Catholic.
This period of church history in the once faithful Acadie was full
of hardship ; but the trials were all overcome, and to-day we see
the northern part of New Brunswick forming the diocese of
Chatham, under a bishop so universally popular that Catholics
and non-Catholics vie with each other in telling his praises. The
town of Chatham, in Northumberland County, is one of the seats
of the lumber trade of the province a pretty little town of about
five thousand population. On the brow of an eminence over-
looking the city stands St. Michael's College, in which is the
episcopal residence. Beside it is the Hotel Dieu, containing a
hospital ministered to by sisters from the Hotel Dieu of Mon-
treal, and a large school under government control taught by
the same ladies. On the opposite side of the Miramichi River is
the thriving little town of Newcastle, while Bathurst, another im-
portant seat of the lumber trade, lies forty miles to the north.
Away to the northeast stretches a magnificent expanse of coun-
try richly wooded and watered by noble rivers. Along the
coast are fishing-stations and large settlements of Acadians, a
God-fearing and simple-hearted people. On one of these peace-
ful villages God has laid a terrible scourge that, while it has
brought sorrow and wailing in its train, has given to a few de-
voted women an opportunity of exercising self-sacrifice and de-
votion almost unparalleled.

To visit the Lazaretto of Tracadie, now in charge of the Sis-
ters of the HcHel Dieu, had long been a cherished project of the
writer, who in the autumn of last year was enabled to carry
out the design.

Crossing from Chatham in a small ferry-boat, we strike a
broad and level road that intersects the principal settlements in
the vicinity. The first place of note on the road is Oak Point,
the residence of a Highland gentleman, Mr. MacDougall, whose
beautiful property and genial hospitality are renowned through-

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 739

out the province. A few miles further on we come to the dis-
trict known as Burnt Church. This name is a relic of the old
wars. The frigate charged with conveying the remains of Gene-
ral Wolfe to England was, owing to adverse weather, driven into
Miramichi. This accidental anchorage was favorable for secur-
ing a fresh supply of water. Six of the crew were accordingly
told off for that duty. They landed at a place called Hender-
son's Point, and, after loading their boat with water, strayed off
for a ramble in the forest. Here they were surprised by a large
force of Indians and barbarously murdered with all the fiendish
tortures of which savage ingenuity is capable.* The captain,
taking for granted that his natural enemies, the French soldiers
(of whom there were some stationed' at a fort hard by), were ac-
cessory to this dark deed, determined on a terrible revenge. He
proceeded up the river, fired a broadside into French Fort, and,
coming to the settlement at Canadian Point, laid it low, kill-
ing almost all the inhabitants. He then put out to sea, but on
his way again wreaked his vengeance on a church near Neguaak,
burning it to the ground. Hence the settlement is still known
by the name of Burnt Church.

In this vicinity there are many Indians~of the Mic-Mac tribe.
They have lost the vigor of their warlike ancestors, and live by
fishing and shooting, occasionally finding work among the lum-
bermen. They are a simple race, very tractable, most respectful
to their spiritual pastors and masters. Their idea of what is
a fitting reception for their bishop is more demonstrative than
agreeable. They form in line along the sides of the road, and as
the episcopal carriage comes in sight begin firing off their rifles
one after another, somewhat after the manner of small boys play-
ing at " soldier." His lordship's horses take this lively expres-
sion of welcome in anything but good part, and prance and start
until the scene becomes most exciting. A stranger not knowing
of this custom would be apt to make a grave mistake concerning

* Some two or three years ago the owner of a farm at the mouth of the Tabucintac noticed
what he thought to be a piece of green ore protruding from a bank overhanging the river.
Seizing a spade, he proceeded to investigate the mystery, and discovered three large copper ket-
tles placed in a row, mouth downwards. Under them he found the skeleton of a man, a few
ends of rope, a piece of cedar-wood, the remains of a pair of moccasins, and a cap of South Sea
seal, the latter matted up with a quantity of fine, dark-brown hair. Over this grave was a tree
of not less than a hundred years' growth. The kettles were of fine copper and wrought by
hand, the marks of the hammer used in beating them out being clearly discernible. These curi-
osities are now the property of a gentleman in Chatham, who is most obliging in showing them
to visitors. Who the unknown was or how he came there is, of course, a mystery. That he
was a European is certain. The kettles suggest the water-carriers of the English frigate, but
public opinion in Chatham relegates him to the Spanish peninsula, while the once hopeful dis-
coverer savagely laments the too patent fact that he is not Captain Kidd.

740 AT TR AC A DIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. [Mar.,

the spirit of a party of Indians who entered a shop in Chatham
some weeks ago and demanded powder. " What do you want
so much powder for? " asked the clerk. "This is not the shoot-
ing season."

Gravely made answer the red man : " No shootem goose :
shootem bishop! "

After passing Burnt Church we stop at Neguaak. Some
miles further on is Tabucintac, on the river of that name. The
road now lies in the heart of a pine forest ; here and there a
cleared spot gives a view of the sea. On we go, on still north-
ward until we reach a broad, open country, and, crossing a
bridge over a beautiful river, find ourselves in Tracadie. There
is nothing in the aspect of the place to suggest its being the seat
of so much misery. The houses and barns look neat and clean ;
there are some fine dwellings and three general stores. On the
summit of a slight eminence stands a large and handsome stone
church, as yet only partially completed. Down by the sea is the
old wooden edifice that has for the past seventy years been con-
secrated by the prayers of the faithful. It is quaint and old, and
much too small to contain the parishioners, who come from
within a circuit of sixty miles. Over the altar is an oil-painting
of the baptism of our Lord by St. John, and near it is a pic-
ture of another distant coast by which a saint lies dying, his
hands clasping his crucifix, his eyes upturned to heaven St.
Francis Xavier, who kissed the sores of the lepers of old, is here
to give encouragement to the apostles of Tracadie.

From the church to the Lazaretto or, as it is now called, the
H6tel Dieu is only a few hundred yards. An irregular path
over the beach, terminating in a rustic bridge, leads to the en-
closure that is the leper's world. The hospital can scarcely be
called a triumph of architecture, nor has it any of the stately
solidity that one expects to see in a government institution. The
building forms a quadrangle and is but two stories in height. It
is built of wood, and has been patched and added to until it
presents rather a piebald aspect. The sisters have purchased
land adjacent to the sixteen acres allowed by the government to
the lepers, and last year they erected at their own expense an
addition sufficiently large to contain their dwelling apartments
as well as a general reception-parlor.

Viewed from the entrance-gate, the Lazaretto has the appear-
ance of a slightly built wooden barrack erected in haste for tem-
porary use, and one wonders how it has stood so many winter
gales blowing over the frozen surface of Tracadie Bay.

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 741

In answer to a pull of the bell-rope a little wicket is opened
and the smiling face of a sister " touriere " is seen. She, appa-
rently satisfied that we are not wolves in sheep's clothing, opens
the door and ushers us into a charming little parlor, wherein a
bright wood fire is crackling cheerily. One side of this parlor
is formed by a light wooden grating, behind which we see the
sweet face of the mother-superior, who, accompanied by her sis-
ters, bids us a graceful and gracious welcome. From her, and
from the cure, -Rev. Mr. Babineau, we learn the pitiful history
of the rise and progress of leprosy in Tracadie.

One sultry August afternoon in the year 1828 the Rev. Mr.
de Bellefeuille, a missionary priest visiting Tracadie, was called
upon to bury a woman named Ursule Landry , who had died of a
mysterious and loathsome disease to which none could give a
name. Her flesh had become hard and scaly ; hideous swellings
distorted her face and form ; spots of a brownish tint appeared
upon her limbs ; her eyes were covered with a yellow film ; her
eyebrows had dropped off, so had her nails. Her hands and
feet stiffened and sores broke out, discharging matter of an of-
fensive odor. What the malady was none -knew ; in all the coun-
tryside there had never been seen the like. Rumor came from
Newcastle that the wife of a Scotch resident in that town, named
Gardiner, was similarly affected, and a young physician of those
parts had gone to Europe to study up the case. Meanwhile
Ursule Landry had died, and her simple coffin was borne to its
last resting-place in the graveyard by the sea, on the shoulders
of four of her countrymen. The weather was very warm, and
one of these poor fishermen, Francois Saulniers, was in his shirt-
sleeves. The coffin weighed heavily upon his shoulder and cut
through the thin woollen garment into the bare flesh. Under-
takers were not skilled craftsmen in these parts, and from the
edge of the coffin flowed a poisonous discharge that inoculated
the newly-made wound of the pall-bearer. He died a leper.
The sister of Ursule Landry also became a victim. Symptoms
of it appeared in the children of both these women, and so the
disease spread.

Sometimes it assumed a different form : instead of swelling
and becoming discolored the sufferers grew daily paler and
more emaciated ; the hands shrivelled up ; a sepulchral cough set
in, attended with all the symptoms of consumption, and death
came for his prey.

The young Miramichi physician travelled through Europe,
prosecuting his studies with regard to this mysterious disease.

742 AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. [Mar.,

On the shores of a Norwegian feiord he found its victims ; they
were kept apart from other men, shunned in life and isolated in
death the disease was leprosy.

On his return he, with influential men of the district, laid the
matter before the provincial government, and a Board of Health
for the counties of Gloucester and Northumberland was consti-
tuted.

On Sheldrake Island, in the Miramichi River, was a small and
gloomy building. To it the eyes of the Board of Health turned.
It was purchased and became the first New Brunswick laza-
retto. A search was made for the poor victims of the disease,
who, on the ipth of July, 1844, were taken in boats to this wretch-
ed spot. A man and his wife were hired to take charge, wash,
cook, etc., and a supply of provisions was doled out to be ad-
ministered by them. Squalor and misery prevailed. The poor
unfortunates confined by force in this worse than prison constantly
planned and effected their escape ; there is on record an instance
of a moonlight flitting of a party of four, one of them a woman
with an infant a few weeks old, who put off in boats and made
their way to Tracadie", only to be recaptured and brought back
to their hated " hospital."

On the i6thof October, 1845, the Lazaretto was burned down.
It was rebuilt, however, but, on account of troubles ensuing from
the erection of a quarantine hospital on the island, it was deter-
mined to remove the lepers to another part of the province.
Accordingly, on the25thof July, 1849, these poor sufferers, thirty-
one in number, were put into boats and conveyed to Tracadie,
where, on a lonely spot by the sea-shore, stood a new and com-
fortless building, henceforth their living tomb.

The cur6, Rev. Mr. Gauvreau, who was possessed of a con-
siderable knowledge of medicine, did all in his power to relieve
their sufferings. The Board met and paid bills and passed mea-
sures, but did not, indeed could not, see to these measures being
carried out. Wardens and washerwomen played fast and loose
with the provisions and clothing allotted to the patients. The
" rich man " may have derived some profit from the concern, but
Lazarus died at his gates without even a dog to lick his sores.
A physician now and then paid a little visit and received a large
recompense, but here, as elsewhere, " doctors differed and patients
died." At one time the star of hope rose. A young French
doctor practising on the opposite side of the Baie des Chaleurs
had pronounced the disease curable, and offered to come to Tra-
cadie as resident physician and prove the truth of his assertions.

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 743

He was a stranger; the government guaranteed him nothing, but
the friends of the lepers went security for the payment of his
salary, and he came. Mr. Gauvreau, whose dearest wish it was
to see his poor people cured, gave Dr. La Bellois the warmest en-
couragement, but after several trials the foreign doctor retired in
confusion, and Death in his most loathsome form stalked trium-
phant in Tracadie. On Saturday, 4th of October, 1852, the Laza-
retto was burned to the ground, one of the patients, named
Tuigley, having played the part of incendiary. As the sea-
son was too far advanced for the erection of new buildings, the
lepers, thirty-six in number, passed the winter in what had been
used as a prison for the turbulent a building thirty-two feet
by thirty, divided into two apartments. Here their sufferings
were intolerable. Afflicted with a disease that at best, even with
ventilation, bathing, and attention to diet, is more or less offen-
sive, these poor beings were huddled together unwashed and un-
cared for. The office of washerwoman to the institution must
have been rather a sinecure, as tradition tells that clean clothing
was distributed but twice a year, and the clean shirts were put
on over the dirty ones ! There was no nurse to tend them ; they
were not unfrequently found dead in their beds. Mr. Gauvreau
said that on one occasion, when summoned to administer the last
sacraments to a dying person, he literally had to step over a dead
body lying in the ward in the midst of the sleeping lepers.

An old patient of that time, still living, relates how once the
good father found a dying girl in such a state of filth that with
his own hands he took a sponge and washed and dressed her
sores before giving her the last consolations of the church.

In the spring of 1853 the Lazaretto was rebuilt, but the in-
ternal economy was not improved. Iron bars guarded the win-
dows ; high walls closed in the narrow limits of the lepers' yard .j
men and women were huddled together like sheep ; a guard
paced before the door. Those suspected of being afflicted with
the disease were hunted down and brought to the hated prison
by main force. No amusement or recreation was provided for
them. The murmuring of a little brook before their door was
their only music ; the sky above them, the distant fields they no
more might tread, the sea they loved so well, their only books.
What wonder they became reckless and cared not for the laws
of God or of man ? Sometimes a ray of hope would come to
their place of exile. Once, in the year 1860, a visitor brought
them tidings of a mineral spring near the Hillsborough River, in
Prince Edward Island, where, could they visit it, they would

744 AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. [Mar.,

obtain a cure. The Board of Health permitted the experiment ;
some of them went, but, alas ! in vain, and came back to die.

In the year 1866 a petition was sent to the legislature at
Fredericton, begging- that a change might be effected in the
management of the Lazaretto, and that " Sisters of Mercy "
might be invited to come and act as nurses to the afflicted pa-
tients. After a considerable discussion of pros and cons this
petition was conceded and the idea was carried out. Mgr.
Rogers, Bishop of Chatham, asked the community of the Hos-
pitalieres of St. Joseph of the H6tel Dieu of Montreal to give
some sisters for this mission ; his request was granted, and on the
29th of September, 1868, a devoted band of six sisters arrived
in the parish of Tracadie. The poor peasants received them as
angels from heaven. The whole parish turned out to do them
honor and greeted them with every sign of respect and reve-
rence. They knelt to them as to saints. One little leper boy
had a rather startling habit of genuflecting every time he met a
sister, even if he were running at full speed. The present supe-
rior tells with much amusement how on one occasion, when she
was opening the door for an aged clergyman from Montreal,
an old man appeared at the grating. He paid not the slightest
attention to the priest, but fell on his knees before the nun, say-
ing: " C'est la confiance qui m'amene a votre Saintete." * Her
embarrassment may be imagined.

The building provided for the sisters was forty feet long by
twenty-five wide and thirteen feet in height. They took pos-
session of this miserable lodging and at once set about improv-
ing the condition of the patients. In some respects the admin-
istration was as before : the supplies passed through the hands
of the Board of Health ; they provided the cook. But, owing to
a communication from the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos,
neither entrance nor residence in the Lazaretto was to be com-
pulsory by law ; persuasion was henceforth to be the means
employed. The sisters had the bars removed from the win-
dows and the prison walls pulled down. Air and light, soap
and water, wholesome food and good nursing, worked wonders.
The sexes were separated ; needles and thread were provided for
the use of the women. A garden was laid off, in which the men
worked with good-will. A chapel was fitted up, wherein the
Holy Sacrifice was offered daily. The whole aspect of things
was changed. The gloom of discontent no longer clouded the
leper's brow ; he accepted his cross and learned to look beyond it.

* I come to your Holiness with perfect trust.

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 745

Still there were drawbacks to the perfect working of the
institution. The sisters, watching by the beds of their patients,
could not obtain at times the smallest quantity of food for them
without a written order being sent to the cook. Now, as the
cook could not read, but had to employ the services of an in-
terpreter, and as the sisters were not always provided with
portable ink-bottles, there was generally a considerable amount
of ceremony and no small delay before a cup of broth could
be extorted wherewith to revive a fainting patient. Then the
aforesaid cook, being of a convivial and hospitable turn of mind,
would entertain his friends most liberally, while the lepers often
ate dry bread and grudgingly saw their viands served up at im-
promptu parties in the cook-house. For some years after the
arrival of the sisters at Tracadie nothing was changed in the
mode of administering the Lazaretto through a Board of Health,
the sisters being simply nurses and having more or less re-
sponsibility without control. The wisdom and prudence of this
Board of Health were often questioned, and their indiscreet ad-
ministration was the occasion of much displeasure and criticism.
There was so much red-tapeism, so much farming-out of con-
tracts, the government funds filtered through so many hands,
that the poor unfortunate sufferers did not derive as much bene-
fit as they should have had from their annual allowance.

In the year 1880, on the 2$th of November, the Lazaretto was
transferred to the Dominion government and ^became subject
to the department of the Minister of Agriculture, who placed
in the hands of the sisters the entire charge and administration
of the money voted for the maintenance of the hospital. Since
then all has gone smoothly ; the patients are much better fed
and clothed, and means have been provided for their occupa-
tion. They no longer spend long days and weeks in idleness.
A loom, quilting-frame, carding-combs, and spinning-wheel have
been provided for the women ; the men have tools, and, as some
of them are good workmen, they make many useful articles.
There is a boat in which they may go fishing, and they have
violins, on which some of them play fairly well. In the winter
evenings they have many a merry dance, and in healthful work
and innocent recreation forget for the moment the heavy cross
which God, in his mysterious providence, has laid upon them.
They never attempt to go beyond the limits which government
has allotted to them, nor is there the same difficulty in inducing
them to enter the Lazaretto. The cure, Rev. Mr. Babineau, in-
vestigates the "suspected cases," and, if he finds them to be dis-

746 AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSIVICK. [Mar.,

eased, reasons with them until he brings them to a sense of their
duty. His work is often very arduous, but he succeeds in con-
vincing them that they will be happier and better cared for in
the hospital. The great difficulty with which he has to contend
is their absolute refusal to believe that they have the leprosy.
Others may have it, but not they ; it is some other disease, or
the result of some accident, or some trifling indisposition, which
will soon pass. Sometimes when the ominous yellow spots first
appear the poor creatures hide them and run away. Some
years ago two young girls named Brideau suddenly disappear-
ed from Tracadie ; they went to Shediac and engaged as do-
mestic servants. Father Babineau wrote to Shediac, telling the
rumor afloat in Tracadie concerning them. They were dismiss-
ed and went to the States. Father Babineau lost sight of them
until one day he received a letter from a lady in Providence,
R. I., making inquiries concerning them, stating that one had
died in a hospital in that city, and that the other had become
unfit for the performance of her duties as nurse-maid and was
showing symptoms of some extraordinary and unknown disease.
The good father immediately wrote in answer. The alarm of the
poor lady may be imagined. It is not surprising that one fine
morning very soon after this correspondence Miss Caroline
Brideau arrived in Tracadie, escorted by a detective. She en-
tered the Lazaretto, and shortly after died there.

In visiting the wards one is struck by the insufficiency of
accommodation they afford. There are two down-stairs, each
thirty feet long by twenty-five wide, for the use of the men ; one
of these contains eight beds, the other contains three beds, a
large stove, a table, and some chairs and benches. This apart-
ment, though serving as a dormitory for some of the patients,
is also dining-room, sitting-room, smoking-room, work-room,
etc. ; and as it is the life-long home of eleven men and is seven
feet seven inches in height, the state of the atmosphere is not
very healthful for either patients or nurses. The wards for the
women are above; there are three two are dormitories, one a
room for day occupation. The ceilings of these are lower, and
there are eight beds in each dormitory. At night, when the
windows and doors are closed and the patients all asleep, the
smell arising from so many diseased breaths and running sores
is something intolerable. Since the hospital has been under the
Dominion government many improvements have been effected,
one being the erection of a small mortuary chapel. Up to last
year the dead lay among the living for thirty hours, after which

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 747

time they were carried to their lonely corner in the little grave-
yard.

The yearly grant for the Lazaretto is $3,000 ; $800 of this is
a provision for the support of the nuns, $100 for the chaplain.
One cannot help contrasting the salaries of those who minister
to the soul with those who minister to the body ; for among the
government papers in Fredericton is one wherein is set down
the amount of $640 as the sum yearly paid to a physician for
his visits to the Lazaretto. When the sisters came the -number
of patients was but fifteen and the allowance was ample ; now
there are twenty-seven, and it is not easy to give them the com-
forts they require. Still, the cure, and the sisters coincide in
speaking most warmly of the vast improvement felt in every
way since the institution passed under the more generous ad-
ministration of the Dominion government.

It is not easy to give an idea of the impression produced by
the first sight of the lepers. Strong men have fainted and turn-
ed sick at the sight of such affliction. The ward first visited is
that of the men. Here there are exemplified various stages of the
disease. To an inexperienced eye some of these men look well
and strong; but, alas! they will tell you that the deadly symp-
toms are there, either in discoloration of the skin, swellings, con-
tracted joints, or some other fatal sign. One of the surest indi-
cations seems to be the contraction of the muscles between the
thumb and index-finger ; this is said to be a peculiarity of the
disease. The flesh sometimes becomes destitute of all feeling,
is insensible to burns or cuts ; in these cases there is great inter-
nal suffering.

There is now in the hospital a man whose aim in life seems
to have been higher than that of his companions in misfortune,
and whose habits are such that the offensive nature of the dis-
ease causes him intense mental agony. He is in appearance
strong and active, and his manner most prepossessing. He takes
pleasure in gardening and reading, and plays the violin fairly
well. In his case the fatal malady has broken out after lying
dormant for three generations. The most pitiful object in the
house is a young man who presents an aspect scarcely human ; he
is swathed in flannel and seated in a chair near the stove ; his face
and hands are covered with white scales ; his face, from which the
nose has disappeared, is most fearfully distorted, and every now
and then he gives a sort of whistling cough that seems to come
from lungs in the last stage of decay. The sisters say that
his whole body is a mass of these dry white scales, that keep

748 AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. [Mar.,

constantly falling off ; in the morning his bed is covered with
them. His voice, like his cough, though faint, is most thrilling,
and haunts one for many days. Some little boys, too young to
realize the blight that has fallen on their lives, are gay and happy,
having a very keen appreciation of the culinary comforts of the
hospital. Among the occupants of the men's ward there is a
look of listless sadness that one is glad to find absent from the
faces of the women, who, with that facility for accommodating
themselves to circumstances peculiar to the sex, have managed
to give their apartments somewhat of a homelike aspect. Here
they sew, knit, weave, and spin, and, when their strength permits,
assist in the washing and nursing, for which work they are
always paid.

Among all the patients, male and female, there reigns a won-
derful spirit of resignation ; their devoted pastor and their no
less devoted nurses have instilled a spirit of meekness and for-
titude very foreign to their natures. They bow to God's will,
and carry their cross, if not cheerfully, at least bravely. The
fixed idea of each that his or her disease is not leprosy and is
not incurable is a merciful hallucination ; for, with their comrades
dying before them in all the agonies of strangulation or suffoca-
tion, the prospect of the same ending to their own sufferings
would be almost too much for human endurance calmly to con-
template. It is not etiquette, when in the wards, to speak of
leprosy the word is considered insulting ; it is " la maladie."
The revulsion of feeling since the favorable change in the man-
agement of the hospital and of the patients would be fraught with
one dangerous result, unless checked by prudent surveillance.
The friends and relations who from time to time come to visit
their sick are not sufficiently afraid of the possibility of contagion,
and would not sufficiently guard against it, if they were not cJiccked
by the rules of the institution. An eminent Ottawa physician
has given as his opinion that the disease may be inoculated,
may be imparted through the close intercourse of domestic life;
that some firesides where it has long been harbored would be
dangerous resting-places, and that members of families predis-
posed to the disease are those who are in the greatest danger of
contracting it.

There is now in the hospital a young married woman of gen-
tle and melancholy mien. She left a little baby five months old,
and entered here at twenty-eight to end her days in exile. Her
sister, a dwarf of about thirty years of age, has all the appearance
of a woman of seventy. Disfigured face, swollen and distorted

1883.] AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. 749

ulcerated mouth and tongue ; ghastly, rolling, sightless eyes ; fin-
gers and toes from which the flesh has fallen ; skin hard and
glazed, and many ulcers, all call for compassion and sympathy.
She lies on her little bed, suffering most intense and unceasing
agony, choking for breath, smarting from internal sores, quiver-
ing with pain, weak in body, but brave and strong in soul.

We asked her did she wish to die. She faintly answered,
" No, not if it were the will of le bon Dieu that she should suffer
longer."

Day and night her prayers ascend prayers for her good
nurses, for the priest who has smoothed her weary path to the
grave, for her fellow-sufferers, and for the holy souls. She never
murmurs nor complains. To look at so frail a body, so covered
with a loathsome outgrowth of decay, and to hear her earnestly,
almost joyously, telling the praises of God, is indeed impressive.
The sister in charge was reading the prayers for the sick at her
bedside, and as we looked she held up her little hands and
smiled, as though to greet the angels ; overcome, we turned
away.

One end of the men's sleeping apartment has a large window
opening toward the chapel. In this room the patients hear
Mass. The chapel is small but exquisitely dainty. Its most no-
ticeable ornament is a large and beautiful picture of Our Lady
holding in her arms the Divine Infant a copy from the cele-
brated painting by Father Vasseur, S.J.

Many theories have been held out as to the possible or pro-
bable cause of the origin of leprosy in Tracadie. The people
have a legend that early in the century a ship from Europe put
into Caraquette harbor, and that Ursule and Isabelle Landry,
natives of that place, washed for the sailors and became inocu-
lated with the disease many years before they moved to Tra-
cadie. Whatever value may be attached to this theory, it ap-
pears beyond a doubt that the disease originated in this locality
in these two Landry girls, and it is difficult to account for this
fact unless the theory of inoculation be accepted. It is possible
that some escaped (or unknown) leper from a lazaretto in Nor-
way or in Trinidad may have passed through northeast New
Brunswick, scattering the -seeds of desolation and death in his
pathway.

Writers who assign the cause to be the poverty of the place
are simply talking nonsense. Tracadie is not a lone sand-bank,
nor do the dwellers therein subsist on half-decayed codfish.
The district has not one family who are not comfortably housed

750 AT TRACADIE, NEW BRUNSWICK. [Mar.,

and clothed. The land has not been much cultivated, but it is
not by any means poor, as the crops of those who have experi-
mented in agriculture testify. The lumber district produces a
fine growth of wood wherein is found game in abundance ; the
rivers abound in fish ; over the sea and in the marshes large
flocks of birds are constantly flying, so that there is a choice of
food to be had at very small cost. Were the country opened
up by a railroad tapping the Intercolonial, and the place acces-
sible to summer tourists, a different impression concerning it
would soon gain ground.

As it is, Tracadie is very quiet in its lovely beauty. Across
the entrance to the bay stretches a high, red ridge of sand called
the Dune ; on this is a cluster of large white buildings that seem
to rise abruptly from the waves. A little steamer plies busily
from the harbor bar to a saw-mill on the shore. Here and there
a sail-boat glides over the blue water. Great flocks of wild fowl
fly screaming out to sea, and across the shining sand come the
voices of children at play.

Hark ! there is the muffled toll of the convent-bell. From
the hospital door, across the green lawn, and out to the gate
moves a procession of men ; they are lepers, and they carry a
coffin. At the gate they stop : they may go no further. Hired
hands then seize the coffin and bear it over the little bridge
and along the stony beach. In one corner of the cemetery is an
open grave ; around it are many mounds, each marked by a sim-
ple wooden cross. The coffin of this last victim is lowered, the
earth thrown in, the men turn away, and the blue waves plash-
ing against the grass-grown bank sing the last requiem of the
little sufferer. We might place above her head the epitaph of
one of her fellow-countrymen an exile from Grand- Pre who
sleeps in Caraquette churchyard : " Miseremini mei, saltern vos
amici mei."

1883.] MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGXE. 751

MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE.

No part of France is so singularly beautiful as the mountain-
ous region of Auvergne, which is crowned by a hundred extinct
volcanoes so strange in outline, so wonderful in color, and en-
circled by such wealth of vegetation, that the eye of the traveller
is constantly experiencing fresh delight. The bristling peaks and
cones are often bordered with high cliffs and columns of basalt,
whose dark, rich hues are especially beautiful in the sunlight, and
down their sides dash frequent torrents in successive cascades
with extremely picturesque effect, that cut their way through the
valley with a speed and roar that add to the wildness of the scene.
You see scoriae and masses of black lava, and from the fis-
sures of the earth gush forth hot springs and gases, and some-
times smoke, it is said, that bespeak the volcanic nature of the
soil. Strange perpendicular rocks spring suddenly up along
your path as if shot up by some powerful nether agency. These
tall, isolated Rochers, as they are called, are pierced with caverns
and deep clefts well fitted for a place of refuge, and there are
countless ravines, and dells, and bowls, and tiny cups, that seem
expressly hollowed out among the mountains for a hermit, and
many of them in fact are still redolent of the saintly anchorites
of a bygone age who rivalled the Fathers of the Desert in the
strange austerity of their lives. In one of these secluded dells
on the confines of Auvergne lived to an advanced age St.
Patrocle, who consecrated his life to prayer and the study of the
Holy Scriptures, subsisting on coarse bread seasoned with salt,
and drinking only water from a spring mingled with wild honey.
And on the top of a lofty cliff that rises almost perpendicularly
up from a narrow valley shut in by high mountains not far
from Miallet, St. Caluppa more than a thousand years ago took
refuge from the world. It seems 6nly fit for the nest of an
eagle. Even at this day it can only be scaled by means of a
ladder. Caluppa, weaving together the vines and bushes that
grew in the crevices, succeeded in reaching a hollow of the rock
where he felt sure not a human being could come to disturb his
meditations. Like another Stylite, he never descended from his
column. He lived on the herbs and mosses that grew on the
rocks, and while praying for water, that he might not be obliged
to descend, drop by drop began to issue from the side of the

752 MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. [Mar.,

cliff, and, digging a little, a never-failing spring gushed forth, to
his joy. Like Menalcas, in the writings of Theocritus, he could
say: "I dwell in a beautiful cave in the hollow rock." Only a
deep chasm separated him from the mountain wall that enclosed
the valley, so he was on a level with the tree-tops that fanned
the air, where he could see the changes of foliage and varied in-
sect life, which must have afforded no small amount of interest.
The awful stillness was only broken by the winds, and the bab-
bling brook beneath that in spring often broke into a roar, and
the singing of the birds as they flew in circles around the cliff
or fearlessly built their nests in his very cave. But that nature
herself might not interrupt a higher converse, he hewed out an
oratory where angels often came to unite their voices with his.
At least the hermit's hymns, freighted with mystic piety, float-
ing up and down the narrow valley, echoed and re-echoed by
the wall on either hand, the echoes strangely blending with his
own voice, must have had the effect of something supernatural
as heard from the depths of the shadowy ravine below. Per-
haps it was the melody of some such angelic song that attracted
the attention of a hunter or wandering herdsman one day at the
matin hour, and, looking up, he discovered St. Caluppa at the en-
trance of his cave with his arms extended to heaven. This being
noised abroad, St. Avit, bishop of Clermont, came to see him,
accompanied by St. Gregory of Tours, and at the foot of the
cliff requested an account of his life, which the hermit obediently
gave as he bent over the edge of the precipice.

In the upper part of Auvergne among the oak forests at the
north of Pontgibaud the silvce Ponticiacenscs to this day a
wild, hilly district full of sylvan beauty, stood the hermitage of
St. ^Emilian in a glade of the forest, where he lived on the in-
digenous products in such harmony with creation that the wild
beasts, disarmed of their ferocity, loved and served him, and the
birds sang with joy at his approach. A wild boar pursued by
hunters taking refuge one day within his enclosure, the hounds
paused at the door, as if not daring to enter. A huntsman soon
came up, and, to his astonishment, found the boar lying quietly
on the threshold, as if secure of protection. This was Bracchio,
a young Thuringian in the service of Sigiswald, or Givvald, the
Powerful, a prince of the Merovingian race, who built the feudal
castle of Pontgibaud * (Gibaud being the Gallic form of Giwald)
on a bed of lava that had streamed down from the conical Puy

* This interesting castle, which was partly rebuilt in the fourteenth century, belonged at one
time to the Lafayette family.

1883.] MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. 753

de Come. St. JEmilian, who was of noble birth, came forth and
courteously invited this young bear of the German forests (the
word Bracchio signifies a cub), to enter his hermitage, offered
him some wild fruit, and spoke to him so sweetly of a life of soli-
tude with God that Bracchio, greatly impressed, returned hither
after the death of Sigiswald, and spent three years under the
hermit's spiritual direction, learning the Psalter by heart and
acquiring a knowledge of the religious life. St. ^Emilian, dying
at the age of ninety, bequeathed his hermitage to St. Bracchio,
who, obtaining a grant of land from Ramichilde, daughter of
Sigiswaid, built a monastery on the spot where he had been con-
verted. He afterwards became abbot of Menat, one of the old-
est religious houses in Auvergne, the remains of which may still
be seen on the banks of the Sioule a house which Louis le
Debonnaire took under his special protection, and where St.
Benedict of Aniane spent considerable time.

Further to the east, near Thiers, is another high cliff, to
which, at a still more remote period, fled St. Sirenat in a time
of violent persecution. It was then in the heart of a dense for-
est. Near the top of this cliff is an almost inaccessible cave
where the saint took up his abode, the secret of which was only
confided to his followers, who came to the foot for spiritual
counsel and to supply his limited wants. Hither came St.
Genes (the first of that name, there being three saints of Au-
vergne call*d Genes, one of whom was bishop of Clermont), a
young Greek of illustrious descent, who had been baptized at
Aries by St. Trophime, and was now brought by his mother to
St. Sirenat at the command of an angel. When they arrived at
the foot of the cliff St. Genes climbed up to the cave without any
difficulty, the rock softening like wax under his feet, which left
their imprint to mark the way of his ascent, as maybe seen to
this day. St. Genes, being martyred for the faith at the age of
eighteen, was buried by St. Sirenat in the forest. St. Avit after-
wards erected a church over his grave with a monastery adjoin-
ing, and there is still a curious old church at Thiers that bears
his name.

Not far from Thiers is Montboissier, whose ancient castle on-
the summit gave its name to an old baronial family from which,
sprang Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny. It bore for its de-
vice the defiant words, Nimquam impmie. The oldest lord of
Montboissier whose name is known was Hugues Maurice I.,
surnamed the Decousu, who lived in the middle of the tenth
century. Returning from a pilgrimage to Rome in the year 960
VOL. xxxvi. 48

754 MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. [Mar.,

with his wife Isengarde, he founded, by way of expiation for his
sins, the noted Benedictine abbey of San Michele della Chiusa,
one of the most remarkable religious monuments in Piedmont,
and the most striking feature of the landscape as you approach
Turin, crowning as it does the lofty Monte Pirchiriano with its
massive towers and battlements. And coming to his domains in
Auvergne, he built a priory at Cunlhat in commemoration of
his journey. His great-grandson, Peter Maurice, who bore the
title of Prince of Montboissier, was a man of uncommon piety,
and after his death his wife, Reingarde de Semur, became a nun
in the celebrated monastery of Marcigny, founded by her kins-
man, St. Hugues de Semur, abbot of Cluny. There is a touching
account of her going by night to weep for the last time at her
husband's tomb, and the next day, after giving alms to all the
poor of the neighborhood, setting off for the convent, attend-
ed by a train of gallant knights and lords, who endeavored
by their prayers and tears to change her resolution. But she
only replied as she reached the gate : " Do you return to the
world. As for me, I go to God." She died in the odor of sanc-
tity, June 24, 1135. Her son, Peter the Venerable, has recorded
her beautiful dying prayer : " O Lord Jesus Christ, I well know
where this my mortal frame will be lodged. It will find an abode
in the earth. But what place of refuge wilt thou this night af-
ford my soul? Who will receive or comfort it? No one can
do it but thyself, O my Saviour. Into thy hands I cc^nmend thy
creature. I am a most ungrateful sinner, but I now beg of thee
that mercy which I have always implored, and to thee I com-
mend both soul and body." Of St. Reingarde's eight children
Peter de Montboissier, to whom posterity has confirmed the title
of Venerable, became abbot of Cluny ; Ponce, abbot of Veze-
lay ; Jourdain, abbot of La Chaise Dieu ; and Armand, abbot
of Manglieu. It is pleasant to know that the high and puissant
family of Montboissier, that has given to the church bishops,
archbishops, canons, abbots, and abbesses, and to the kingdom
of France generals, admirals, ambassadors, and governors of
provinces, is not yet extinct. There are several branches, like
that of Canillac, which are still among the leading families in this
part of France.

At a considerable distance south of Thiers, on the upper side
of Lake Chambon, is the gloomy gorge of Chaudefour, bristling
with sharp rocks, like spires, which leads to a rough, picturesque
region, in the midst of which is Mt. Cornadore, with the village
of St. Nectaire le Haut on one side. Here is an interesting

1883] MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGN~E. 755

Romanesque church of the twelfth century, one of the most
prominent objects in the beautiful landscape, in which once stood
the tombs of St. Nectaire and his fellow-laborers, St. Auditeur
and St. Baudeme. Near by are the ruins of the old baronial
castle of St. Nectaire, which has many historical and romantic
associations. Several bishops and marshals of France sprang
from this house, among whom was Antoine de St. Nectaire,
bishop of Puy, who took so active a part in quelling the distur-
bances of the sixteenth century.

St. Nectaire, from whom the castle and village derive their
name, was the first Christian missionary to this region. In his
day the country around was covered with a virgin forest sacred
to the Druids, in the midst of which stood the sacred oak, the
mysterious symbol of their divinity, like the Chene Irminsul that
Charlemagne had cut down in the country of the Saxons. The
finest woods in Auvergne still grow in the vicinity of Murol,
which is not far off, and on Mt. Cornadore, where the saint bold-
ly established himself, are still to be seen granite dolmens and
other druidical remains. The country in general was then in
possession of the Romans, but the Druids had taken refuge in
the most inaccessible mountains and forests, where they carried
on their rites and excited the people, the mass of whom clung
to them with persistency, to continued resistance. It was among
the mountains of Auvergne, it will be remembered, that the
mighty Caesar met with his greatest defeat in Gaul, and it was
here that the early Christian missionaries also encountered the
greatest opposition.

A little to the east of St. Nectaire, near the junction of the
Couse with the Allier, is Issoire, where St. Austremoine was
martyred, one of the seven bishops sent to Gaul in apostolic
times, believed to have been one of the seventy-two disciples
him to whom Jesus said : " Let the dead bury their dead ; but
go thou and preach the kingdom of God." He was from Ern-
maus, and the father he wished to bury bore the name of Judah.
His mother's name was Anna. He witnessed the life, death, and
ascension of Christ, and was afterwards sent into Gaul by St.
Peter. With him came St. Nectaire, whom the Prince of the
Apostles had raised from the dead ; St. Mamet, who has given
his name to a. village of Upper Auvergne where he labored ; St..
Sirenat, who carried the Gospel to Thiers ; St. Antoinet, or An-
tonin, who built the first church at Compains near Besse ; and
St. Mary, or Marius, the great apostle of the mountains. St..
Austremoine was the first bishop of Clermont, but in his old age-

MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. [Mar.,

he retired to a religious house he had established at Issoire,
afterwards destroyed by the Saracens.

There is no doubt but semi-monastic institutions were found-
ed in Auvergne at the very introduction of Christianity. The
first Christians, surrounded by enemies, naturally combined to-
gether for mutual support, and they sanctified their pursuits by
daily exercises of piety. Especially those destined for the sacred
office of the priesthood were withdrawn from the dangerous in-
fluences of paganism and trained in retirement. The first mis-
sionaries found such associations already established among the
Druids, who had colleges in the forests remote from the world,
arid they no doubt saw the advantage of similar institutions. It
was some such organization that St. Austremoine founded in a fer-
tile valley on the banks of the Couse. It was here, when he suffer-
ed martyrdom, that he first found a grave, but his remains were
afterwards removed to Volvic by St. Avit, and at a still later
day were taken to the abbey of Mozat, borne on the shoulder of
Pepin II., King of Aquitaine, who was clothed in royal robes,
but with head and feet made bare out of respect to the sacred
relics, notwithstanding the severity of the winter.

South of Issoire is the valley of St. Florine, so named from a
holy maiden who, to escape from an enemy, sprang across the
Couse (not the same stream on which St. Austremoine built his
monastery, but another branch of the Allier * ) from one tall cliff
to another, leaving the impress of her feet on both rocks. On
one of them are still to be seen the remains of an old church sur-
rounded by graves, where her relics, after they were removed to
Mazoire, used to be borne in procession every year on her festi-
val, which is sacredly observed by the neighboring villages on
the first of May.

Still further to the south, on the other side of the Allier,
lived St. Bonndte, a simple peasant girl who watched over the
geese belonging to the villagers of Alvier. She had great devo-
tion to St. Julian of Brioude, and on her way one day to pray at
his tomb, where she often went, leaving her geese in the pasture,
she found the Allier so swollen that no boat was willing to ven-
ture across. Whereupon she knelt down upon the shore and, in
the pious simplicity of her heart, prayed with many tears that
she might be enabled to cross, and an angel descended from
heaven and led her through the deep, strong current, which
parted before them. This poor gooseherd at her death was

* Couse is the general name of a mountain stream in Auvergne, as that of Gave is in the
Pyrenees, but there are three small rivers that seem, par excellence, to bear this name.

1883.] MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. 757

borne to Brioude with as much reverence as if she had been of
noble birth, and buried in the same church where she had so
often prayed at the tomb of St. Julian.

Going- up another branch of the Allier, you come to a beau-
tiful valley beyond Massiac watered by the Alagnon and sur-
rounded by basaltic cliffs. In this region are two pretty vil-
lages, one called St. Mary le Plain because it stands in the valley,
and the other St. Mary le Creux because it is in a hollow of the
mountains. It was here among the forests of Mt. Journal that
St. Mary, or Marius, one of the companions of St. Austremoine,
came to exercise the duties of his ministry. The valley where
he first settled was exposed to cold -winds and in winter covered
with snow, but the place to which he withdrew for greater safety
was still more severe. This was a cliff further back in the forest,
where he had found a cave. Here he ended his days. St. Aus-
tremoine, hearing that his end was approaching, took St. Mamet
with him and set out for the forest of Mt. Journal, but on the
way he saw St. Mary's soul borne to heaven in great triumph by
a multitude of angels. The saint, in fact, was dead when they
arrived, and they placed his body in a sepulchre at St. Mary le
Creux, over which a church was afterwards built. Near by is a
sacred spring to which the people still resort, and beside it is
a great rock, called the " Chaise de St. Mary," from which the
saint used to preach like another Baptist in the wilderness. His
remains were afterwards taken to Mauriac, where there is a beau-
tiful church dedicated to his memory, though more generally
known by the name of Notre Dame des Miracles from its won-
drous Madonna, one of the greatest places of pilgrimage in the
province. St. Mary is in great repute everywhere in Auvergne,
and there are numerous churches of his name, one of which is at
Besseyre, where the mountaineers go in crowds to commend
their herds to his protection. Not far from Mauriac is a high
mountain called Puy Mary, in which eight streams take rise that
water as many beautiful valleys. The herdsmen never fail to
tell the traveller that eight cures of the parishes around can sit
back to back on the top of this mountain, each in his own parish.

Out of the valley of Royat, not far from Clermont, springs the
Rocher de St. Mart, a picturesque cliff commanding a fine view
of the Puy ,du Chatel with its successive belts of cherry-trees,
vines, and chestnut woods ; and the pretty stream of Tiretaine
winding beneath, with old paper-mills on its banks established
here in the thirteenth century. It was to this place that St. Mar-
tius, a noble Gallo-Roman, came in the sixth century and hewed

758 MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. [Mar.,

out a cell in the cliff with seats and a couch of rock on which to
repose. It was then an utter wilderness, but is now noted for
its thermal springs, and the charm of the place is fast disappear-
ing before the march of modern improvements. A hotel already
stands on the sacred cliff of St. Mart, and the clamor of tongues
is to be heard where once rose the peaceful hermit's evening
hymn. But there is still a fragment of the monastery he found-
ed in the valley for the benefit of those who followed him hither.
St. Gregory of Tours relates that a man who had come to the
neighborhood like a bird of prey, taking advantage of St. Mart's
excessive mildness, was in the habit of stealing the vegetables of
the convent garden. The saint caught sight of him one night
just as he had filled his sack with the choicest produce, and, sum-
moning the gardener, told him an animal was ravaging his beds.
The gardener found the thief entangled among some brambles,
and, filled with the spirit of the holy abbot, said : " Be not afraid,
my friend. The master has sent me to your aid." He then re-
leased him, placed his sack of fruit and vegetables on his shoul-
ders, and, opening the gate, continued : " Go in peace, and return
here no more."

The mountains of Auvergne are subject to the Cers, or Ecirs
the Circius of Diodorus Siculus, whose description of these
winds is so accurate. They are especially violent in winter, and
may be compared in their effects to the fierce winds of Norway
and the hurricanes of the tropics. They last several days at a
time, and those who have the misfortune to be overtaken by them
at a distance from any habitation are exposed to the greatest
peril. Pedestrians and horsemen are often swept away by their
violence, and carriages and loaded wains overthrown. Clouds
of driving snow blind man and beast, so they lose their way and
are often carried over precipices or buried in the drifts. From
the foggy evenings of autumn till the clear nights of spring-time
the bells of the mountain churches are rung to guide the wan-
derer a pious custom handed down from the monks of the old-
en time, whose establishments were for the most part on high
mountains or in wild regions where they had constant oppor-
tunities of exercising their charity to travellers, especially by
night, when a horrid darkness encompassed the paths through
the forests and narrow gorges. Then the young and vigorous
brethren, like the monks of St. Bernard in our day, used to go
forth to succor those who were benighted or overtaken by
storms, while the bell in the highest tower of the monastery an-
nounced far and wide a port of safety. The monks, too, con-

1883.] MOUNTAIN LEGEKDS OF AUVERGNE. 759

structed roads along the mountain-sides overlooking perilous
ravines, and built bridges over rivers and torrents, as over the
Sioule at Menat and Ebreuil, over the Allier at St. Ilpise and
Lavoute, over the Dordogne at Bort, over the Senoire at Ba-
jasse, etc., some of which still exist and excite wonder on ac-
count of their solidity. They were, in fact, at the head of all pub-
lic labors of the kind, and often, when the lord of the manor was
too poor for the necessary constructions, the monks of some
neighboring priory would set forth with their cscarcelles on a
quest for the means, and even labored with their own hands.
Piety in those days came to the aid of civilization. Works of
public utility had a sacred character, and, like all works of cha-
rity, were considered beneficial to the soul. Sums of money were
often left by will to complete a road or bridge, the testator tak-
ing care to add that it was done for the remcde de son dme, as
when in 1286 Bertrand de la Tour d'Auvergne bequeathed thirty
livres Tonrnois to repair roads and bridges in the province, and in
1340 the dauphin of Auvergne left fifty sons Tournois to aid in the
construction of the bridge at Vieille Brioude, and as many more
for the Pont St. Esprit over the Rhone. And when the bridge
was completed the abbot, or prior, or the chaplain of the castle
came forth to solemnly bless it and pray for its preservation
from the source of all evil. Sometimes a cross was set up at one
end, where the pilgrim stopped to rest and say, perhaps, a prayer
to St. Julian, the patron of travellers, or the mendicant awaited
some charitable passer-by. Such crosses became places of asy-
lum by a decree of the Council of Clermont in 1095, and the
oppressed serf often sought refuge and safety from the anger of
his lord at the foot of one of these blessed symbols of mercy.

It was, in fact, to the monks of these mountains that the peo-
ple of Auvergne were indebted for their rescue from complete
barbarism after the country was overrun by the Goths and Huns,
and the Saracens, and the Normans, and nearly every trace of
Latin civilization effaced. And how fully the people realized the
.advantage of living under monastic protection is shown by their
eagerness to settle around the religious houses, both of men and
women. The greater part of the towns and villages in Auvergne
owe their origin to some abbey or priory, such as Brioude, Bel-
laigne, Cournon, Chaumont, Mauriac, Menat, Mozat, Manglieu,
Menetrol, Montsalvy, Lavoute, Les Chases, La Chaise Dieu, Orci-
val, St. Gilbert, St. Nectaire, St. Pourcain, etc., etc. The monks,
as far as they could, protected their vassals from pillage, cap-
tivity, and famine, and frequently obtained their exemption from

760 MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. [Mar.,

oppressive taxes and contributions to the wars, as was the case
with the abbot of Aurillac in the wars on the Spanish frontier.
So in the time of the English freebooters the abbot of St. Allyre
built a strong wall around the village of Nebouzat, capable of
resisting the engines of war, the cyclopean remains of which are
still to be seen. And as late as the reign of Louis XIV. the
abbess of St. Elache induced the king to sanction the custom of
his predecessors to exempt the villages in her neighborhood
from taxes and the burden of having soldiers quartered on them.

The monks, too, were foremost in agricultural improvements.
The introduction of nutritious vegetables, better fruit, and choice
seeds of all kinds, as well as tools to make labor easier, was in
those rude times an inestimable benefit. It is to the abbey of
Mozat that Lower Auvergne owes the propagation of the wal-
nut-tree, now the source of so much profit. The monks used
to extract oil from the nuts, not only for their own use but to
send in large quantities to Cluny. The Benedictines of Lavoute
brought vines from Burgundy, and planted vineyards along the
banks of the Allier, now purple with the grape. The monks
of Pebrac not only set out vines but introduced new fruit-trees
from other countries. And those of Aurillac, La Chaise Dieu,
and Mauriac improved the native breed of cattle by importa-
tion and exchange. The abbey of La Chaise Dieu especially
encouraged the cultivation of grain and vegetables of all kinds.
In short, the benefit of the monks to the people and the country
at large was incalculable. They gave alms at the gate, distrib-
uted medicines, opened schools, administered consolation to the
soul, and enforced the obligations of morality and religion. The
office of almoner was always one of the most sacred in the con-
vent, and that of hosteller, whose duty it was to receive guests,
was equally respected.

Nor were the inhabitants in those days ungrateful. They
aided with pious enthusiasm in building churches over the tombs
of the confessors of the faith as well as the ancient martyrs, giv-
ing not only the help of their own hands but the use of their,
beasts of burden, and supplying the laborers with milk from their
cows and clothing from their sheep. The very women and chil-
dren considered it a privilege to aid in building a house for God
and his saints, and the masons and carpenters were popularly
called the logeurs du ban Dieu.

And the people consecrated the benefits of monastic charity
by innumerable pious legends. They maintained, for instance,
that after Abbot Jehan de Montmajour gave all his wheat to the

1883.] MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. 76 r

poor in a time of famine the granaries of his convent of St. Al-
lyre were always full, however unfruitful the year. When Abbot
Jehan died the arms of his family were, according to custom,
graven on his tomb, but the monks soon discovered that the
heraldic emblems had been effaced and three loaves carved in
their stead. They could not for some time find out who had
done this. The story got abroad, and a poor old man who had
often been fed by Abbot Jehan when in need declared he had
seen in a vision of the night a luminous hand carving the new
armorial ensigns on the tomb. At which the monks ceased their
researches and left the symbolic loaves on the family shield.

Strange legends are the natural inflorescence of this singular
region, and they have a double charm and significance when
heard in the places where they had their origin places that har-
monize with the extraordinary and supernatural. Some of" these
we have alluded to, but they are numberless and spring up, like
wild flowers, at every step in these mountains. There is the
fountain of St. Marcel, for instance, in which the saint of that
name washed his own head when cut off by the pagans, and then
carried it to the church where he wished to be buried. And it
is told of St. Procule, of an illustrious family in these mountains,
that, having had her head cut off by an enraged suitor from
whom she had escaped to the wilderness, she took up her head,
and, singing a song of triumph in honor of the Heavenly Bride-
groom, carried it to the church where she had been accustomed
to go for her devotions.

But the most extraordinary of these legends, perhaps, is that
of the priory church of St. Marie des Chases, which appeared one
day to the delighted gaze of the people without its being built by
human hands. The legend says that when the Angelic Church
of Notre Dame du Puy was completed St. Ann descended from
heaven to see the palace of her daughter. Pleased with its as-
pect, she seized the hammer of the master-mason, and, taking her
flight, landed on the summit of the Durande. Then turning to-
wards Auvergne, where she thought there was no church worthy
of the Queen of Heaven, she hurled the hammer of the mason,
saying :

" Au lieu oii ce marteau cheera,
Une eglise s'elevera." *

The hammer fell a league distant, in a wild valley on the right

* Where this shall land
A church shall stand.

762 MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. [Mar.,

bank of the Allier, and instantly there sprang from the earth,
beautiful as a flower, a Romanesque church that is still entire
and well worth visiting on account of its curious sculptures,
though they are considerably defaced. You see demons, with a
horrid grin of joy, dragging souls to hell by means of an enor-
mous rope. And one, with flames issuing from his hands, is car-
rying a mother and child on his shoulders. Above kneels Mary
with folded hands at the pierced feet of Christ, to whom a beau-
tiful angel is directing the way to a multitude of souls rising
from the dark grave at the sound of a great trump. Adjoining
this church was built a priory, now in ruins, that was under the
jurisdiction of the abbey of St. Pierre des Chases, which stood
on the other side of the river. This abbey was one of the old-
est religious houses for women in Auvergne. It was founded
in the Carlovingian age, some say by the wife of Claude, lord of
Chanteuge. It was here hung the miraculous Christ so long
honored in this province. And here stood the tomb of St.
Petronius, bishop of Mende, who had ordered in his will that
his body should be buried in the church the bells of which would
be found ringing of themselves. Accordingly, he was borne
from one parish to another, finding all the bells dumb, till he
reached a height overlooking the beautiful Vallon des Chases,
where the convent bells were heard in full peal, though the nuns
were at dinner. The abbess sent to the church to know what so
unusual a summons meant, and before the altar stood a vested
priest ready to say Mass, and the bells were ringing most mys-
teriously of themselves. At this report all the nuns hastened to
the choir, but they found only the sacerdotal garments before
the altar. There was no priest there. The funeral cortege soon
arrived, and from the mutual explanations it became evident this
was the place where the holy bishop wished to be buried. Ac-
cordingly, they placed his sacred remains in the Chapel of the
Rosary.

The abbey of Les Chases stood on the banks of the Allier in
a beautiful, romantic valley shut in between the impetuous tor-
rent on the one hand and two enormous basaltic cliffs on the
other, a place admirably adapted for the solitude of monastic
life. Like all monasteries bearing the name of St. Peter, at
least in Auvergne, it was immediately dependent on the Holy
See. From the beginning the constitution was aristocratic, it
being destined for ladies of quality, who were obliged to prove
six generations of nobility both on the paternal and maternal
side. Like the Carthusians, they lived in separate abodes grouped

1883.] MOUNTAIN LEGENDS OF AUVERGNE. 763

around the cloister and church, whence the name of Chases
(casce], or habitations. There was a second grade of sisters,
called soeurs blanches from the veil of white linen which they
wore over a habit of black serge. They were employed in
domestic affairs, and took no part in the elections or govern-
ment of the house. The abbey was distinguished for its riches
and prerogatives. Under its jurisdiction were eight priories,
which were annually visited by the abbess, and the prioress of
each house went to the abbey every year to attend a general
chapter of the nuns, and likewise at the death of the abbess in
order to elect her successor. In the sixteenth century, how-
ever, most of these priories were suppressed on account of their
isolation and exposure to pillage during the wars. Their reve-
nues were then added to those of the mother-house. Even
when abbatial privileges were curtailed in the houses of monks
the abbey of Les Chases succeeded in obtaining favors from the
crown. Louis XII. acknowledged it to be a royal foundation
made by his ancestor Charlemagne, and took it under his own
protection. Thirty-seven abbesses of noble blood reigned like
queens over this house and its eight priories. Among them
were two ladies of the Lafayette family. Gabrielle de Lafayette
was abbess in 1531, and Isabella de Lafayette in 1563. The nuns
could inherit and transmit, contrary to the ancient custom of
regarding those as dead in a civil sense who had buried them-
selves for ever from the world. A curious old register, kept in
the language of the province, contained a list of the bequests
and foundations. Among these were rations of food and other
supplies, such as oil, candles, wine, etc., which were distributed,
by a claustral dignitary called the annualiere, on certain days
that were indicated in the register. M. Armand de Langeac,
knight, for instance, who was buried at the abbey, by a founda-
tion in his will gave each nun two pounds of fresh meat every
year on St. Augustine's day. And one of the nuns themselves
left a foundation for a lioura of oil to each member of the house
on the festival of St. Benedict. Besides which four Hour as o(
oil were given them either in Advent or Lent. And during the
Christmas holidays they were allowed a pint of milk each, with
fifteen oublies, or cakes. On the festival of St. Elizabeth of Hun-
gary they, were entitled to unusual cheer in the shape of a por-
tion of veal and fresh pork, two links of sausage, half of a
chicken, and some mustard, with a pichey of wine at dinner and a
paucha at supper. We read, too, that a pichey of white wine was
given once a week to the sceurs blanches.

764 MODERN GERMAN .RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

The abbey of Les Chases is now a desolate spot. Bushes and
brambles grow in the courts where once paced the high-born
daughters of Auvergne, and the walls are falling, stone by
stone, into the river that sweeps around the base. The very air
is full of melancholy that weighs on the soul.

MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS.

IT is a curious and interesting history, that of the German
mind. He makes a great mistake who believes the German to
be in general bold in his opinions and aggressive in maintaining
them. On the contrary, he is simple, modest, distrustful, tender-
hearted, and, for these reasons, subject to be led. His lack of
confidence in himself, his dissatisfaction with himself, have led
him into imitations not only unlike himself but far below what
he could have wrought if he had followed only such guidance
as was afforded by God and the genii of his native land. Those
who are acquainted with the Minnesong have seen what the
German mind could do under these benign influences. Their
song arose not less sweet and more pure than that of Lesbos in
the times of Alcseus and Sappho. Like these ancient songsters,
the Minnesingers, ignorant of letters, were educated only in the
love of religion and patriotism. Their music was ineffably
sweet, and it ceased only when, first under Luxemburg and
afterwards under Hapsburg rule, the human was placed before
the eternal and the worship of man substituted for the worship
of God. Blind as was the guidance of Luther, it was that of one
powerful, bold, and blatant. It has led hither and thither, every-
where except to felicity and truth. Its precedent has given au-
thorization to other guidances of many sorts, and the struggles
that have engaged that German mind during three hundred
years have reminded of the tremendous but vain wars of the
Titans. Pelion has been piled upon Ossa, yet the heights of
Olympus have still towered far above in security, serene even in
the midst of solemn commiseration.

Not that the German is not brave. He is the impersonation
of bravery. Under a leader in whom he trusts he will fight
until his shield is battered and his sword broken, and then, with
his face covered with sweat and with smiles, he will die. The

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. 765

difficulty with the German has been that, knowing not his native
strength, he feels that he must have a leader, and that in his
choice of leaderships he has made mistakes wherein his heroic
vigor, his most manful endeavors, have failed of happy result.
On the other hand, the Irishman, brave as he, simple-hearted
as he, has never voluntarily subjected his. native independence
except to a guidance known to be competent and authoritative.
For three hundred years and more he has been the out-and-out
freeman in the Old World a freeman, we mean, who, not counting
above their worth material possessions, acknowledges only one
King over all his being : the King who dwells in heaven and
who has one, and but one, vicegerent upon earth. In the exer-
cise of this independence he has not grown rich in worldly
goods, nor held sinecure offices in courts, nor stood among the
favorites around great thrones ; but, along with his countrymen
of both sexes, he has been the most cheerful-hearted of all man-
kind, the bravest, faithl'ulest apostle of true liberty that only
liberty worth having by a dweller upon this earth.

But it is of the German that we are now to speak, and of the
various guides to whom, in his distrustfulness of himself, he has
consecutively submitted. In a former article we spoke of Opitz,
of Silesia, who sought to engraft upon German stock slips from the
tastes and sentiments of the French ; and we saw how, under
Bodmer and the Swiss school, a portion of the German mind
went back to ancient Greece for its models. We saw how in
the struggle between these rivals the French at last, led by
Rousseau, and especially by Voltaire, prevailed, and Germany,
if it could, seemed as if gladly it would become a mere colony
of France. It is wonderful how long postponed has been the
nationalism of the Germans. It is even yet far behind that of
other peoples. A Protestant historian of German literature,
himself a German,* thus laments the proclivity of his country-
men for foreign imitations :

"We always take an interest in that particular foreign thing which har-
monizes most, at the moment, with the degree of our culture and with our
own state of mind. When our understanding began to free itself from the
narrow bonds of faith the wise and enlightened ancients were our models.
When feeling, which had been entirely neglected or ill-managed, rose in
rebellion against the tyranny of a superficial rationality, the middle ages
in their turn were compelled to serve for models. When the German
attained to a consciousness of his clumsiness he surrendered himself to the
nimble-footed Frenchman. When, in his sluggish political slumbers, he
dreamed dreams, the images of England or America, or of the ancient re-

* Menze!.

766 MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

publics, thronged around him. When at length he felt the inconve-
nience and unnaturalness of his old Prankish habits, his instincts must
lead him back again to Grecian airiness nay, even to nudity. When, by
destiny and disaster, he had sunk in poverty, the material prosperity of the
Britons must needs be his model ! "

The allusion in the last sentence is mainly intended for Klop-
stock the name of a great and a good man, a patriot, a would-
be Christian, searching throughout a long life to find how best
to honor God and his native land. Like Lessing and like Schil-
ler, Klopstock, a native of Saxony, had been reared in the tenets
of the Lutheran faith and had been intended for their preacher.
But he had a heart too sensitive, an imagination too vivid, to be-
come a leader in the propagation of the fierce dogmas of the
founder of the faith then prevailing especially in the north of
Germany. Pious indeed he was even when a young student in
college, but whilst there he was meditating the giving expres-
sion to his religious emotions in song rather than from the pul-
pit. Early had he grown to prefer the Swiss to the Silesian
schools, the Greeks to the French. But by this time yet another
foreign influence had been felt in Germany, and Klopstock was
destined to become its most distinguished recipient. A people
nearer home, kindred, similar in religious faith, but hitherto not
well known to the Germans, came forward to take in the Ger-
man heart the place once held by the French. The death with-
out issue of Queen Anne of England, and the profession by the
heir-apparent of James II. of a faith that had been proscribed by
Parliament, brought, in the person of George I., a German prince
to the English throne. This event served to lead the two peo-
ples into closer acquaintance and friendship. England had been
through the tutelage of French manners and ideas, and was
slowly returning to those of her simpler and better foretime.
Milton's Paradise Lost, unappreciated on its first appearance,
was beginning to rise to its proper place among the great epics
of the world. Sombre as was the tone of its piety, it was now
falling gratefully upon religious minds because it was the only
great religious song that had been sung during the ages of fri-
volity and ribaldry. We have seen how religious by nature is
the German mind. When the cheerful, joyous lays of the Minne-
singer were hushed the yearnings of that mind must find utter-
ance in another form, and the hymn, solemn, sometimes almost
despairing, took their places. For song song to be accompanied
by the lyre, the oldest, most poetic form of poesy was ever the
favorite, most facile and abundant form of expression to the

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. 767

German imagination ; and when it could not break forth blithe
and gladsome like the lays of the gentle, devout Lovers of the
Hohenstauffen age, it must pour forth in the lawless amorous-
ness of the Lesbian and the thoughtless gayety of the French, or
in waitings for the loss of a confident faith in the purposes of
Heaven, in a life everlasting beyond the tomb, and the infallible
way that leads to its inheritance.

Klopstock had grown up in habitual study and admiration of
the Greeks. Like all his countrymen, who had not yet believed
in the necessity or the possibility of developing national pecu-
liarity and identity, he sought to make the forms of Grecian
poesy (perfect in their kind and for their purposes) available for
the exaltation of the Christian religion as he understood it, and
the liberty and independence of his country. These are the
themes of his Messias ana his odes. The Paradise Lost captivated
his devout mind, and he conceived the idea of producing a work
in his native tongue that would rival it as well as Paradise Re-
gained in rendering worship to God and praise to the Saviour of
mankind. The Messias, the first eminently great work in Ger-
man literature, must of course fall below its great model ; but it
imparted a mighty impulse towards the deliverance of the intel-
lect of his country from Gallic control. Discarding the Alex-
andrines of the French, substituting in his epic the Greek hexa-
meter and in his lyrical pieces the Sapphic and Alcaic rhythms,
he succeeded in throwing off the foreign yoke that pressed most
heavily and abjectly, and invoked the genius of the pure ages of
living Greece. This was a bold step and amounted to a great
advance in the purposes which this true patriot had in his mind.
It was as far as any except a consummate genius could proceed
in the times of universal subservience. As he deserved, Klop-
stock, even in early youth, became the delight and the pride of
his countrymen. For he came in advance of those more illus-
trious names, Goethe, Schiller, and Lessing. The German peo-
ple, at heart patriotic and religious, shed tears like good boys
and girls over tender children's stories, as they read verses upon
verses on the two great themes of the love and contemplation
of those who fear God and love their country. It was well for
them that they overestimated his genius. For this estimate
served to develop the self-respect that had long been in abey-
ance, and, if not more effectively than Lessing's terrible sarcasm,
as much so at least, it tended to the conviction not only that a
German could not become a Frenchman, but that by so trying
he made himself only ridiculous, not to say contemptible. Imi-

768 MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

tators, mere imitators, fall, as they should always, below their
models. When Klopstock came to be known and this was very
early in his career the German somehow grew less ashamed of
his native clumsiness and tender-heartedness. He had already
found that he could not bow, and dance, and pirouette like the
supple enthusiast of the south ; but what to do with his ponde-
rosity and his " country-raised " ways he had not found. Turn-
ing his back upon city-life, wherein he had been laughed at, he
might have relapsed into the barbaric manners of his ancestors
who, both sexes together, disported innocently, though half-naked,
on the hillsides and in the streams that flowed amid their val-
leys.

But for Klopstock! Not a great poet Jike Milton, yet he
was a German of the Germans. Not ashamed of his origin,
thankful if not proud, he imparted his gratitude to his country-
men and led them to feel that their best destiny was to cultivate
what they found at home instead of importing exotic plants such
as the German soil, unused to them, knew not how to grow.
The reader of Klopstock, profuse as he is through very many
years of assiduous work, may sometimes tire in the midst of the
multitude of his pious and patriotic ejaculations ; but when his
studies of him are over he will look back upon him with fond-
ness, and feel that respect that mankind always feel for one who
has first broken the shackles of his countrymen and bidden them
look to themselves, next to God, for that independent develop-
ment without which no nation is worthy of separate and distin-
guished mention among mankind. It is touching even now to
read of the honors that were paid to him both while he was liv-
ing and after he was dead. For ages that people, so slow to un-
derstand their strength and their destiny, had been yearning for
they knew not what. When one had arisen and sung in praise
of fatherland in the true spirit of an ardent, faithful lover of
fatherland, old and young, both sexes, all conditions, hailed him
as a deliverer and gave him such a support as no literary man,
excepting Sir Walter Scott, ever received from his contempo-
raries. He lived to near fourscore years, from youth to age
loyal to Heaven and country. A Catholic may well wish that
instead of the marsh-lands of northern Saxony he had been
born in the sweet south that has ever remained faithful to the
churcli ; but he cannot withhold admiration for a career that,
though expended in the far, unbelieving north, in spite of sur-
roundings adverse to those benign purposes, did so much for the
honor of God and the ascertainment of national independence.

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. 769

When Klopstock died it was one of the most beautiful, the
most respectful, the most loving funerals that ever have followed
a human being to the grave. Amid the chime of the Hamburg
bells foreign ambassadors, citizens, senators, merchants, the
clergy, literati, artists, and artisans marched in solemn proces-
sion. Over his bier were read words of his own, and his own
music from his " Resurrection Song " was recited as his body,
" covered with the blossoming firstlings of the spring and with
branches of laurel, was borne to its last home beneath the lime-
trees."

Of the German poets Klopstock is almost the only Protestant
whose name is worthy to be mentioned among those who were
fervently devout. For religious devotion, earnest, humble, yet
trustful and happy, was the last and least esteemed of the vir-
tues taught by Luther and his followers. " O my God ! " as
St. Francis de Sates was wont to say on occasions less solemn,
" how Protestantism has led away from study and despising of
self, from honor of the cross and suffering, to self-laudation, self-
exaltation, and the seeking of worldly gifts and goods ! " There-
fore a Catholic wishes the more that Klopstock had been born
in the south, and that his loving heart had been prompted in its
aspirations by the faith which had actuated the Minnesinger,
and to which the south of Germany has in the main continued
steadfast. But North Germany, like England with its universi-
ties, has endeavored for three hundred years to suppress the
development of Catholic genius by withholding from it, or
allowing reluctantly to it, facilities that are freely afforded to
those who defy the government that Christ had set up for the
church which he founded. Before Klopstock, Thomasius, him-
self a Lutheran, had been driven from Leipsic, his native town,
because, tired and sick of hearing continually the announcement
of the new doctrine that everything which comes from the
king must be acknowledged as coming from God, and ergo all
kings ought to be Lutheran, he made bold to say in native Ger-
man : " I am of opinion that it is an unbecoming thing to re-
commend one's religion to mighty potentates for temporal in-
terests. It is one thing to charge true religion with being op-
posed to the common weal, and another thing to affirm that it
promotes the temporal advantages of great princes in and for
themselves. The former is clearly false, as even the fathers of
the primitive church of the Christian religion have often spoken
to this point. But the second does not follow from this. True
religion aims only at everlasting well-being."
VOL. xxxvi. 49

770 MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

In Germany, as in England, the advantage since the Re-
formation has ever been with the Protestants. Catholics, in
order to become scholars and poets, have had to become so in
secret and in poverty, as the Irish had long to learn their cate-
chisms under hedges and to adore the Blessed Sacrament in
private houses and mud cottages offered by holy fathers in the
disguise of men of the world. Yet, even in the midst of the times
of most stringent, relentless persecution, some Catholics, a few,
renewed the song as it had been left by the Minnesinger.
Notably Angelus Silesius has been lauded by Protestant histo-
rians for what he was inspired to do in times when even what
liberties had been left untouched by the sword had been volun-
tarily surrendered to foreigners of various nationalities. What
greater praise would one desire to receive from an enemy to his
faith than that which the Protestant Menzel bestowed upon
Silesius in these words : " He drew his poetry from heaven, since
his unhappy country furnished it no more " ?

After Silesius a long time was to elapse before another
Catholic was to become prominent in Germany. All the world
knows those illustrious names Lessing and Schiller, Heine and
Herder, and especially what was done by that pre-eminent ge-
nius, Goethe. It is most lamentable how, under forms transcen-
dently beautiful, Goethe led his countrymen and multitudes of
mankind of every name to befoul whatever was decent among
men and profane whatever was sacred before God. Since the
time of Luther we believe that no man has lived whose influ-
ence upon the dearest behests of social life, patriotism, and reli-
gion has been so pernicious. " Nudentur ! NUDENTUR ! " were
wont to exclaim the profligate men and women to the actors and
actresses upon the stage in the reign of Domitian. So this Ger-
man poet, boldest of his kind, and, in some respects, greatest,
stripped his characters gradually through every degree of de-
nudation, and, in a Christian age that claimed to be a reformer
of those wherein the immaculate beauty of the Blessed Virgin
had been the type for all tuneful lovers, called for and obtained
the plaudits of millions of Christians, men and women.

But this very audacity has had some good results. The ter-
ror it excited in many minds has driven them to recoil from the
sight of pictures so wanton in their nakedness, and search for
others old, and create others new on whose beauty chaste eyes
may gaze without shame and with pure and tranquil delight.
Longings for the romanticism of the middle ages have swelled
the hearts of very many who were yet not fully able to withstand

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. 771

the odium of returning to their religious faith. In the hearts of
others those longings have been expressed in verses as delicious
as they are pure. The romantic poets of Germany are for the
most part religious, and, what there is abundant authority
among Protestant historians and critics for saying, the best
poets of the romantic school belong to the Catholic Church. In
this country of Germany, whose people are now the most poeti-
cal in Europe, during many years there had been growing yearn-
ings for the song that a loving, patriotic, religious heart needs
for its consolation in grief and a sufficient expression of joy in
the hour of its triumph. The decline of belief in the authority
of a teaching church, the struggles of individual minds, amidst
so many clamorous, belligerent sects, for sure guidance in the
most important concerns of life, induced a gloom that in its sea-
son rejected all music except an occasional wail of despondency
and despair.

"Men," said a writer in the Foreign Quarterly Review some years ago,
" who could find no poetical nourishment in the merely intellectual Pro-
testantism of the Lutheran Church cast their eyes with longing back to
the religion of the middle ages. From the strifes and contentions and vain
disputations of learned Protestant theologians they sought repose in the
bosom of a church which seemed to put mere dogmas wisely beyond the
reach of argument, in order that its disciples might give themselves with
more singleness of soul to the pious exercises of faith and love. And thus
was generated that poetical Neo-Catholicism which forms so remarkable
a feature in the history of modern German literature a phenomenon cer-
tainly, in these unbelieving days, not a little remarkable and deserving of
the deepest attention from every philosophical, religious mind."

Horrible had been the French Revolution with its mutilation
ot churches, its murders of priests, and its declaration that the
old God had ceased to exist. Yet the boldest of its leaders had
done none or little worse than the most illustrious of German
poets in the cool, deliberate dishonor he put upon whatever is
good in this life and whatever of good is hoped for in the life to
come. These atrocities impelled even North Germany, such of
it at least as was most poetic and most religious, to flee in ter-
ror to the bosom of the mother that had been made the reposi-
tory of whatever was most beautiful and whatever was most
lovely in an unhappy world.

Foremost among those fugitives was Frederick Schlegel. A
born Protestant, deeply learned in ancient lore, a savant and a
philosopher more than a poet, he was the first to feel the better
inspiration of the romance and reawaken the German to le-

772 MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

gends of heroes of the knightly ages. He taught his country-
men that the best themes for the German muse were the deeds
of their fathers of the foretime, when, unknowing Greek and
Roman and Frank, they worked and fought, and loved each
alone his single mate, and sang and worshipped and praised God
as taught by holy and licensed ministers on the banks of the
Oder and the Vistula, the Elbe and the Weser, the Rhine and
the Danube. Such devotion, a result he had not foreseen at
first, led him to the church wherein those forefathers knelt with
never-shaken faith. In the midst of the persecutions that after-
wards assailed him he consoled himself at one time with the
irrefragable arguments which his genius and learning enabled
him to produce, at another with those lyrics the first of a series
that have made Germany the foremost nation of modern Europe
in the poetic literature of religion.

Schlegel's writings have been mostly in prose, and he is
known rather as the inaugurator of recent romantic poetry than
as a maker of its verses. He was the first to resort to the an-
cient temples, mutilated or neglected, remove the accumulated
dust and rubbish of ages, and show that therein were the true
shrines for a German poet to sing and a German Christian to
pray. It was consoling to many a heart that had been bowed
down to hear returning the forgotten music of the past that told
of the deeds of Christian knights, the veiled beauty of the brides
of Christ, and the peerless excellence of Mary the Immaculate.

Along with Schlegel were Tieck and Uhland. Like him they
had been born and reared in the midst of influences hostile to
the church, and were won to its arms by sympathy with those
promptings in the mind of Schlegel to return to the manners
and opinions of former times. These poets, both religious, are
to be admired the more both because of what they had to com-
bat and because they were contemporary with another spirit,
in men of the loftiest genius, to prefer the classical to the ro-
mantic indeed, to ridicule the latter except whenever it might
be found available for a momentary phantasy of a modern bard.
The classicists, whether so from study and love of Greek models
or become so through the medium of the French, hated roman-
ticism. It is well for one who wishes to understand well modern
European literature to study carefully the difference between
the classical and the romantic. The following, copied from the
Foreign Quarterly Review (vol. xix.), is apt for this purpose :

" The wild, the exuberant in fancy, the pure, the lovely, the holy in
feeling, are characteristic of the (romantic) ; whatever is shnple, regular,

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS FOETS. 773

beautiful in form, or calm, subdued, and chastened in emotion, belongs to the
(classical). The art of the ancients was most intimately connected with, or
more properly an essential part of, the national religion. But that religion
has more of a historical nature, is more a religion of heroes and heroic
deeds, of outward shapes and figures of divinity, than ours; and herein lies
one great essential and pervading distinction between the romanticism of
the moderns and the classicism of the ancients. Christianity is a religion
drawn out of the most holy depths of human feeling ; heathenism Greek
heathenism, we mean was merely copied down from the most beautiful
manifestation of human actions. Christianity occupied itself with the solu-
tion of the deepest mysteries of human thought God, virtue, immortality.
Heathenism partly worshipped, partly sported with the mere outward
shows of terrestrial nature."

Now, Goethe, the most prodigious growth of Protestantism,
learning even in childhood that he might choose* what to hold
and admire, while he did not altogether reject the romantic, yet
loved best the classical. If he had seen a nun with antique face,
her veil and other drapery arranged after antique fashion, he
might have admired. But had he met St. Catharine of Sienna
with her one woollen garment " O my God ! " as the gentle St.
Francis of Sales would again have exclaimed.

Now, while Goethe, and Schiller gradually coming under his
influence, were endeavoring to restore the Parthenon, the tem-
ples of Hera in Argos and Samos, and were looking with regret
upon the ruins once sacred to Poseidon in Passtum, Schlegel
and Tieck and Uhland resorted to the yet unfinished doms of
Cologne and Strassburg, and bent in reverence before the
shrines that, ages before, had been set up there for the worship
of the Creator.

What urged on this return to romanticism was the reawaken-
ing of the spirit of patriotism in Germany, as it had been in Sua-
bia six centuries before. Klopstock, indeed, was a patriot who
yearned, without knowing where to find the means for, his coun-
try's disenthralment. It was the wars with France ; it was the
repeated defeats of German armies under aristocratic, incompe-
tent leadership ; it was, in fine, the battle of Jena that, after ex-
hausting the shame, at length exasperated the dormant spirit, of
the German nation, and made it rise as one man before the con-
quering Napoleon and reassert its hereditary manhood. It was
thus that patriotism and religion combined to bring back to Ger-
mans the poetry of their ancestors.

* How few Protestants, educated or not, seem to understand the meaning of heresy, whick
is a claiming on the part of the individual to choose his faith instead of accepting it from con-
stituted authority.

774 MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

As one who reads translations of Minnesinger lays wishes that
he and all mankind might read, understanding well, much more
does he regret that he cannot wholly appreciate the sentiments
and the words of such as Tieck and Uhland. Of the two the for-
mer was the most enthusiastic lover. Sick of the heartlessness,
the very devilishness, of such as Goethe, he abandoned himself to
love of the ages of faith and sang in harmony with the stirring,
pure music of their bards. Of him the historian we have quoted
before says :

" Tieck first introduced a native tone into this species of poetry, and
showed the necessity of reverting to the illusion of J;he time when the le-
gends originated to feel their true spirit. He therefore laid the question
before the people and children among whom unperverted feelings still were
found. He dared to furnish the enlightened age with tales for children.
He dared to draw back the clouds from the moon and to display to us the
moonlit magic night of our nation's childhood, to awaken again the prime-
val recollections and to make the most mysterious chords of sensibility re-
sound with long-forgotten and deeply-moving melodies. In him, the most
national of our poets, the genius of ancient Germany was born again and
renewed his youth like a phosnix."

But Uhland, who was a Catholic and therefore a romanti-
cist, was not only a poet but a statesman. Practical as poetic,
he knew both what to act and what to dream. His career hap-
pily showed that a man might well serve his country without
neglecting the service of his God. He had read and not forgot-
ten that the bravest and most heroic in Hebrew and in earl} 7
Christian story, when battles were over and victories won, had
prostrated themselves upon the ground and ascribed all praise
and glory to the Majesty on high. Uhland, therefore, could
effectively do his work as an officer of state, and in his hours of
freedom from business sing and pray, pray and sing, like his be-
loved forerunners, Ulrich and Walter Von Vogelweide.

We give translations of two of his lyrics :

THE NUN.

"J.n the silent cloister garden,

Beneath the pale moonshine,
There walked a lovely maiden,
And tears were in her eyne.

' Now, God be praised, my loved one

Is with the blest above ;
Now man is changed to angel.

And angels I may love.'

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. 775

" She stood before the altar

Of Mary, Mother mild,
And on the holy maiden
The Holy Virgin smiled.

" Upon her knees she worshipped,
And prayed before the shrine,
And heavenward looked till Death came
And closed her weary eyne."

On an island in the Rhine there are the ruins of an ancient
nunnery and on the high cliff above the western bank those of
the castle of Rolandsek. The legend tells of a knight and of
a maiden betrothed. The knight went with the Crusaders, and,
news of his death having come, the maiden, after a season given
to grief, became the bride of Heaven and repaired to Nunnen-
werth. After three years the knight returned, when, finding his
beloved lost to him, he parted from his sword, his shield, and all
his armor, built the castle upon the cliff, and in seclusion gave
his thoughts to her and to Heaven. The virgin at length died in
peace and holy hope. Then the hermit retired from the win-
dow of his castle, laid him upon his bed, and soon his spirit fol-
lowed hers. This is beautiful, but less so than the legend of
Uhland. We are not told how this virgin had been separated
from her lover. Yet nothing could be more exquisitely touch-
ing than the ecstasy, partly human, mostly heavenly, with which,
after his death, she lifted her heart to him in heaven, and, after
some sort of the human love of her youth, sought additional
religious consolation in the communion of saints. Yes, there is
something more touching still in this little legend. Smiling,
albeit, the Mother of God upon her daughter, yet yet, forefend-
ing all endangerment of regarding again the beloved object in
the lineaments of earthly excellence, even while the maiden was
looking heavenward she beckoned, and then

" Death came
And closed her weary eyne."

We will give but one more of these lyrics, though we are
tempted by many others. How must the following read in the
poet's native tongue when, rendered into a foreign tongue, it
sounds thus :

THE WREATH.

" There went a maid and plucked the flowers

That grew upon the sunny lea ;
A lady from the greenwood came,
Most beautiful to see.

776 MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. [Mar.,

'' Unto the maid she friendly came,

And in her hand a wreath she bore
' It blossoms not now, but soon will bloom :
Oh ! wear it evermore.'

" And as this maid in beauty grew,

And walked the mellow moon beneath,
And weeped young tears so tender, sweet,
Began to bud the wreath.

" And when the maid, in beauty grown,

Clasped in her arms the glad bridegroom,
Forth from the bud's unfolded cup
There blushed a joyous bloom.

" And when a playsome child she rocked

Her tender mother-arms between,
Amid the spreading, leafy crown
A golden fruit was seen.

" And when was sunk in death and night
The heart a wife had held most dear.
Then shook amid her shaken locks
A yellow leaf and sere.

" Soon lay she, too, in blenched death,

And still the dear-loved wreath she wore ;
Then bore the wreath this wondrous wreath
Both fruit and bloom it bore."

What are to be the full results of these changes in gifted
minds, and the devotion of their endeavors to the best ends of
human existence, we cannot foresee. Already those results have
been abundant and benign. The influences of great poets are
always far beyond their ken or their expectation. It has been so
since and before the lame schoolmaster sent in derision from
Athens to the Lacedaemonians led them by his warlike songs to
the victories their former leaders, mere warriors, could not attain.
The poetry of the romanticists of modern Germany within these
list fifty years, unknown to themselves, unknown fully even to
those upon whom their genial influences have fallen, has led
thousands upon thousands, there and elsewhere, to the same
shelter beneath which the former found rest and out of their
abounding gratitude poured forth their exquisite songs of praise
and thanksgiving. Kings and emperors have not yet gone to
Canossa ; but they no longer defy and rail against the aged
chief who sits there in severe majesty and affectionately invites
those of every name and condition to come and receive his

1883.] MODERN GERMAN RELIGIOUS POETS. 777

blessing. The people, the people who make and maintain kings
and emperors, who work for them, fight for them, and hold
themselves ready to die for them oh ! how have their attitudes
towards the church been changed within these fifty years. Not
counting the multitudes that have gone to her and since have
wondered how their forefathers could have forsaken her, what
respect, often what reverence, do the others pay to her ! As
for Germany, once so devout, always so religious-minded, she
travails in her incertitude whether to reject all Christian faith or
return to the mother she once loved with her whole heart.
With swimming eyes often she listens to the songs so like those
composed and sung when all Christendom was Catholic, and
year by year she grows less reluctant to harm or speak un-
charitably of her by whose influences this music was inspired.

So among English-speaking peoples. To say nothing ot
Manning and Newman, of Faber and Wilberforce and Allies, of
Bayley and Ives, and the gifted Curtis of Baltimore, the spirit
of romanticism, lately revived in Germany, is the true parent of
the poetry of Scott and the Lakers, and it has imparted the
freshness and purity of that of Keats and Tennyson. The un-
happy Shelley and the reckless Swinburne must follow in the
footsteps of Goethe. So the great Byron, though the last, in his
heart loved the romantic, and sometimes sang as though in his
triendlessness and exile he would fain repair for rest and security
whither these can only be found for the errant, the sorrowing,
and the penitent. How otherwise can we believe when we read
in Childe Harold such as the following :

" Yet Italy ! through every other land
Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ;
Mother of arts, as once of arms, thy hand
Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ;
Parent of our religion ! whom the wide
Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven !
Europe, repentant of her parricide,
Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven,
Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven."

Even Longfellow, most beloved of American poets, though
reared among, and never separated from, the narrowest of all
Christian sects, yet poured his best song when singing the
wrongs and sufferings of the Catholic peasants of Acadie.

At the beginning and at the end of three centuries stood two
men of colossal magnitude Luther, Goethe. The revolt which
the former led against rightful authority had its most consum-

778 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

mate result in the production of the latter. Luther had in-
culcated defiance of the vicar of Christ, his earthly vicegerent.
Goethe, pushing the principle of disobedience to its ultimation,
defied even God ! But since his day the minds of mankind,
from whom all fear as well as all reverence has not departed,
have seemed to feel that they must go somewhere in order to
obtain the food without which they must die. Many have found
wherein have been garnered abundance for their needs. Many
have perished while trying to find for themselves the way or
trusting to new, blind guides. To those who remember the pro-
mise of the Paraclete, and humbly yet heartily trust its under-
taking to guide " unto all truth," the confusion and the tumult
of this century bode well for what they hope, are taught, and are
fond to pray.

THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE.

A LITTLE more than a year ago the Abbe Bourbais, a learned
French divine, published a pamphlet called The Second Chapter
of Genesis and the Earthly Paradise, in which he proves conclu-
sively that Moses, in that chapter, mixes with the description of
Paradise a page of the geography of the earth as known at the
times of the patriarchs. He rejects the notion generally adopt-
ed that the four great rivers, the Tigris, the Euphrates, the Nile,
and the Ganges, flowed through Paradise, and bases his denial
upon the Hebrew text, contending that their course can in no
wise determine the site of the Garden of Delights, the site of
which Genesis certainly does not determine. An ancient Chinese
writer, the author of the poems Tsu-tsee, among many questions
which he calls unanswerable, put the following : Where are the
suspended gardens of Mount Kuen-lun ? which was the appel-
lation of the Earthly Paradise \\\ the traditions of the Celestial Em-
pire. Many, even among the learned, think as did the Chinese
writer. Still, the question can be studied with profit, and if a
solution of it is not here given, at least the way may be opened
to men with more learning and more leisure.

In this short study I depend largely on Bourbais, and I admit
as correct his quotations from several authors whom 1 have not
under my hand, and whom I have not the means of verifying.

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 779

The larger part, however, is taken from volumes scattered here
and there ; for I wish to advance nothing of my own, but to
found my opinions upon reliable authority. I aim to prove that
the Earthly Paradise was nothing else than the enclosed garden
(liortns conchisus) of Solomon, the Wady Urthas of our times, a
charming valley in Judea.

It was at Hebron, in the Damascene field, that the first man
was formed.

1. This tradition is universal in the East. The Rev. Signer
Giovanni Zuallardo, a noted Italian traveller of the sixteenth
century, in his work, // Devotissimo Viaggio di Gerusalemme, pub-
lished at Rome in the year 1587, says (p. 262) : " In returning
thence [from the sepulchre of the patriarchs] to the said city of
Bethlehem, towards the west, is found the celebrated Damascene
field, where all Orientalists hold that our first father, Adam, was
created and formed."

2. Not only is this belief found in the East, but it is the gene-
ral opinion. Father A. Torniel, in his great work, Sacred Annals
(prima mundi cetas, dies 6), says : " Communiter creditur quod in
agro Damascene factus est homo " " It is commonly believed that
man was made in the Damascene plain." Cornelius a Lapide says
the same (Comment, in Genes., c. ii.) : " Ex terra rubra, quas est
in agro Damascene, non urbis Damasci, sed agri cujusdam ita
dicti.qui est juxta Hebron, creatum esse Adamum, multorum est
traditio. Id enim tradunt Hebrasi, et ex eis sanctus Hieronymus,
etc." " It is the tradition with many that Adam was created from
the red earth of the Damascene field, and not of the city of
Damascus, as is related even by the Hebrews, and from them by
St. Jerome, etc." The monk Burchard, who lived, I believe, in
the fourteenth century, says : " At a stone's throw from the
double cavern (that is, the sepulchre bought in Hebron by Abra-
ham), towards the west, is the Damascene field, the place where
Adam was modelled. This field is in reality made up of red
earth as ductile as wax. I have gathered a great quantity of it,
as do all pilgrims and Christians who visit those places. The
Saracens carry off that earth on the back of camels into Egypt,
Ethiopia, India, and elsewhere, and sell it at a high price " (De
Monte Sion : Descriptio Terra Sanctce, c. ix.)

Signer Zuallardo speaks of the same land in a still more ex-
plicit manner. " The said field," says he, " can be seen towards
that city of Hebron, and is exceedingly fertile, beautiful, and de-
lightful, and of reddish earth, of a tawny shade, as soft and as due-

780 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.

tile as wax, with which the Christians of the country form some-
what blackish beads " (// Devotissimo Viaggio, p. 262).

All this concords perfectly with the Mosaic recital of the
creation of the first man, who receives the name of Adam (Heb.
hd-hddam, the red) because he is formed from hd-hdddmd, the
" red earth " (see Genesis ii.. 7). It was necessary that God's
hand should build the first man, as St. Thomas well remarks
(Summa, p. I, qu. 91, art. 2) : " Since never before had a human
body been formed by whose power and generation another one of
the same kind could be formed, it was necessary that the first
man should be formed immediately by the Lord." To that
effect God donned human appearance, the prototype of the body
he was about to form ; he took the clay from the red field (ghdfdr
mm hd-hdddmd}, mixed it with water, according to St. Thomas
and other doctors, fashioned it as a potter would do, and thus
formed the most beautiful of bodies, the body of the king of
creation. " The word of the Lord came to me," exclaims Jere-
mias, xviii. 6: " Behold, as clay is in the hand of the potter, so
are you in my hands."

Wherefore the Egyptians, to whom the potter's wheel was
known from time immemorial, kept a tradition that Num used
that instrument in order to fashion the clay with which he form-
ed man (see F. Chabas, Etudes sur VAntiquitt, etc.]

It was to Jerusalem that, after being expelled from Paradise,
Adam went to dwell.

St. Basil (In Isaiam, c. v.) says : " In the church a tradition
is preserved that ancient Judea was inhabited by Adam, who
there found a refuge when he was expelled from the paradise of
delights." St. Paula and St. Eutochia are still more precise in
the letter which they write to Marcella to press her to come and
fix her habitation in the Holy Land a letter found amon'g the
works of St. Jerome. They write: "In this city (Jerusalem),
or rather in this place as it was in those times, Adam dwelt."

The origin of this tradition is found in the writings of the
rabbis. The Jews teach that the first act of our first father after
his sin was to offer a sacrifice on Mount Moria itself, within the
boundaries of what is now the Haram-esh-Sherif. Let us open
the targum of Jonathan Ben-Uziel. Thus he comments on chap.
viii. v. 20 of Genesis : " And Noe built an altar before the
Adonai ; it was the altar itself which Adam had raised at the
time that he was expelled from the Garden of Eden, and on
which he had offered holocausts ; on which Cain and Abet had

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 781

sacrificed." And again, chap. xxii. v. 9: "And there (on Mount
Moria) Abraham raised again the altar which had been built
by Adam, but which had been destroyed by the waters of the
deluge. Noe had rebuilt it, but it was thrown down at the time
of the dispersion." The Talmud is not less explicit: "We read
in one of the Medrasch," which are numbered among the supple-
ments of the Mishna, that " it is a tradition generally received
that the place where David constructed the altar on the thresh-
ing-floor of Areuna, the Jebusite, was the identical place where
Noe built his altar when he came out of the ark ; that in this
place also was the altar on which Cain and Abel offered up sac-
rifices ; that there also Adam sacrificed after his creation. . . .
Wise men say that for this last one it was the place of his expia-
tion " (Midrach till fol. 41).

Now, we know from the second book of Kings that the place
where David constructed the altar was on Mount Moria (see
chap, xxiv.)

Here is also the testimony of Abrabanel : " It is there [on
Mount MoriaJ that the first man lived when, on account of
his sin, he was expelled from Paradise " (Comment, in Legcm.}
Finally let us quote the famous Maimonides (In Constit. de
Domo elcctd, c. ii.) : " We have all," says he to his brethren the
Jews " we have all heard from our fathers that in the place
where David and Solomon built an altar on the threshing-floor
of Areuna of Jebus, ... in that place also Noe had built one at
his coming out of the ark. Now, there also Cain and Abel of-
fered sacrifices, and before them the first man after the crea-
tion."

What is said of Noe in these various quotations will astonish
us but little if we remember that to-day few believe that it was
on. Mount Ararat which is too far off in farther Armenia, that
the ark rested after the deluge, but rather on some mountains of
near Armenia, the hdre Hdrdrdt (the mountains). (See Genesis
viii. 4-)

According to an Eastern tradition recorded by Father Ber-
ruyer in his learned work, Histoire du Peuple de Dieu, Noe en-
tered the ark at Joppe and does not seem to have been carried
very far from Judea. As to the sacrifices of Cain and Abel, the
place of the altar on which they sacrificed explains what we learn
from the mouth of St. Jerome himself namely, that the first mar-
tyr of the Old Law was slain by his brother on the very spot
where the first martyr of the New Law was stoned : that is, at
the gate of St. Stephen (Bab-el-sidi Miriam), near the Haram-esh-

782 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

Sherif. But where the two brothers sacrificed, there also Adam
offered sacrifices. " Cain and Abel had not separate dwellings,"
says Berruyer, "and likely the whole family, composed of the
father, the mother, two sons, and two daughters destined to be
the spouses of their brothers, inhabited the same district, in the
neighborhood of the Earthly Paradise between the Jordan and the
great sea." It was only after the murder of his brother that
Cain left his father's tent to go into the country of Now, and
built the city of Henoch (Genesis iv. 16, 17.) " He flees the
presence of his father and mother," continues Father Berruyer,
"whom he abandons for ever to adventures and tears. He avoids
even the land which reproaches him with his crime, and he seeks
an asylum on the other side of the Jordan, in a country situated
to the east of the Earthly Paradise, or of the land of Eden "

(P- 32).

There is, however, near El-Khabil (Hebron) a valley called
the Valley of Tears, where some say that Cain slew Abel, and
where Adam and Eve are said to have mourned their son during
the space of a hundred years. But it is possible that the name
of the valley itself may have caused an error. Tear and Abel in
Hebrew are pronounced in about the same manner. Be this as
it may, Adam may very well have inhabited El-Khabil during a
portion of his long life without weakening the proposition here
to be proved.

Adam lived in Judea, and it was in that country, under his
eyes, that the race faithful to the Lord was multiplied.

We know, through Josephus, that the children of Seth, the
Bent? Heldhim, engraved inscriptions on the rocks, in order to
preserve, at the time of the deluge, predicted by Adam, the
scientific notions which they had acquired. At the time of the
Jewish historian these inscriptions could be still seen in the Sy-
riad. Now, this Syriad is not Syria, as the translators of Jose-
phus have erroneously made it, but the little country, called in
the Bible Has-Seyrath, situated near Galgal, a city of Judea be-
tween Jericho and the Jordan (Judges iii. 26). There, in truth,
were graved figures, which the Hebrew text calls happesilim, the
Septuaginta ra y\v7cra, and the Vulgate idols (Judges iii. 26).
May the Palestinologists find them someday! The reading of
those ideograms, dating from an antediluvian age', would show
conclusively that the first men inhabited Judea, and would at
the same time furnish us the most precious documents on their
arts, sciences, and history. Vossius can claim the honor of hav-
ing established this fact, that the Syriad of Josephus and the Has-

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 783

Seyrath of the Bible are the same thing, and that the inscriptions
of the children of Seth are one with the pesilim of the Bible, as
seen in the book of Judges (Vossius, De ALtate Mundi, c. x.)
" It strongly appears," says Huet (Trait e" de la Situation du Para-
dis Terrestre), " that these inscriptions were astronomical tables
which it was said the descendants of Seth had engraved upon
rocks."

It was on Calvary that Adam died and was buried. Texts
are numerous to prove this ancient tradition. " It is there " (on
Calvary), says Tertullian (Carmina adversiis Marcioneni), "as we
have learned, that the first man was buried." Origen is not less
explicit (Tract, xxiii. vol. xxxv. in Matth.) : " Calvary was the place
where He was to die who died for the whole world ; fora tradition
teaches me that the body of the first man was buried on the very
place where Jesus Christ was crucified." " It is with the blood
of Christ," writes St. Cyprian (Hares, xlvi. v. 5), " it is believed,
that the head of Adam was watered, who, according to ancient
traditions, was buried on the very spot where Christ's cross was
planted." A Greek father, in a letter found among the doubtful
works of St. Anastasius (De Passione et Cruce Domini), tells us also
that Calvary, " according to the opinion of Jewish doctors, is the
place of Adam's sepulchre ; for they assure us that after the curse
he died there, and that he is buried in the same place." St. Basil
(In Isaiam, c. v.) writes thus on the subject : " It was Judea also
which received the mortal spoils of the first man after he had
fully satisfied the sentence of condemnation published against
him. His head was buried in a place which was naturally called
cranion calvary (or the place of the cranion) because such an
object would necessarily strike the men of that epoch. It is pro-
bable that Noe was not ignorant of the place where was the
tomb of the chief and father of the human race, since immediate-
ly after the deluge, and from the mouth of Noe himself, this
tradition was everywhere spread."

The explanation given by St. Basil to the word Calvary is
applicable as well to the Hebrew term Golgotha (Goulgaleth),
used by St. Ambrose in the following : " The place where the
cross of Christ was planted was on the top of Golgotha, that it
might be seen from afar, or on the tomb of Adam, as the Jews
say" (Epist.'in Luc.) " Our Lord Jesus Christ was crucified on
the Golgotha," says St. Epiphanius (Hares, xlvi.), using the same
Syro-Chaldaic name ; " that is, on the very place where the body
of Adam was buried. '

784 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

Behold now the testimony of St. Augustine (Sermo vi. v. 6
de Tempore) : " The tradition of the ancients relates that Adam, the
first man, was buried in the very place where the cross was rais-
ed, and to which the name Calvary was given." Speaking of the
Calvary, St. John Chrysostom forgets not to mention the tradition
concerning Adam's sepulchre. He writes thus (Homily Ixxxiv.) :
" Some say that Adam died and was buried there." Finally
Paula and Eutochia, in the letter which they wrote to Marcella
to decide her to leave Rome and come with them to Bethlehem,
thus express themselves : " Adam died there [in Jerusalem], on
account of which the place where our Saviour was crucified was
called Calvary \cranimn\, because there is buried the head of the
first man." This letter is found among St. Jerome's letters.

It is generally believed that St. Jerome was not a stranger to
the writing of this letter. The illustrious doctor, however, does
not admit that Adam was buried on Calvary. In several places
in his writings he considers as the place of this tomb the famous
grotto of Makpeld, contained within the El-Khabil, or Hebron. In
this St. Jerome makes himself the echo of certain rabbinical tra-
ditions preserved in the Talmud. What is the signification of
Makpela? It signifies that the grotto contained several couples.
Rabbi Isaac says: "It is the city of the four, or of the four
couples viz., Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and
Rebecca, Jacob and Lia." This text goes to show the origin
of these traditions. They came from the reading of a verse
of Josue where it is question of the city of Hebron (Josue xiv.
15): " The name of Hebron before was called Cariath-Arbe [the
city of the four]: Adam, the greatest among the Enacims, was laid
there." This passage proves nothing, for its real sense is mani-
festly this : Hebron, before, was called Cariath-Arbe, that is,, the
City of Arbe ; this was the man (in Hebrew Jid-hddam), the great-
est among the Enacims, or giants, being the father of Enac.
(See Josue xv. 13.) Besides, who ever heard that Adam was an
Enacim, or giant ? I must acknowledge, however, that the opin-
ion which says that Adam was buried in Hebron counts many
followers after St. Jerome. Centuries ago efforts were made
to conciliate the two opinions. " Perhaps," says Zuallardo in his
Devotissimo Viaggio di Gerusalemme, p. 203, " they carried his body
to Hebron, and by a secret disposition of divine Providence his
head was left on this mount [the Calvary]."

The best authors to be consulted in regard to Adam's tomb
are the Abbe" Lawrence de Saint-Aignan, who in his work, An-
nales de Philosophic Chrdticnne, has treated the subject with all pos-

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 785

sible clearness, though I do not know, however, whether his
works have been translated into English ; the Abbe Bourbais also,
now a prominent member of the Philologic Society of Paris ; and
Zuallardo, who travelled in the Holy Land and wrote an account
of his voyage in // Devotissimo Viaggio. Many others might be
consulted with profit, such as Dixon, and also a work published
anonymously in Latin in Turin a few years ago under the title of
Introductio in Libros Sacros, Learned antiquarians are seriously
at work in several countries to settle these difficult questions.

The Earthly Paradise is the hortiis conclusus of Solomon.

I will proceed first to give the marks by which the Earthly
Paradise may be recognized.

The Abbes Bourbais and De Saint- Aignan, whom I closely
follow, number ten distinctive marks by which the Earthly Para-
dise may be recognized.

1. The Earthly Paradise was not a vast region but a simple
place, a garden, a park. This is the simplest meaning of the
word garden, and as such it has been admitted by all, from the
Chinese tradition of the raised gardens to the theories of the
most enlightened European divines. We might, perhaps, ex-
cept Persian traditions, which place the garden in Persia, ex-
tending over the whole territory. The only plausible reason
given, however, is the fertility of Persia and its beauty in fruits
of all kinds. Many countries, however, have as good fruits as.
Persia.

2. Paradise is not where man was created. St. Thomas
(prinia secundtz, qu. cii. art. 4) says in the conclusion of art. 4
(Whether man was created in Paradise): " Man was formed outside
Paradise, then through the grace of God was carried into it, to
be transferred thence from the animal life into heaven." All
theologians hold the same opinion, which is founded upon this
verse of Genesis (ii. 15): " And the Lord God [Adonai Helohim]
took man and put him into the paradise of pleasure." There-
fore he did not create him in Paradise itself, but elsewhere.
Therefore also, can we add, Paradise is not the Damascene field
of Hebron ; it must be sought elsewhere. (See Annales Sacri.*) It
is probable, however, that Paradise is not far from the Damas-
cene field. Whatever may have been the mode of transporta-
tion used by the Almighty with Adam when this king of crea-
tion made his solemn entry into the domain prepared for him,
we see no reason why Adam should have come from afar, why
the Lord should have wished him to take a long journey.

VOL. xxxvi. 50

786 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

Neither could Paradise be far from Jerusalem. If the thesis I
strove to establish above, that Adam died in Jerusalem, can
stand, it is probable that after the expulsion from the garden
our first parents established themselves at Jerusalem and lived
there. Behold them driven from the garden of delights, their
bare feet hurt by the rocks, which were as hard as the curse it-
self could make them. They are shedding bitter tears, anxious
for a refuge, unable to return, for the terrible Cherubim are
there with their fiery sword. " He placed before the paradise of
pleasure Cherubim, and a flaming sword, turning every way,
to keep the way of the tree of life " (Gen. iii. 24). Whither shall
they go ? The regions they traverse are unknown to them. It
is not likely they wandered very far into them ; they must have
tarried as near as possible to the much-regretted spot. And
they did ; for they were near Eden when Cain slew Abe"l, since
he simply fled from his parents and from the Lord to the east of
the garden, according to this verse of Genesis (iv. 16) : " And
Cain went out from the face of the Lord, and dwelt as a fugitive
on the earth, at the east side of Eden." From this we may safe-
ly conclude that Paradise is at the same time near El-Khabil
(Hebron) and near Jerusalem.

3. A third mark of Paradise is that it must have kept a cer-
tain renown. According to the inscrutable decrees of divine
Providence, God chooses among places and among times those
in which he desires to accomplish his great works, and when
once he has sanctified one of them in a particular manner he can
find it again amidst all the apparent hazards presented by human
events, to preserve its character of sanctity and surround it with
veneration. Thus it is that so many holy places always remain
in the memory of men and attract pilgrims when even religion
there has for centuries lost its brilliancy, its reign. Paradise
had under its shades seen too many and too great mysteries ac-
complished to be abandoned as a vulgar land without history.
But in order that its former beauty should not be obscured,
Paradise must have remained a simple garden, unencumbered
by monuments raised by human art ; and this is why its renown
cannot have been the same as the renown of other places sancti-
fied by divine mysteries.

4. Paradise is within a belt of mountains which surround it
on all sides. This conclusion is drawn from the words of Gen-
esis quoted above (Gen. iii. 24): "And he cast out Adam, and
placed before the paradise of pleasure Cherubim, and a flaming
sword, turning every way, to keep the way of the tree of life."

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 787

Dom Calmet, commenting- on this text, says : " This gives us rea-
son to believe that this garden could be among mountains which
left only one entrance through a defile towards the east, and
that Adam went out on the east side."

5. This asylum being thus surrounded by mountains, the
Chow-hai-king affirms nothing but what is likely when he says
of Mount Kuen-lun, the Chinese Paradise : " We call it the gar-
den enclosed and hidden." This has been read and translated
by Father Premare, a distinguished Jesuit, who lived a long time
in China, was conversant with the traditions of the Chinese and
their literature, and wrote a book whose title translated is Ves-
tiges of the Principal Christian Dogmas- extracted from ancient Chinese
Works. " The Chaw-ha'i-king is a book so old," continues Fa-
ther Premare, " that some attribute it to the Emperor Yu, and
others to Pey-y, who lived at the same time, and which is com-
puted by the Chinese at 2,224 years before Christ." The Abbe
Bourbais remarks that the book contains an imaginary descrip-
tion of the creation of the world, but gives on Mount Kuen-lun
details which accord in the most surprising manner with what
Moses tells us concerning the Earthly Paradise. Anyhow, let us
not forget that the Chinese of the highest antiquity called Para-
dise " the enclosed garden " hortus conclusus.

6. Paradise faces the east. The book of Genesis is witness
of the fact (ii. 8), for the translation of the Hebrew word mik-
ke'dfan by in the beginning is not the sense given it by the Sep-
tuagint, who translate it by the east. This translation of the
Vulgate pleased the rabbis, who were anxious to give a greater
antiquity to the garden than to the work of the six days. St.
Jerome is of the same opinion. Some writers place the creation
of the Paradise at the third day of creation. But the geological
revolutions would have a thousand times changed the aspect
of Eden had it been created on the third day. The interpreta-
tion of the Septuagint seems more plausible.

7. Paradise is surrounded by a desolate and barren nature.
It seems, at least, it ought to be so in order to contrast exterior
nature with that place of delight. However wonderful may
have been and may yet be its beauty, there are sites in the East
which may recall it. God naturally did not place man in a new
garden whose surroundings would make him forget the former
by their natural beauty. It is a land rocky and without vegeta-
tion which Adam must have met at the gate when on his head
was uttered the terrible curse : " Cursed is the earth in thy work,"
etc. (Gen. iii. 17).

788 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

8. The principal mark of Paradise is that it must have been a
land of great fertility. The book of Genesis says (ii. 9) : " And
the Lord God brought forth of the ground all manner of trees,
fair to behold and pleasant to eat of." Isaias opposes this fer-
tility of Paradise to the aridity of the desert : " The Lord will
comfort Sion, . . . and he will make her desert as a place of plea-
sure, and her wilderness as the garden of the Lord " (Isaias li. 3).
It was oh account of its beauty and fertility that the name of
Beith-Ghcden in Hebrew, and Paradise in Greek, was given to a
royal city and valley of Syria situated between the Libanus and
Antilibanus. Besides, the Scripture calls Paradise a delightful
garden. Not only the ordinary productions of the land were
found there, but it contained also the tree of life. " The fruit of
that tree," says St. Thomas (p. i. quasstio xcviii. art. iv.), " had
the property of sustaining the vital forces of our kind against old
age." It matured twelve times in the year that is, monthly ac-
cording to the Apocalypse (xxii. 2) : " In the midst of the street
thereof, and on both sides of the river, was the tree of life, bear-
ing twelve fruits, yielding its fruit every month, and the leaves
of the tree for the healing of nations." No doubt nature alone
could not give such production, but we must believe that such
extra-natural properties had not been attached by God to a tree
without beauty and without natural virtues. The same fertility
is attributed by the Chow-hai-king, quoted above, to Mount
Kuen-lun, the Paradise of Chinese traditions. " All that can
be desired," says this ancient book, " is found on that mountain ;
we behold there wonderful trees." In fine, the same remem-
brance is found in the memory of all nations. " It is not to be
doubted," says Huet, Bishop of Avranches, author of the Trait?
sur la Situation du Paradis already mentioned, " that this place,
supernaturally formed by the hand of God, has been the model
on which profane writers and poets have formed their fortunate
islands, their elysian fields, their meadows of Pluto, their gar-
dens of Hesperides, Adonis, Jupiter, and Alcinoiis."

9. Paradise is watered by waters as abundant as they are
wholesome. This is the reason of its fertility. Moses speaks of
a river .coming out of the garden and watering it in its whole
extent, after which four rivers are formed from it (see Genesis ii.
10). Wishing to give an idea of the fertility of the country of
Sodom before its destruction, he compares it to Paradise : " The
country about the Jordan, which was watered. ... as the Para-
dise of the Lord " (Gen. xiii. 10). The book of Apocalypse cele-
brates this river of living water, clear as crystal, which waters

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 789

Paradise (Apoc. xxii. i) : " He showed me a river of water of
life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God." It is
evident that it is a question here of Paradise, since in the next
verse we see that the tree of life was on its banks. The Chow-
hai-king says also in describing 'Mount Kuen-lun: "Wonderful
springs are seen there." Virgil has such traditions in his mind
when he writes (^Eneid, vi. verse 673 and fol.) : " In shady groves
we dwell, or lie on couches all along the banks, and on meadows
fresh with rivulets." Dante simply sings the waters celebrated
by the poets of antiquity when he expresses in beautiful verses
the beneficial action of the waters of Paradise :

" lo ritornai dalla santissim'onda
Rifatto si, come piante novelle,
Rinnovellate di novella fronda "

" I came out of the most holy water, refreshed as the young
plants which have takeji new verdure " (Purgat. c. xxxiii.)

10. A last peculiarity of Paradise is that it contains aqueducts.
We learn this from the book of Ecclesiasticus (xxiv. 40, 41) :
" I, Wisdom, like a brook out of a river of a mighty water, I like
a channel of a river, and like an aqueduct, came out of Paradise"
That it is a question of the Earthly Paradise in this passage is
the opinion of Cornelius a Lapide, who, commenting on the
word udragogos, an aqueduct, used by the first writers of the
Bible, says that by the word udragogos, aqueduct, is meant truly
an aqueduct made by the hand of man, and not by nature alone.

Application of the preceding marks of the hortus conclusus of
Solomon to the Wady Urthas of our days.

Among the authors who have written on the Earthly Paradise
many identify it with the Wady Urthas, a charming valley in
Judea. The same writers see in the A 1 'in Saleh a fountain in the
neighborhood, the fountain from which flows the water-course
which waters the garden of delights mentioned in Genesis. This
opinion is not new. Huet mentions it (pages 56, 57) in his trea-
tise quoted above. This opinion I follow, and my object here is
to try to prove it. All that remains for me to do is to show that
the Wady Urthas has all the marks by which we may recognize
the Garden of Eden.

i. The Wady Urthas is not a whole region. It is, according
to several writers, a small and narrow valley surrounded by
high hills. Mme. De Lamartine a few years ago had it surveyed ;

790 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

it is half of a league in length. Several French papers, among
others the Univers, have given this as a fact.

2. The Wady Urthas is near both Hebron and Jerusalem.
This beautiful valley is situated on the road which leads from
Jerusalem to Hebron, and is somewhat nearer to Jerusalem.

3. This place has always been renowned as a garden. Let us
hear M. Guerin, one of the most learned explorers of Palestine :
" We reach the gracious and green gardens of the Oued Orthas,
more commonly called Oued Ourthas [Wady Urthas]." " At the
extremity of these beautiful orchards, which are spread on a
lengthened valley, an antique bath-house was found a few years
ago. We cross successively a number of well-cultivated gardens
between two ranges of parallel hills, and where blooms, thanks to
constant irrigation, a most luxuriant vegetation. Mr. Meschoul-
lam, a Jew converted to Protestantism, for about fifteen years has
there cultivated many of our European trees and vegetables, and
they grew exceedingly well. Those orchards, according to a
tradition that I look upon as infinitely ^probable, because it is
founded upon a passage of Josephus' history which seems to me
convincing, have succeeded to the ancient gardens which Solo-
mon loved to visit at the dawn of day. Escorted by his guards,
armed and equipped with bows, the king, seated in a chariot
and covered with a white mantle, was accustomed, at the dawn
of day, to go out of Jerusalem. Now, there was a place distant
about two shines from the city and called Etham. Thanks to its
gardens and to the abundance of its running waters, this place
was at once full of charm and fertility. There Solomon wished
to be carried " (Antiquite's Juda'iques, vii. viii.) " The distance of a
s/ihie," continues M. Guerin, " was equal to thirty stadia, two
sJienes being sixty stadia, the exact distance which separates Jeru-
salem from the valley where we are. This valley, on account of
the natural richness of its soil, watered by never-failing springs,
must have at all times drawn the attention of the kings of
Jerusalem and become for them a place of rest and pleasure.
Nothing, therefore, is more likely than to see in it, with tradi-
tion, the enchanted gardens towards which Solomon loved to
direct his morning rides, as the Arabs themselves, as well as the
Jews and the Christians, relate in our days, calling these orchards
Bestan Souleiman (gardens of Solomon}. Besides, not far from it
runs, in its antique reservoir, a fountain called A'tn A' than, or
A 'in Atan. Now, of course, the name A than is the same as
Etam of the Holy Scripture. Conformably to this tradition I
incline, therefore, with all the inhabitants of Palestine, and with

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 791

almost all travellers, to see in the Oued Ourthas the/iortus conclusus
(the enclosed garden) which pleased Solomon so much, and to
which he compared his beloved in the Canticles (iv. 12, 13):
' My sister, my spouse is a garden enclosed, a garden enclosed, a
fountain sealed up. Thy plants are a paradise of pomegranates
with the fruit of the orchard.' '

Thus speaks in his Description of Palestine the learned Orien-
talist, M. Guerin. It is therefore to be conceded that the
Wady Urthas is the garden of which the two spouses speak thus
in the Canticles : " Let my beloved come into his garden, and
eat the fruit of his apple-trees. I am come into my garden, O
my sister, my spouse" (Canticles v. j). These two spouses pre-
sent themselves naturally to the mind as a remembrance, a vision,
of the two first spouses placed in Paradise to eat its luscious
fruits. For Solomon it is a garden which is almost nuptial, as
was Paradise for Adam, where 'a spouse was given to our first
father. The epithalamium called the Canticle of Canticles, mixing
together the praises of the spouse with the praises of the gar-
den of .the king of Israel, recalls to mind the epithalamium writ-
ten by Adam himself under the boughs of the delightful garden.
The two gardens seem to be consecrated to the^celebration of
the same mysteries, or rather they seem to be one and the same
garden. A few verses composed Adam's epithalamium : " This
now is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh," etc. (Gen. ii. 23,
24). Solomon's epithalamium consists of several small poems, dis-
tinct from each -other. Now, behold w T hat the inspired singer
says in the sixth poem : " Verily this is the enclosed garden " the
Wady Urthas, since in both the scene opens in the same place.
Solomon says to his spouse ; " Under the apple-tree I raised
thee up," etc. If this interpretation, which is that of the Vulgate,
be exact and it can well be defended the sacred writer recalls
manifestly that the enclosed garden is the Paradise itself where
Eve, our common mother, was beguiled and destroyed us all.
All this proves that the Wady Urthas was considered by the
Israelites as a garden full of mysteries, and was even taken by
them as the Earthly Paradise. In two places (Canticles iv. 13 and
Ecclus. ii. 5) Solomon goes even so far as to use the word paradise.
The renown of that prince has placed for ever the Wady Urthas
out of the ganger of being forgotten, and in our days travellers
delight in visiting the beautiful valley.

4. The high hills among which is located the Wady Urthas
form for it a natural cincture. This is the reason why the Scrip-
ture calls it enclosed garden. "It is enclosed," explains Quares-

792 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.,

mius (Elucidatio Terra Sancta, t. ii. p. 764), " not by art, but by
nature; not by walls, but by mountains and hills."

5. The Wady Urthas bears the same name as the Earthly
Paradise, if any authority is granted to the Chow-hai king, since
that old book maintains that Paradise is called the enclosed gar-
den.'

6. It is from west to east that the valley of the Urthas slopes.
That valley, therefore, is " inclined towards the east."

7. It is surrounded by a barren and desolate nature. " Be-
tween the rocky heights of the mountains which surround it on
all sides," writes Mme. De Lamartine, " this place alone offers
means of cultivation, and this valley is at all times a delicious
garden, cultivated with the utmost care, and presenting, in its
beautiful and damp verdure, the most striking contrast with the
rocky barrenness of all that surrounds it."

8. As to the fertility of that spot I will quote, among a host
of witnesses, the testimony of the learned M. Guerin. " The
Oued Ourthas," does he write in the work quoted above, " to
which the barrenness of its surroundings lends a particular
beauty, contains most varied plantations orange-trees, lemon,
pomegranate, mlmond, to which fig-trees and pear-trees marry
their leaves, their perfumes, and their fruits. A murmuring
water constantly runs around their trunks and spreads fertility
and life. Diverse kinds of vegetables, of which some are recent-
ly imported from Europe, are of a most excellent growth. No-
thing, indeed, is wanting to them, neither the fertility of the soil
nor the fruitful mingling of heat and humidity." This fertility
of the Wady Urthas is attested by King Solomon himself. If
you read the book of Canticles you will see the enumeration of
the trees and herbs growing in his Wady Urthas, his enclosed
garden. We find there not only the vegetables indigenous to
Palestine, as the pomegranate (punica granatmn}, the saffron (cro-
cus sativus), the lawsonia inermis, whose odoriferous blossoms,
forming beautiful bunches, were carried on the breast (Cant. i.
14), but also the most precious exotic plants the balsamoden-
dron gileadense, opobalsamum, and meccanense, which exhale the
balsam and were introduced into Palestine by the Queen of
Saba (Josephus) ; the balsamodendron myrrha and the boswellia
papyracea, which grow in Arabia and Africa and furnish myrrh
and incense ; probably also the boswellia serrata, another shrub
producing incense and growing in Bengal ; the nardostachys,
which gives the true spikenard and is found in the mountains
of Nepaul ; the laurus cinnamomum, which grows particularly in

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 793

the island of Ceylon ; the aquilaria agallocha, a tree growing in
the mountains of Thibet, and from which is got the aloe ; finally,
a plant renowned in all antiquity, but which was never found
again the calamus aromaticus, far different from the acorus cala-
mus sold in its stead by druggists (see particularly Cant. iv. 13,
14). The vessels which brought in the diverse productions of
India explain sufficiently the presence of trees and shrubs from
that country in the 'delightful garden of the opulent king of
Israel.

Solomon himself boasts of having planted in his Paradise all
fruit-trees (Eccles. ii. 5) : "I made gardens and orchards, and set
them with trees of all kinds " just as God had done in the Gar-
den of Eden. He calls the Valley of Urthas, thus embellished
by his care, a park full of trees which grow at will.

9. For the irrigation of this beautiful park Solomon had
caused to be cut in the hard rock three magnificent tanks, of
which he says (Eccles. ii. 6) : " And 1 made me ponds of water,
to water therewith the wood of the young trees." These tanks,
called to-day El-Burak, are near the Wady Urthas, on an emi-
nence above the valley. They themselves fill up a small valley
or ravine with precipitous rocks on each side, which incline by
three vast steps from west to east (see Guerin). What .is re-
markable about these tanks is that they receive their beautiful
water from the A" in Saleh, a fountain considered by the authors
above mentioned as the spring of the principal water-course
watering the Earthly Paradise.

Let us open again the learned work of M. Guerin :

"One meets, in the midst of fields nearly barren, whose soil is deeply
inclined, the narrow aperture of a kind of well. As it was nearly stopped
with huge stones, I succeeded, with the help of my bachtbouzougs, in remov-
ing the obstruction ; then, letting myself slide through this orifice, I fell
upon a heap of stony ruins. With the help of a candle I remarked that I
was in a room measuring seven steps in length and three and a half in
breadth. Its height at the place where there is no rubbish of stone and
dirt is approximatively of five metres. It is vaulted, and the ceiling as
well as the walls of the chamber is built with cut stones placed togeiher
with great regularity. Thence, turning to the right, I penetrated into a
second chamber smaller than the other, but constructed in the same man-
ner. At the far end of this chamber, towards the west, an abundant foun-
tain springs from the living rock through several crevices and forms a good-
sized brook. Gathered first in a small basin, this brook, after having
crossed the first chamber, flows through a canal, or kind of corridor cut in
the rock, the vestibule of which is alone ceiled, as the chambers them-
selves. . . .

" To return to the spring I have mentioned and described. The Arabs

794 THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. [Mar.j

call it now Bas-el A'in (head of the source), then Ain Salet (good, pure,
beneficial spring). As for the Christians, they designate it under the name
of sealed fountain fans signatus. It is for them, according to an ancient
tradition, the fountain to which Solomon alludes in the Canticle of Canti-
cles when he compares his beloved to an enclosed garden, to a sealed
fountain : ' Hortus conclusus, soror mea sponsa, hortus conclusus, fons
signatus.''

" I have said above that, following the tradition, I am inclined to see in
the Oued Ourthas the hortus conclusus of this verse. Likewise I incline
to see in the A'in Saleh the/ons signatus of the same passage. In fact, I
know no other fountain in Palestine to which the epithet of sealed signatus
be more appropriate than to this one. Underground and of difficult ac-
cess, since one can penetrate into it only by a narrow orifice, it could thus
be easily closed and interdicted to the public by the means of a rock
marked with the print of the royal seal. Its extreme importance and the
character, in a manner sacred, with which it is marked come of this : that,
with some other fountains, it was destined to supply water for Jerusalem,
and particularly for the Temple " (p. no and fol.)

Not only the water taken from the tanks and coming from
the A'in Saleh, but also another beautiful spring, situated in the
Urthas itself, fill that valley with an abundance of water. Thus
here also the Wady Urthas has a perfect resemblance with the
earthly Paradise.

10. It is the same thing as to what concerns the aqueduct, or
aqueducts, starting from the Val Urthas. I will here let M.
Saulcy, a learned French Orientalist, speak. His words are
found in his work, Voyage en Terre Sainte (vol. ii. pp. 35, 36) :

" There were, a few leagues south of Jerusalem, very beautiful springs
at Etham, on the road to Hebron, and Solomon spared no expense, with-
drew before no difficulty, in order to endow his royal city with the per-
fect waters of those springs. Three immense reservoirs were cut in the
rock to levels successively lower than the other, in such a manner that
the first one filled up directly with the water of the brook, diverted its
overflow in the second, and this one into the third ; now, starting from the
third was an underground aqueduct which, following the sides of the hills,
and making all the necessary turns to keep the inclined plane, conducted
the waters as far as Jerusalem.

" It is in repairing this aqueduct that Pontius Pilate employed a part
of the treasury of the Temple, to the great scandal and indignation of the
Jewish nation. In the Middle Ages the Sultan El Malek-en-Naser-Mo-
hamed-Ibm-Kelaum had it again repaired and established a system of
pipes of burnt clay, which can be found here and there on the excavated
and uncovered parts when one follows the course of that ruined aque-
duct.

" Here is its course : Starting from the inside tank, the aqueduct fol-
lows for about a kilometric league the north side of the Valley of Eurtas ;
it heads then towards the north, turning all the ravines for about three

1883.] THE LOCATION OF THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 795

kilometres to Beit-Lehon, at about three or four hundred metres to the
angle of inflection, to descend towards the southwest in order to turn
round the village; then for one league, or about, it turns towards the north.
When it reaches about a mile south of the convent of Mar-EIias it starts
to the northeast for about two miles, and makes a bend of about a mile
and a half, descending towards the south ; it then turns again to the north-
northwest on a length of about five miles. There it crosses the Birket-es-
Soulthan on a bridge aqueduct and winds round Mount Sion to enter the
sides of that mountain. Its mouth is in the declivity of the rock which
overlooked the Xistus and the valley of Tyropseon, at the west of the
temple that is, of Haram-esh-Sherif. The mouth of the aqueduct is well
preserved at that place, but from that point it is completely ruined and has
disappeared. From the source of El-Bourak to this point the total length
of Solomon's aqueduct is twenty kilometres at least, and this is about
exact.

"We see that the -waters of Etham, since the aqueduct which brought
them reached the Temple itself, and the Temple only, were more especiall)'
destined for the sacrifices."

Such is, if I am not much mistaken, the aqueduct coming out
of Paradise spoken of by Jesus, the son of Sirach, in the verse of
Ecclesiasticus quoted above. Between the huge blocks which
form and cover this old and famous canal runs a stream of
water not less precious by its own qualities than rendered in a
manner sacred by its ancient use. It was that water which was
employed for irrigation in the Temple, of which a passage of
Aristaeus, preserved by Eusebius in the Prceparatio Evangelica,
gives us the most curious details. Protected from profanation
under the cover of the royal seal, which closed the fountain
where it springs up, it was used for the service of the Temple
only and for the watering of the Wady Urthas. There was no
way in which the Hebrews could show greater respect to the
waters which flowed through the garden of delights, the Earthly
Paradise.

796 THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS, [Mar.,

THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. BY AN ENGLISH-
MAN.

THE lower orders what are they ? Or what do we mean
by the invidious distinction which we draw between higher and
lower? When we speak of the higher orders we usually mean
the aristocracy, or at least those very exceptional classes which
have riches, position, or fame. But when we speak of the lower
orders we usually imply a censure on the vulgarity or coarseness
of the "mob." We not only mean poor people or people who
are nobodies, but we mean the classes with whom we shun
personal contact, as being repugnant in toilet or in style. Our
intention is different when we speak of the " humbler " orders.
We mean by humbler the modest though the poor, the refined
though the simple and industrious. And my contention is that
in no country in the world ought there to exist what we under-
stand by the " lower " orders. There ought to exist only, in
every country, the " humbler " orders. And I should further
contend that the existence of the lower orders is, in any country,
a censure on the higher orders ; and that in the proportion of
the numerical force of 'the lower orders must be the blame which
must rest on their superiors.

I say, then, that the classes called the lower orders are the
creation of the classes called the higher orders a somewhat
severe, and perhaps personal, imputation. It will be replied
that in all countries, in all societies, there must be a residuum
from the waste of human nature ; or that just as some people
are prone to be criminals, so some people are prone to be " low."
But I am not speaking of " some " people ; I am speaking of
" orders," of whole classes or sections of the community, which
sink down to the bottom of repute. How comes it that such
classes exist? Mere poverty of itself would not make them.
Mere wan of mental culture would not make them. They are
obviouslyT:he creation of certain social antagonisms which ought
not to co-exist with civilization. But is it not civilization which
has created them ? Civilization has been defined as "the science
of selfishness," or as " the science of evolving the greatest
amount of personal ease out of the richest discoveries in con-
venience." If this be so we can understand how the lower
orders have come to be created out of civilization. Perceiving

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 797

that selfishness is the divinity of the higher orders of the fortu-
nate and the lap-full of the community the classes which are
unfortunate or lap-empty have no motive to rise superior to their
misfortunes. Being down in the gutter pecuniarily, they may as
well be there morally and mentally. They have no motive in .
being hypocrites or in affecting conventional propriety. They
know that they are little cared for, little thought of ; they are
despised or simply used as base instruments ; hence radicalism
of that demoralized type which means envy and hatred and
pulling down. Now, if the higher orders would set an example
to the lower orders, both in the objects and in the intensity
of their lives, the "lower" orders would be converted into the
"humbler" orders; but as the higher orders, as a rule, are
wrapped up in their egotism, the lower orders are wrapped up
in their animalism.

I do not suppose that society in England is more rotten than
society anywhere else. Human nature was always very much
the same, and riches and egotism have gone together. It is
absurd to suppose that so long as the world lasts there can
ever be social perfection. Imagine a country where there was
no schism of classes, because every class fitted perfectly into the
general harmony. Imagine such a sympathy of interest and
of idea that each class instinctively apprehended all the wants
and the wishes of every class, and forestalled by graceful action
and assiduity the causes as well as the effects of discontent. Or,
again, imagine such a perfection of social manners that mutual
homage was the instinct of high and low ; the rich esteeming
prosperity as the strongest motive for modesty instead of as the
apology for pride. We are not in paradise yet ; and, being in
this world, we can but dream of a society from which all selfish-
ness and vulgarity would be banished. Still, in facing the tre-
mendous fact of the lower orders and their continuous descent
to deeper radicalism, we might ask, for our own sake as well as
for theirs, Is it not possible to win them to a higher state ?

Might not a government do this ; might not society do it ?
And, first, how might a government do it ?

Now, the English government has conceded the principle
that it has the right to interfere in education. But there is one
object to which the government has shut its eyes, though that
object is really, socially supreme. The School Board aims solely
at teaching certain subjects with a view to imparting compe-
tency for certain trades. It does not aim at improving the dis-
positions, the mental or the moral tone, of young people. Yet

798 THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. [Mar.,

nothing could be easier even putting- religion out of the ques-
tion than to have " classes " every day for the teaching young
people good manners, good sentiments, good aspirations. Nor
could anything be more practical than the object of such classes ;
nor could any teaching be more pleasant or sympathetic. It
would be only necessary to have teachers specially adapted to
such work, men of culture, enthusiasm, and tact, whose whole
business should be to impart aspiration to the " vulgar " boys
and girls of big towns. Nor is there the smallest possible diffi-
culty in the novelty. Young people of all degrees are just as
capable of being educated in what is commonly understood by
"good taste" as they are capable of being taught the rule of
three or how to copy dull platitudes in text-hand. An hour's
talk, by an astute teacher, on the pleasures of refined habit, on
the duties of self-respect and respect for others enlivened, as
it might be, by felicitous illustration and by kindly appeal to
youthful warmth and generosity would leave subject for reflec-
tion which would bear fruit at home, and which in after-life
would never be forgotten. Even though religion be tabooed in
public schools, civilization and social harmony need not be so.
The French government has got rid of both together in its
detestable new laws on education ; the Italian government is
trying to do the same thing ; and we admit at once that there is
a certain logic, when teaching young people to be atheists, in
teaching them to be brutalized bipeds. Yet in England we have
not taught atheism, as the French government has practically
done, and have only affected to avoid all sectarianism by exclud-
ing private gospellers from the schools. In England, therefore,
we might well teach aspiration in every natural, social, per-
sonal sense, and might try to convert the lower orders into the
humbler orders by wise lessons on the philosophy of self-respect.
Another way of practically teaching the lower orders would
be to improve the general tone of public pleasures. Why should
not the government provide educating pleasures for the hun-
dreds of thousands of youths and girls in our big towns ; and
why should it not improve the existing tone of such pleasures as
are at present simply deteriorating or vicious ? Here again the
question of " taste," as one of the high subjects in education, is
seen to be of infinite importance ; for if youths and girls were
taught in government schools to approve solely what is high-
toned and elevating, they would resent as insults to their taste
and their intelligence the vile rubbish which is offered for their
pabulum. I have not been in the United States, and do not know

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 799

whether the lower orders are profoundly gratified by grimaces and
contortions ; but in England the popularity of an entertainment
at least in what is commonly called a music-hall is grounded
chiefly on its claim to imbecility. The more an " artiste " can
wriggle or can de-humanize his individuality the more applause
he receives from pit and gallery ; the less of taste, of refinement,
of education he can indicate the larger pay he will receive from
his employers. Now, seeing that such houses of entertainment
are crowded nightly by the lower (rather than by the humbler)
orders, we may infer that the " education " which is received in
them is degrading where it is not demoralizing. Yet the gov-
ernment might easily take the subject of public pleasures within
the compass of its paternal interest* and authority, and both cre-
ate improving places of amusement and eliminate all harm out
of music-halls. What is wanted is sufficient interest in the sub-
ject. But members of Parliament are too much interested in
keeping their seats to trouble their heads about the pleasures of
the masses.

And members of Parliament are fair specimens of the class
of gentry who are known as " influential members of society."
They do their duty up to the measure of their obligations per-
haps also up to the measure of their aspirations but they stop
short at the point where personal interest in the lower or-
ders might involve more than theoretical politics. After giv-
ing a vote or making a party speech they drive home in their
broughams to pleasant mansions, and care as much about the
lower orders as they care about the muddy pavements which
soil the boots or splash the trousers of mere walkers.

" But surely you would not have the higher orders invite the
lower orders to dinner or take a costermonger's arm down
Piccadilly ? " asks my friend with the coronet or the broad
acres. " The lower orders of London are spread over miles of
terra incognita, over regions where no ' gentleman ' would ever
penetrate. Imagine," continues my amiable aristocrat, " a man of
my caste taking a walk in such odious neighborhoods as Wap-
ping, or Shadwell, or Rotherhithe, or being even conscious of
Limehouse, or Deptford, or such places as the 'rough' element
frequents. It seems to me that you theorize in the clouds.
What would you have me to do for the lower orders ? How
would you have me to commune with them? I believe that my
steward gives my checks to local charities, and I know for
certain that my cook has a soup-caldron out of which vagrants
who, I believe, are lower orders take their fill ; but when you

Soo THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. [Mar.,

talk about ' sympathy ' I regard you as sentimental, as letting
your warmth get the better of your judgment. There can be no
such thing as sympathy between opposites. ' Am I not a man
and a brother?' is a question to which I should reply, ' No! ' A
man is a genus of which there may be species ; but a brother is
a kindred kind, a kindred mind. I should say that sympathy,
save in the sense of compassion, was an impossible mutuality be-
tween opposites ; nor should I approve of the levelling policy
which would create bonds of social intercourse between classes
which are much better kept apart."

Perfectly true, in the sense in which my aristocrat intends
it, but wanting in full grasp of the question. That question is :
" What is the interest of the higher orders in fulfilling their duty
to the lower orders?" And it must be presumed that the high-
er orders have some thought for their descendants as well as for
their own generation. Now, in every country in Europe there is
a revolutionary element waiting only opportunity to flame forth.
And it is certain that an English " mob," when giving the rein to
its passions, is more brutal, more " low " than is any other mob.
Philosophy, therefore, points to the wisdom of utterly obliterating
the caste which makes a " mob " ; in other words, of converting
the lower into the humbler orders, so as to make a spiteful revo-
lution impossible. Is it practicable to accomplish so grand a
work? Can "society" make the "people" its friend instead of
(parliamentarily speaking) its " Opposition " ?

Now, let it be conceded that three-fourths of human nature
is made up of what is best known as sentiment. Principle has
really very little to do with the conduct or the motives of the
majority. Accepted canons of intercourse pass for principle, and
conventional proprieties for virtue. For one man who has prin-
ciples a dozen have only habits or the borrowed axioms of right-
ness and decorum. Hence the vast majority are flexible or mal-
leable, easily swayed by the first stir of sentiment. If the senti-
ment be good the conduct will be good ; but if the sentiment
be irritated or vitiated a man may become a " blackguard " in
one moment. Now, the sentiment of the lower orders is habitu-
ally an antagonism a half-conscious hostility to refinement and
sympathy, to aspiration both mental and moral. Just as the sen-
timent of the " humbler" orders is in the direction of tenderness,
the sentiment of the " lower " orders is " pugnacious." The
lower orders display their pugnacity in their voices, their lan-
guage, their manners. In these three characteristics they are
typical. It may be doubted whether voice, language, or manner

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 801

was ever so exceptionally apprehended as by the class we call in
England the " roughs." Let us consider this apprehension for
one moment. And, first, as to the voices of the lower orders.

Their voices are as little human as possible. They are at
warfare with all musical cadence. So far from the human voice
being the divine instrument of the soul, it is made to resemble
the gruff screechings of the Yahoo. Yet the human voice gives
expression not only to what is but to what is not in the mind and
the heart. Culture of both the mental and moral kind is suggest-
ed by every accent a man utters ; while all the attributes and
characteristics of the individual are made known, to the keen
listener, word by word. If, then, the English lower orders usually
bark instead of talking, or growl instead of " playing on the di-
vine instrument," the conclusion is that they have eliminated
human nature out of their existence, and have substituted ani-
malism or grossness.

In regard to language, it is prudent not to indicate the nouns,
adjectives, and verbs which are usually heard. Parts of speech
are simply expletives of vulgarity. If " language was given us
to conceal our thoughts," the concealment, in the case of the
English lower orders, is an art which is imperfectly understood.
It would be better if there were a little more concealment. The
apology is doubtless that the language used by the lower orders
has not the "prim* facie" force which we attribute to it.

Manners are in all countries conventional, and this, too, in all
classes of the community. Yet every individual has his own
manners a personal charm, or its contrary, which is inborn.
The " humbler " orders in England have, as a rule, winning man-
ners, and very often a fascination of modesty. A certain sweet-
ness of retirement, tempered perhaps by suffering, gives to many
of them a refinement which is unsurpassed. The humbler orders
of Italy or of France may have more knowledge of the conven-
tional ideal, or be better schooled in the grooved customs of
politeness, but I doubt whether any class, in any country in the
world, is better behaved than the best types of the English poor.
I used to notice, during a long residence in Italy, that the hum-
bler orders were a faint copy of the higher orders ; their manners
were much the same, with a touch more of homage, but with no
less of superficial politeness. The English humbler orders have
a good breeding of their own. It is full of nature, of warmth,
of even duty. Of course I speak only of the best types, not of
the many. And I place a gulf between the humbler and the
lower orders.

VOL. xxxvi. 51

802 THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. [Mar.,

Arithmetically, what should we say is the apparent propor-
tion of the humbler and the lower orders of England ? There
is no possible arithmetic in the case. There are so many of the
"lower" orders among the "higher" orders that we should
have to winnow all classes to find the resultant. To use coarse
language which is best adapted to clearness there are so
many "brutal cads" among the higher orders (men with a
smearing and veneering of social caste, but without a bit of the
heart and soul of the gentleman) that even some " lower " orders,
so called, might complain of a classification which put them on a
par with lofty " snobs." And it is just here that we reach the
point where the assertion may be justified which was made at
the beginning of this paper, that " the existence of the lower
orders in any country, in any age, is a grave censure on the
classes called the higher ; and that in the proportion of the
numerical force of the lower orders must be the blame which
must rest on their superiors."

Take the present state of the lower orders in France as an
illustration of the truth of this assertion, and also as assisting us
in judging of the processes by which the lower orders in Eng-
land have been created. In past times French " society " was
the bitterest enemy of the poor ; the aristocracy simply using
their tenantry as the base instruments of their selfish magnifi-
cence, and setting them an example of worldliness plus hypo-
crisy which finally merited the guillotine. Foullon's saying,
" Let the people eat grass," conveyed the sentiment of three-
fourths of the higher orders. The splendid wickedness of the
French court plus its odious hypocrisy king and nobles going
publicly to their religious duties, while living solely for pride
and for pleasure led the people to believe that the two great
enemies of civilization were rank and the profession of religion.
The French lower orders of these days are the heirs of those
French classes who were scandalized and alienated a hundred
years ago. The lessons learned under the later Bourbons were
but in-graved by the Revolution ; and the French lower orders
now think that to avoid poverty and humiliation they must hate
" society ".and the profession of religion. This is the " floating
sentiment" in their minds. It matters nothing whether there
be logic in the inference: the fact is what society has to deal
with. We must draw the same distinction in France as in Eng-
land between the " humbler " and the " lower " sections of the
people ; while, unhappily, the higher orders in France as repre-
sented by the Faubourg St. Germain have not awakened to

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 803

the full sense of their mistakes. Exclusiveness is still the bane
of those antiquated bigotries which are fortified within the
drawing-rooms of the proud ; and this causes the middle classes,
quite as much as the canailles, to like a government which snubs
the exclusives. We know that the aristocracy have their vir-
tues, that many aristocrats have as much good in them as have
the "humbler" orders; but they judge from past history, with a
rough logic, and hate society because it used to crush them.

In England the lower orders cannot urge against the higher
orders that they have bullied them, robbed them, or played the
hypocrite. The worst that they can say is that they have neg-
lected them. They may impute to them isolation or egotism,
but this is only to impute to them human nature. And the
higher orders in England have made some progress in the last
fifty years in social, political, and "public" worth, and, on the
whole, are not bad specimens of a plutocracy, for class-propriety,
debt-paying, or even morals. What, then, is the reason why the
amount of decency which is in them does not suffice to convert
the lower into the humbler orders ; or how is it that, while the
French lower orders can plead history for their creation, the
English lower orders must be justified without a history ?

To go to the bottom of the matter, what Carlyle called " in-
dividual mammonism " is the explanation of the rottenness of
all society. The " apiaroi " are not the " best," in the sense of
earnestness or pity, in the sense of the apprehension of the
sublime, but chiefly as being " lords over God's heritage," or
as social magnates, grandees, or " swells " ; so that the lower
orders sink down into animalism minus conventionalism, because
the higher orders are conventional minus superiority. Figure
for one moment the institution called society in its component
features or social mise en scene. The sovereign is a lofty abstrac-
tion wearing a crown. The House of Lords, another worshipful
abstraction, is a coroneted regiment of landowners. The coun-
try gentry and the higher middle classes adore comfort and re-
spectability as the household gods of all affection and aspira-
tion. Merchant-princes and their imitators teach that " twenty
shillings in the pound " is the supreme virtue, the social sanctity,
of the human life. Members of Parliament spout for ever, " a
sovereign national palaver," "a solemn convocation of all the
stump orators of the nation " ; and the daily newspapers print
for ever, trying to attract the British public by crafty doses
of popular liberalism or red-radicalism, or of scientific modern-
thoughtism or infidelity. Spiritual peers and revival-preachers,

804 THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. [Mar.,

a Bank of England and a workhouse, Guildhall banquets and
frequent deaths from starvation, with other odd admixtures
of national facts, complete a medley of government which pre-
sents to the eye of the lower orders everything except interest
in them. Hence King Beer and King Gin have a sovereign
majesty for the lower orders, which, though defective both
politically and socially, has great charm as a mighty soother of
the moment. Sympathy being absent, stimulant is always pre-
sent; and the intensity of class-interest being a myth, the in-
tensity of pot-warmth is doubly real. The higher classes drink
their Burgundy or Chateau Yquem, in their mansions, at their
clubs, at their hotels ; so the lower orders pay them the compli-
ment of imitation up to the highest level which their circum-
stances may afford. Rubbish, to call the lower orders " drunken
England " ! The higher orders are much more drunken than the
lower orders. The only difference is that good wines do not
poison, and habit makes excess to be moderation ; whereas
spirits or bad beer poison mind as well as body, and create
" lowness " even in natures which would be high.

The mise en stine of society, as thus briefly pictured, makes
the lower orders feel that the apparent selfishness of the higher
orders is didactic of the same duty in the lower orders. Nay,
individual mammonism in the "high" is the presumption of its
greater duty in the " low." For if the comfortable man's soul is
a money-bag, the uncomfortable man's soul must be a vacuum.
And the higher orders are quite content that it should remain
so ! Eternal talking, theorizing, sentimentalizing, on platforms,
in newspapers, or in pamphlets, has no more to do with the ele-
vation of the lower orders than it has to do with the evangelical
counsels. The dull, cold look of the West End mansions of the
rich has the same effect upon the senses of the poor as the spout-
ing and printing philanthropy has on their hearts ; nor can the
published sympathy of the well-off touch the inner life of the
badly-off any more than the superb upholstery of my lord's
drawing-room can impart warmth or an arm-chair to an empty
room. Talking and writing are only useful up to the point of
ventilating thought-out schemes of public work ; they are mere
mockery as practical substitutes for the duties of sympathy, of
personal example, interest, and association. Yet even in the
printing sphere there is disgraceful disregard of any amount of
enormous injury done to the poor. Publications are hawked in
the London streets whose express purpose is to deprave the
mind, to mock religion and revelation and the Holy Name, and

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 805

to combine blasphemy with such fatuous imbecility as shall at
once degrade the intellect and the soul. And such is the utter
loss of national chivalry that no one has the courage to tear
up the vile sheets, to smash the windows where such scandal is
sold, nor even to go before a magistrate and ask whether pub-
lic corruption is not an indictable offence within the statutes.
Every English gentleman is insulted in the public streets, every
English lady with her children is exposed to infamy ; yet no
league has yet been formed by " good society " for stamping out
this public outrage to common decency. The higher orders,
the M.P.'s, the magistrates, the public prosecutor, are all too
busy with their own profitable pursuits to give attention to
pennyworths of blackguardism. We live in a free country, and
our freedom necessitates that every speculator must have the
freedom not only to insult men and women, but also to try to
ruin all young people. This is " compulsory education " with a
vengeance. So that, positively as well as negatively, the govern-
ing classes are responsible for forcing the lower orders to be-
come lower and lower ; at one and the same time withholding
example and sympathy, and striving to educate the lower orders
in filth.

And then we have the institution of revival-preachers bab-
bling apostles of a creedless sentimentality as a panacea for all
the wants which have been created by the neglect, by the stolid
selfishness and money-worship, which rots the nation. Money-
worship has created the necessity for revival-preachers ! The
employing classes look on hirelings as the machinery for their
aggrandizement, and consider that wages, once paid, discharge
all debt which can exist from the employer to the person who
has been hired. No mutual obligation beyond pecuniary equiva-
lent, no magnanimous conception of a true liberalism, enter the
mind of the employer who simply adds up his columns and puts
down " machinery of labor, so much." Conversely, the em-
ployed classes know that between them and the employer there
exists only this pecuniary relation ; and they look upon em-
ployers as so much beef or mutton, tea, sugar, tallow candles, or
coals. Hence the knowledge that such relation is the only one
that is recognized fills their minds with these two transparent
truths: that to make money is the sole principle of the em-
ployer, and to use workmen his sole estimate of their rights.
Money payments dash off all claim for ever. The sole object
of business being to get riches, and the sole uses of labor being
to help to get riches, the employed classes apprehend that the

8o6 THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. [Mar.,

" lower orders " mean the machinery by which egotism and
luckiness climb the ladder.

The idolatry of the cash-box is the creation of the lower
orders, both because it supersedes every other yearning in the
employer, and implants the conviction of money divinity in the
employed. If the employer used his money as a means of ele-
vating the individuality of the greatest number of dependants
within his sphere, the right uses of money, not the money itself,
would become the reasonable and pure divinities of business ;
but the idolatry of the sun by the Persian is a tame and. loveless
heart-homage or enthusiasm compared to the idolatry of money
by the Britisher, w r hen once he gets his foot into the stirrup.
The lower orders, realizing that the money divinity rules every-
thing, in the sense only of being adored by its possessors, con-
clude reasonably and logically that not to possess the divinity is
the sole fact which makes them " low " and keeps them so. In-
dustry, talent, even virtue, are but the material auxiliaries of
their service, which make them estimable in the eyes of their
masters because such graces mean the hope of more money.
Conversely, weakness, poor ability, a momentary slip, are visited
with dismissal or disgrace ; nor is another thought given to the
possible sinking of the victim whom nature has not adapted to
vulgar business. The low estimate of sympathies, plus the ado-
ration of gold, make the employing classes low in tone and aspi-
ration, begetting lowness, minus conventionalism or respecta-
bility, in the classes who have no exemplars to look up to.

A rough picture, no doubt, of the classes called employers,
and untrue, thank God ! of many a thousand. But in seeking
for the " reason of being " of the lower orders we have to look
at the general, not at the exceptional, experiences of those orders
which must be said to be created by " low " employers. From
the duke down to the small managing foreman the vast majority
worship the accidents of money to almost blindness as to its
duties, its joys. We have men in England rolling in oceans
of money, and others too well off for their own happiness, who
have no more recognition of the joys of giving joys, or even of
trying to lift the hearts of their "inferiors," than they have
of the occupations of the angels. Hence the lower orders ! I
maintain that there could not possibly be any lower orders, if
the higher orders did not create them by their dulness. Just as
one English gentleman, of pure character and beautiful nature,
will imbue the whole of his surrounding world with his own
spirit, so the dull, fashionable egotists who live for vanity and

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 807

pleasure create "lower" even out of the "humbler" orders
who surround them. Some one has said that "even the ugliest
body, possessing a beautiful ideal of soul, is more lovely to look
upon than the handsomest body with a petrified inanity in place
of soul." The same might be said of " society." The hand-
somest society, with its roll of peers, its stately mansions, its vast
wealth, its social canons of strict propriety and heartless ease,
its dinner-parties and balls and afternoon teas, its take-it-easy
and look-complacent and high-bred, its Christmas flannels for
the poor and its carriage-calls on the rich in short, with all the
conventionalism of the world if nature be gone out of it as
well as religion, is but a hideous whited sepulchre of dead bones.
And it is because nature as well" as religion have gone to sleep
in the higher orders that both have become perverted in the
lower orders. We do not want to trouble our heads with
" political economy " nor with questions of " organization of
labor " ; nor is it free-trade nor Corn Laws, nor under-selling,
nor trades-unions nor Chartist unions nor any other unions,
which can solve the difficulty which society has to face how to
make all orders peaceful and superior. Carlton Clubs, Reform
Clubs, Mansion House meetings have no more to do with this
question than have locomotives, Manchester shoddy, or the
Horse-Guards : you might as well ask of a sanitary bill that it
should include Christian dogma as look to politics to elevate
the lower orders. " Public opinion," that most long-eared cf
all arbiters, would be impotent to move one step in the matter.
It was a good saying of Pope Pius IX., when he was asked,
" How is it possible to reform Italy ? " " Nothing can be sim-
pler than the true method : let every Italian begin by reforming
himself." And so with public opinion : let every Englishman,
of whatever grade, know for certain these two principles, and
act on them with all the zest of his life : that capital should be
used first for the elevation of the laborer, and labor should
be rendered first in friendly service to the capitalist. The two
principles are but one principle. If the capitalist (or even the
employer, the director, the manager) used his power for the good
of all around him, then, instead of gain being the one degrading
thought, mutual fellowship would elevate all characters. Every
class, every order, being inspired by unselfishness and living
first for the particular community which was allied to it, the re-
ciprocity of such unselfishness would beget intensity of service
with perfect purity of affectionate motive and regard. " Uto-
pia!" you exclaim; "pretty dreamland; mere picturing of an

8o8 THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. [Mar.,

impossible society ! " I do not think so. I know of one spot in
England where the Utopia is realized, and where "democracy"
is bosomed into a " happy family." And this is the soundest poli-
cy, the only "prosperity." Democracy is that fact which stares
us all in the face, and which is already our master, if not our
tyrant. The problem, therefore, which every wise man has to
work out is, " how to reconcile sovereignty with democracy."
Sovereignty there must be ; it is the law of God, the law of na-
ture. Democracy is and will be; but whose sovereignty will it
obey ? In itself it has no sovereignty, because it admits nothing
that is above itself; and as to worshipfully obeying what is not
above one's self, such loyalty is a transparent absurdity. Since,
then, religion (in the divine sense, though not in the natural) has
lost its hold as the one sovereign principle, what other sovereign-
ty will you put in its place for the controlling of the masses
called the lower orders ? One of two things must most certainly
happen : either the lower orders will get the mastery of society,
or society must make the lower orders its friends. But the sole
way in which the friendship can be created is by substituting
mutual interest for " master and servant." In the feudal times,
when the lords were the " law- wards" and did all the soldiering,
the governing, the policeing, and when the mail-shirt, the pike,
or the catapult had a " moral " force which was felt on the skin,
mutual respect was of a muscular character as well as of a cove-
nanting advantage. Those days are gone by for ever. Now
that the lower orders contribute their share of some fifty millions
of pounds sterling towards the government of the country on
modern principles, they care no more whether a duke wears a
cambric shirt or a coat of mail than they care whether he drinks
Burgundy or Champagne. Class-government is dead. Who,
then, shall govern, what shall govern, unless you introduce a
new sovereignty? That sovereignty must be the new birth of
the upper orders. " Oh ! yes, very likely," you reply to me ; "a
new nature, a rebegetting of the human race, a fresh genus of
men and women, who shall cease to think of themselves, and to
adore personal ease and class-vanity, and shall find their daily
delight in making their own lives perfection and in pulling other
lives up to their own standard. Very likely ! ' A new birth of
the upper orders ! ' Yes, a new birth of humility out of pride, of
self-sacrifice out of splendid luxuriousness, of magnanimity out of
contemptible conventionalism, of mutual homage out of flunky-
ism or servility, of deep religion out of going to church on Sun-
days ! Nonsense, my dear sir! it cannot be done." I know it

1883.] THE ENGLISH LOWER ORDERS. 809

cannot. Yet where are you to find your new sovereignty ? If
the lower orders are ever to be governed any more, it must be
by their conviction that the higher orders are the superior or-
ders in the breadth of their sympathetic aspirations. Some sove-
reignty must be found to govern democracy ; and if we cannot
have the best, which is religion, we must try to have the second
best personal intensity. It is useless to talk about a religious
sovereignty in a country where blasphemy is hawked publicly,
price one penny, or where the Salvation Army is the most
ostensible agent for picturing the divine dignity of the faith.
In the middle ages religious sovereignty refined the humbler
orders, just as in these days its. total absence creates the lower
orders. When the monks (practically) ruled all the humbler or-
ders ruled them by sympathy and charity the motto, " La-
borare est orare," was believed in, acted on, lived on ; the spirit
of labor, of charity, of affectionate service being all one, and all
manly and Christian. To-day each workman feels that he is
alone " alone in the wide bosom of all " because gain is the sole
principle of everything ; mutual service, mutual sympathy, mu-
tual respect, being incidental, but not the principia. Make them
once more our principia ! Between a return to the pure laws of
nature plus a hatred of and a contempt for conventionalism, and
the swallowing up of all society by democracy, there is a choice
which must be made by the higher orders. We are in swift
process of being devoured by vulgarity : the higher orders by
vulgar conventionalism, and the lower orders by vulgar antago-
nism. " Odi profanum vulgus " would be too promiscuous in
these days; it would be too indefinite both as to "profanum"
and "vulgus"; for in which class would you look for your
worst specimens? We are all of us vulgar from force of habit.
Let us look at home and look less at one another. Pius IX.
was a true philosopher when he propounded the sovereign cure,
" Let every man begin by reforming himself."

8 io DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

DR. PUSEY: HIS LIFE AND DOINGS.

IT is a lamentable fact that, while we often have to regret
the abrupt ending of lives that seem full of brightest promises,
some men live too long. At one period they seem to reach the
climax of their career. Had they died then they would' have
reaped "golden opinions from all sorts of people." But they
lived on, half forgotten by their generation, and frequently, in
a desperate effort to retain popularity, doing something that re-
verses men's good opinion entirely. As that very pathetic
singer, Mrs. Barrett Browning, has well expressed it :

" It is not in mere death that men die most;
And after our first girding of the loins
In youth's fine linen and fair 'broidery,
To run up hill and meet the rising sun,
We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,
While others gird us with the violent bands
Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,
Reversing our straight nature, lifting up
Our base needs, keeping down our lofty thoughts,
Head downward on the cross-sticks of the world ;
God ! set our feet low and our forehead high,
And show us how a man was made to walk."*

We can remember the time when it would have been thought
almost irreverent to imagine that such sentiments would ever
be applicable to Dr. Pusey. Hundreds, nay thousands, that had
never seen the man had heard of the school of thought to which
he had given his name. The smallest saying, the most unim-
portant anecdote, was treasured up and went the round of the
newspapers. And yet at his funeral the gathering of clergy
was comparatively small, and the impression produced by his
death scarcely felt. Nor is this attributable alone to the fact
that we live so fast nowadays, and events accumulate so rapidly,
that it is only by doing something very startling that a man is
heard of at all. Dr. Pusey had outlived his day. Yet any man
who has played a distinguished part in the religious history of
his country must have been no common person.

As Amerigo Vespucci did not discover the continent that
bears his name, so Pusey was- not the real author of Pusey-

* Aurora Leigh, book iii.

1883] DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. 8n

ism. But the appellation was quite justified by the influence
that he imparted to the movement, and by the fact that after the
secession of Newman and others, its real founders, it assumed
the shape of Dr. Pusey's own mind and thoughts became, in-
deed, like any other ism, the man embodied in a theory.*

On this point I think the learned editor of the London
Month is somewhat in error. He thinks that the Tractarian
movement did not bear Newman's name because Newman was
not at any time satisfied, never felt that he had reached the goal
of his desires ; whereas it was the reverse with Pusey. " Quite
early in his career he showed signs of having reached his goal.
He was contented and happy, because he never allowed himself
to doubt. There was a finality about the anomalous collection
of dogmas that constituted his creed." f Cardinal Newman
himself gives another and much more feasible explanation. He
says :

"I had known Dr. Pusey well since 1827, and had felt for him an
enthusiastic admiration. His great learning, his immense diligence, his
scholar-like mind, his simple devotion to the cause of religion overcame
me; and great, of course, was my joy when, in the last days of 1833, he
showed a disposition to make common cause with us. . . . He at once gave
to us a position and a name. Without him we should have had no chance.
. . . He had that special claim to attachment which lies in the living pre-
sence of a faithful and loyal affectionateness. There was henceforth a man
who could be the head and centre of the zealous people in every part of
the country ; and not only so, but there was one who furnished the move-
ment with a front to the world, and gained for it a recognition from other
parties in the university." J

It seems from this that Newman adopted the name of Dr. Pusey
on prudential grounds, just as we do now to give weight and
importance.

It is as the representative of Tractarianism that Dr. Pusey
becomes remarkable. For Tractarianism was a religious revo-
lution. It was the starting-point of a movement which has
every year assumed greater proportions, and which justifies the
pious belief that the conversion of England is a probability.
We believe that the kingdom of the Messias that is, the Catholic
Church is destined to rule over every nation and kindred, and
tongue and people, and that the principal means whereby that
reign will be brought about will be the conversion of England
and America to the Catholic Church. With these nations as
obedient children of the Holy See, what triumphs may not the

* See the Revue Gfnlrale, October, 1882. t The Month, October, 1882.

\ Apologia, pp. 106, 107, American edit.

8 12 DR. PUSEY: His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

church accomplish ? Anything, then, that accelerates this mighty
event must have to all Catholics a surpassing interest.

Edward Bouverie Pusey was born in 1800, and was grandson
by the father's side of the Earl of Radnor, and by his mother of
the Earl of Harborough. His father, the Hon. Philip Bouverie,
assumed the name of Pusey by royal license on becoming pos-
sessed of the large estates of that ancient family. The family of
Bouverie is descended from a Flemish merchant, Laurent des
Bouveries, who with his wife, Barbara van den Hove, were fugi-
tive Huguenots and settled in Canterbury about 1568. Young
Pusey was first sent to school at Mitcham under the care of a
clergyman who always expressed great dislike of him. " That
prig " was his epithet, and up to that clergyman's death he
never spoke well of his quondam pupil. Now, this admits of ex-
planation. A prig, in general, is a highly disagreeable person
to know. Tacitly he is always calling the attention of other
people to his immeasurable importance, if it is only in the style
in which he wears his hair or the cut of his nether garments.
He cries :

" I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark."

But a boy at school is not quite so bumptious as this. We can
imagine that young Pusey was very fond of books. He was, in
fact, a brilliant pupil, carrying off every prize.

From Eton Pusey went to Christ Church College, Oxford,
where in 1822 he took his B.A. with high honors. The same
year he won the chancellor's prize for the best Latin essay and
was elected Fellow of Oriel. He went to Germany soon after-
wards, passing some time at Heidelberg, where he studied the
German philosophy and acquired a horror of beer. On his re-
turn he wrote a work entitled Inquiry into the probable Causes of
German Rationalism. He found these to be, not, as some modern
thinkers have supposed, in the unbridled vanity of those who
disclaim all curb to reason and judgment, but in the suppression
of the episcopate. We recollect hearing Dr. Charles Words-
worth, Bishop of St. Andrews, in the university pulpit of
Oxford, try to prove that the revolt of the American colonies
from the allegiance of George III. was due to the same cause.

Pusey in due course took the several degrees of Master of
Arts, Bachelor and Doctor of Divinity, and in 1828 was ordain-
ed. The same year he was nominated to the regius professor-
ship of Hebrew. It is related of Swift that, finding one day

1883.] DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. 813

only his clerk in church, he changed the words of the exhor-
tation into " Dearly beloved Roger." But the professor of
Hebrew had not even his Roger. He was obliged first of all to
create an audience. This he did by founding an exhibition to
stimulate the study of Hebrew. In those days very few persons
could construe it. Now most, clergymen know something of it.
The duties of professors were at this time performed negligently.
Dr. Pusey was far from imitating the professor of exegesis of
whom Mr. Mozley tells us. His lectures were remarkable for
brevity. Once his class was reading in the Greek Testament
the second chapter of St. John, and the sole remark he made
was at the words " draw out now " " From which," said he,
" we may infer that the Jews used spigots." *

It was in this same year that he married Miss Barker, who
died in 1839. Three children were born of this union. Only
one, Mrs. Brine, survives. The eldest, Philip, was a sufferer
from birth. You had to speak to him through a long tube, and
he constantly kept the recumbent position. He achieved, how-
ever, high university honors and assisted his father in the com-
pilation of his works. Those who recollect the immense stir
caused by the appearance of Supernatural Religion, and the vio-
lent denunciations of Dr. Pusey, will be astonished to know that
when the papers of his son Philip were examined after death it
was evident that if he was not the author he had a considerable
share in the work.

Toward 1832 the university was profoundly stirred by the
information that Lord Stanley had resolved to suppress several
Irish bishoprics and effect other changes, which plainly showed
that politicians of the day regarded the church as a creation of
the state. Newman, Pusey, Palmer, and Keble associated them-
selves in defence of the doctrine of the church's divine origin,
especially the apostolical succession and authority of the bish-
ops. But it is not easy to pump up enthusiasm for a class of
men who had generally deserved little of their country. The
bishop of the period was usually a good Greek scholar, con-
sidered "a safe man " in church matters and not likely to give
trouble. He went through his small lot of work in a noiseless
manner, and perhaps perpetrated several heavy charges. It is
of one .of these charges that Sydney Smith wrote : " The writer
of these lines sat down to read this charge. He was found
shortly afterwards in a perfectly unconscious state ; but after
bleeding, hot baths, mustard-plasters, and the careful removal of

* t Mozley's Reminiscences , vol. i.

8 14 DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

the charge to a distance, he is in a fair way to recover." Their
general idea of theology resembled that of Bishop Parker, who,
when asked what was the best body of divinity, replied, " That
which can help a man to keep a coach and four." They had
lost the respect of both clergy and people. It is only since the
Oxford movement that such men as Selwyn, Patterson, and Mac-
kenzie have become possible. The contempt for their autho-
rity which the Ritualists everywhere show is not the growth of
present times. It has accumulated for three centuries, in which
these idle shepherds, " who loved the fleece and not the flock,"
rendered themselves chiefly remarkable for obstructing every
onward movement. Their estimate of a clergyman was not ac-
cording to his merits and learning, but according to the value of
his preferment. An anecdote is related of a prelate, only re-
cently dead, who was dining at an inn, and, finding the draught
of a window annoy him, called out, " Waiter, shut down that
window at the back of my chair, and open another behind some
curate."

To restore such men to the position once occupied by St.
Anselm, St. Chad, and St. Cuthbert was the aim of Newman and
his associates, but how impossible the task we need not say.

Opportunely the excitement produced by the works of Sir
Walter Scott had created a taste for medisevalism. Keble re-
marked in an article in the British Critic, 1838, that he recognized
in those romances " the germ and rudiment " of the High-
Church movement. Newman made the same avowal in the
same magazine. But there were other influences at work which
had penetrated deeper into the soil. The people had been
aroused from their apathy by the stirring appeals of the Wes-
leys, and much of that good seed which Catholic priests had
sown in the highways and hedges was fructifying. It was felt
that there was nothing existing in the present to which an ap-
peal could be made ; all was cold and lifeless. If religion was to
be revived in the church and among the people it must be by
an appeal to the past. That age so long denounced as synony-
mous with ignorance and superstition must be made to exist
over again, the pernicious destructiveness of the Reformation
somewhat remedied, and the Church of England restored to her
forfeited place as "the poor man's church." Newman and
Pusey were at the head of this attempt. It was begun by the
publication of Tracts for the Times. Dr. Pusey contributed
those on " Fasting " and " Baptism," numbers 18, 66, 67, and 69 ;
also one, that may always be read profitably, on the " Danger of

1883.] DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. 815

Ridicule in Religious Matters." They soon attracted the notice
of the dignitaries. For nowhere is that old fable of the dog in
the manger more frequently realized than at the English universi-
ties. They had done nothing themselves for the general good,
but when others tried to do so it was time to wake up and try
to stop them. Accordingly, when Newman published " Tract
XC.," in which he attempted to prove that the Thirty-nine Arti-
cles could be interpreted in a sense conformable to the Roman
Church, the Hebdomadal Council promulgated its censure.
Pusey defended his friend in a letter to Bishop Wilberforce, but
soon after his own sermon on the Real Presence called forth the
same censure. Four tutors who, as Mr. Mozley says, had not
brains enough to appreciate the position were prominent in
agitating for Dr. Pusey's suspension. Among them was the
late Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Tait. They carried their
point, and Dr. Pusey was suspended from the university pulpit
for two years. He went to the Channel Isles for a time and in-
troduced into Sark the use of the surplice. The one he wore is
still kept there as a relic. This was in 1846. On his return he
prefaced his first university sermon by saying, " God in his in-
finite wisdom has precluded me from addressing you for two
years."

The agitation about Dr. Hampden has lately been revived
by Mr. Mozley 's work. It was about the appointment of that
divine to the post of regius professor of divinity. There is no
doubt that his views were very unorthodox, for he combined
Calvinism in its most objectionable phases with ultra-rationalism.
Despite the opposition of the university, he was appointed, and
shortly after Lord John Russell, judging that a man deemed
dangerous as a professor would make an excellent bishop, gave
him the see of Hereford. He became orthodox at once. He
was known to the men of that day by the sobriquet of Presence
of Mind. He told the following story himself : " We were
on a lake, a party of nine, in two boats. A squall came on and
one was upset. The occupants managed to swim to shore, but
one who could not swim caught desperately at the gunwale of
our boat. I saw that he would endanger us, so I had the presence
of ' mind to hit him a sharp rap on the knuckles." " What then ?"
asked the listener. " Oh ! he gave way and sank " ! No wonder
that Dr. Pusey was vehemently opposed to this man. One in-
stance of many which proves his incapacity may be cited. He
had a singular parish called East Tayford. It consisted of only
one house, and the farmer who occupied it was perpetual

DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

church-warden of the church. There was no incumbent, and no
service had been performed since it ceased to be a chantry. Of
course the revenue went somewhere, but it was not applied to
pious uses. The church is now enclosed in the grounds of Twy-
ford Abbey, the monks of which formerly served it.

In 1846 Dr. Pusey inaugurated the confessional in the Church
of England. It was rightly seen that no religious life could exist
without it. But its nature was entirely misunderstood by him.
To begin, Dr. Pusey never seems to have valued the inviolabil-
ity of the seal. He would gravely assure his penitents that he
would make no difference in his behavior to them if they met in
society. He encouraged confessions by post, and great scan-
dal was once produced by numbers of those highly confiden-
tial communications having been put in the waste-paper basket.
They were eagerly pounced upon by the undergraduates. A
friend of mine had a housekeeper who went to confession to him.
She was supposed to be a most virtuous person, but one day she
dropped a piece of paper which proved to be a memorandum
of her sins, and it enlightened my friend as to the cause of the
rapid decrease of his wine and other things, invariably attributed
to the cat. It is remarkable that though every effort has been
made by the Ritualists to make confession acceptable, it has
never become so. Those who go do so by compulsion, some
clergy refusing communion without previous confession. But
no one frequents it from choice.

In October, 1845, Newman became a Catholic. It was a
great shock to Pusey, because also a great reproach. One by
one all, or nearly all, the promoters of the movement followed
Newman Oakeley, Faber, Morris, the two Wilberforces, Man-
ning, and others. Pusey came forth from the voluntary isola-
tion which he had sought, to stand up for orthodoxy in the cele-
brated Gorham controversy. Dr. Phillpotts, Bishop of Exeter,
had refused to institute Mr. Gorham to a rich benefice because
he denied baptismal regeneration. It was decided by the Privy
Council that no clergyman need believe it ; and that decision
shook rudely the whole Establishment. This led to the seces-
sion of Archdeacon Manning, who vainly endeavored to get
Pusey to follow. His reasons for refusing are hard to under-
stand, except upon the supposition of a certain incapacity for
seeing things clearly. Bishop Dupanloup, of Orleans, when
asked his opinion of Dr. Pusey, pointed to his forehead and ex-
claimed : " Implicatus, implicates ! " " It was this entanglement of
ideas, this perplexity of mental vision, this intellectual obscu-

1883.] DR. PUSEY: His LIFE AND DOINGS. 817

rity," * which kept him from accepting- any view which did not
appear true to him. Catholics and Protestants both suspected
his loyalt} 7 . They both pointed out that he refused to follow to
a logical sequence the very premises he had himself laid down.
But it was no pecuniary consideration that held him back. But
when one has been looked up to, caressed and courted, com-
manding an audience from pulpit and press a teacher of men
it is very hard to flesh and blood to sink into a mere nobody.
Dr. Pusey believed that if the Church of England revived the
doctrines she held before the Reformation her position would be
impregnable. We think he believed this heartily. His mind,
which grasped all the details of a question, could not seize it in
its entirety. Pius IX. said to him : " My dear Dr. Pusey, you
resemble the bell that calls people to church, but does not go
into it itself."

Dr. Pusey 's daughter Lucy had always wished to become a
Sister of Charity, and at her death he made a resolution to aid
the movement, then started, of grafting monasticism upon the
Church of England. He was principally aided in this by Miss
Sellon, a lady of ancient race and commanding talents. He
founded, almost at his sole cost, the first Anglican convent. He
became its director, and one of his plans was, when the nuns
came to confession, to have the superior in an adjoining room,
to whom he communicated the chief delinquencies of each peni-
tent. Several other communities were founded by his aid the
late Dr. Neale being especially active. But though they were
minute copies of Catholic institutions of the same kind, the in-
mates only remained faithful to them so long as their enthusiasm
lasted. The fact is that Catholicity alone can inspire the devo-
tion and self-abnegation essential to the religious life. At the
same time it would be uncharitable to deny that it has furnished
a refuge for hosts of women who had no hope of becoming
wives and mothers, affording them a means of exercising in
deeds of mercy the treasures of tenderness and love accumulated
in their hearts. The Anglican Sisters of Charity have done
much good, but the vow of holy obedience is wholly misunder-
stood. We have known several nuns who took vows to Miss
Sellon who are now mothers of families. Dr. Pusey encouraged
his nuns by example as well as precept. In 1866, when the
cholera broke put in London with frightful severity, he took
lodgings in the City Road in the very heart of the plague-strick-
en district, and went everywhere encouraging the noble women

* The Month, October, 1882.
VOL. XXXVI. 52

Sis DR. PUSEY: His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

who were ministering angels in that dreadful scene of squalor
and death.

Dr. Pusey's appearance was eminently suited to his role.
Forty years ago he looked an old man ; his countenance, attenu-
ated and wrinkled, gave him the air of a septuagenarian. He
was indeed one of those men who seem never to have been young.
It was impossible to connect a joke with him, and we never heard
one attributed to him. His manner was grave and austere,
though I have heard that with very intimate friends he could
unbend. He was not an orator, but he drew large audiences.
He was almost completely ignorant of the polite literature of
the times ; its poets, romancists, and thinkers were scarcely
known by name. He esteemed money only for the good it may
do, and his almsgiving was always generous and bountiful. He
was so much vexed at Newman's secession that they remained
for years quite estranged. A few years ago Keble succeeded
in bringing the two old men together at his vicarage of Hursley.
His style as a writer is not at all agreeable, and his arguments
have a one-sided air and are delivered in a way that recalls the
humorous account of the Ingoldsby legends :

" If any bold traytor or infarior craytur
Sneezes at that, I should like to see the man."

Dr. Pusey's personal character seems to have had a singular
charm for those who knew him intimately. He was always
kind, especially to those who sought his advice in spiritual dif-
ficulties ; and it was a real, unselfish kindness. He was always
ready to sacrifice his own time, comfort, and convenience in
order that he might help those in trouble. " His activity
knew no rest. His pen was constantly employed, but of late
the acerbity of his style increased. Cardinal Newman described
his Eirenicon as ' an olive branch shot out of a catapult.' '

He observed the canonical hours and rigidly kept all fasts
and days of abstinence. In church his demeanor was most de-
vout. He despised the affectations of Ritualism and never de-
parted from ancient usage. He wore an ill-fitting surplice never
very clean, a scarf that resembled a black rope, and an ancient
and frayed-out doctor's hood. In the university pulpit he wore
his gown. There was an oratory at his rooms where he heard
confessions. He died at a branch house of the Sisters of Charity
at Acton, September 16, 1882. His funeral was attended largely
by the clergy, and the beautiful hymn of his old friend John

* The Month, October, 1882.

1883.] DR. PUSEY: His LIFE AND DOINGS. 819

Henry Newman, " Lead, kindly Light," was sung over his grave.
Let us hope that its concluding lines may be true of his many
friends so long severed here :

"And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, but lost awhile."

Matthew Arnold in a recent speech remarked :

''We have had before our minds lately the long-devoted, influential,
pure, pathetic life of Dr. Pusey, which has just ended. Many of us have
also been reading in the lively volumes of Mr. Mozley of that great move-
ment which took from Dr. Pusey its earlier name. This movement is full
of interest. It had produced men to be respected, men to be admired, men
to be loved men of goodness, genius, learning, and charm. But can we
resist the truth that lucidity would have been fatal to it ? The movers of
all those questions about apostolical succession, church patristic authority,
primitive usage, postures, vestments questions so vehemently debated,
and on which I will not seek to cast ridicule do they not all begin by
taking for granted something no longer possible or receivable, build on
this basis as if it were indubitably solid, and fail to see that, their basis not
being solid, all they build upon it is fantastic? "

This is the estimate of Ritualism by a brilliant though scep-
tical writer. He does not see, as all careful observers must see,
that it is but the outcome of a movement which was, as Cardinal
Manning describes it, " a work of the Holy Ghost." It revolu-
tionized the Church of England and society. It affected lite-
rature and art. It uprooted long-standing prejudices. It did
grand missionary work for the Catholic Church. It recruited
the ranks of her priesthood with a phalanx of some of the most
brilliant and gifted of men.

The condition of the Church of England and of England at
large must be understood ere we can form a due estimate of the
work done by the Oxford movement. The clergy mostly re-
garded the church as a means of livelihood. The beneficed men
strove to live as comfortably as they could, doing as little work
as possible. Many possessed more than one living a state of
things terminated by the Pluralities Act. The average rector
hunted, danced, and frequently drank and swore. There was a
race of three-bottle men who were excellent as boon companions,
clerical Falstaffs, but utterly ignorant of the duties of their pro-
fession. They were the butt of wits great and small. They no
longer served ale in a leathern apron at the village inn, as in
Smollett's day, but they drank it in the tap-room, to the accom-
paniment of long clays, with any who asked them. The curates
had a hard struggle to live decently. Their average pay was

820 DR. PUSEY: His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

fifty pounds a year. They were not placed on an equality with
beneficed men or the gentry generally. The word curate was
equivalent to genteel beggar. The witty Sydney Smith remarks
that they were " mighty eaters." They had a six-man power
with knife and fork. Poor fellows! a good dinner being rare,
they imitated Sir Dugald Dalgetty in the Legend of Montrose,
who said : "When I have an opportunity of victualling the garri-
son I always lay in provisions for three days."

It may be supposed that the religious condition of the people
was very low. Among the upper classes a scornful scepticism
prevailed, while the lower classes were practically heathen.
The noble felt that God was under an obligation to him for con-
descending to go to church.* While Queen Charlotte dressed
the chaplain read prayers in an adjoining room which was
adorned with a copy of Titian's " Venus " in a profound state of
dishabille. Feeling cold, she had the door shut, remarking that
she could hear quite enough of the prayers through the key-
hole. The same contempt was felt by the middle class. It is
still felt in many places. Leech was correct in his etching
which represents the new vicar addressing the family butcher :
"Glad to see you at church, Mr. Brisket." "Oh! yes, sir. I
make it a point to return custom."

Not long ago a peer told his butler that he had some clergy-
men coming to dine with him. " Are they High-Church or
Low-Church, my lord?" "What can it matter?" "Because
if they're High-Church they drink more, and if they're Low-
Church they eat more." George Eliot in Scenes of Clerical Life,
and Anthony Trollope in his novels, have depicted this phase of
the average curate.

Preaching, which was the principal part of the service, was
a mere farce. Few clergymen gave any attention to prepara-
tion, and a better sermon might frequently be heard at the
little bethel where some ignorant follower of Wesley was roar-
ing away to a handful of gaping yokels. The clergyman had
frequently a stock of sermons prepared years before, which had
done duty ever since. There is still a trade done in sermons a
branch of industry which does not seem to have reached this en-
terprising land. A lady recently advertised in the London Guar-
dian to supply sermons on any subject at a shilling each, accom-
modatingly adding, " views no object." What struck one was
the utter unrealness of the preaching. A bishop asked David

* When Palmerston was described as " a pillar of the church " Disraeli remarked that
"buttress " would be more appropriate, as the noble lord was never seen inside a church.

1883.] DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. 821

Garrick : " How is it that I, expounding divine doctrines, pro-
duce so little effect, while you can easily rouse the passions of
your auditors by the representation of fiction ? " The answer was
as pithy as prompt: " Because I recite falsehoods as if they were
true, and you deliver truths as if they were fiction." Of course,
there being an awakening of mind among the people, produced
by the labors of Wesley and Whitefield an awakening which
met with no response from the Established Church dissent in-
creased rapidly. The man who mended shoes all the week was
an evangelist on Sunday, and the Gospel acquired an additional
flavor if preached by a converted burglar or a reformed pugilist.
No learning, not even a fair knowledge of grammar, was needed,
for anybody could understand the Bible. We can easily ima-
gine the trash that was imposed upon the people.

Music, which is such a power in Christian worship, was on
a par with the rest. In the church of our earliest recollections
the orchestra consisted of a bass-viol, two French horns, and a
fiddle. Like the guests at Bob Sawyer's party, each one played
the tune he knew best. They tried to beat each other in loud-
ness, and revelled in selections where solos obtained. The new
version by Tate and Brady was used, of which Rochester said :

" If Tate and Brady had had their qualms
About translating David's psalms,

It would have made us glad ;
For had it been poor David's fate
To hear thee sing and them translate,

It would have driven him mad. " *

It is no wonder that, with this utter neglect of everything,
moneys left originally for pious purposes became shamefully per-
verted. A commission was named by Parliament about five
years ago to inquire into the city charities of London. They
elicited these among other facts : The resident population of the
city of London continues to diminish rapidly. In some of its
one hundred and eight parishes there are not fifty resident indi-
viduals. As the number of indigent persons decreased the value
of the funds left for their assistance increased. The parochial
charities of the city, exclusive of church property, amounted in
1876 to one hundred thousand pounds per annum. They assert

* " If David, when his toils were ended,

Had heard these blockheads sing before him,
To us his psalms had ne'er descended :

In serious mood he would have tore "em."
_ BYRON, Hours of Idleness.

822 DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

that there are no poor forthcoming, yet thirty thousand pounds
are annually employed in ways wholly foreign to the founders'
intentions, who, trusting to the milk of human kindness in others,
have been shamefully betrayed. Money left " for the relief of
Godde's poore " is applied to the diminution of the parochial
taxes of millionaires in Lombard Street. Money left for " ye
afflycted and necessitous " is spent in vestry entertainments. In
one case a large sum left " for the widows and orphans " is
applied to light the Mansion House when the lord-mayor re-
ceives. At St, Sepulchre's a merchant in Catholic times left a
sum for Masses for the souls of his family. It amounts to seven-
teen hundred pounds annually. As no Masses are said there,
the vicar and church-wardens lay it out in a wine-cellar made
in the vaults among the coffins.

A complete alienation existed between the Established
Church and the working classes. The Established Church made
no attempt to check the grasping avarice of landlordism or to
improve in any way the condition of the poor. Immorality
abounded because superinduced by the vile overcrowding of
the wretched hovels of the laboring class. We know at this
moment cottages on the estate of a baronet reputed a philan-
thropist, who spends large sums in missions to Catholics, which
are nests of fever and vice, where six persons sleep in one small
room, ten feet by four, without distinction of age or sex. It is
perfectly true now, but was much more so then, what Charles
Kingsley wrote in Alton Locke: "The Nemesis of vengeance is
being reared in our midst. You may see it in the blear-eyed
wretches, in filth and rags, who clamor for bread born in the
gutter, cradled in blasphemy, educated in crime, damned before
they're born."

Surely it was a noble enterprise to attempt even to remedy
such a state of things. For the failure of a noble effort is
grander than the everlasting talk that buttons up its breeches-
pocket and does nothing. We will select two men to whom we
think Ritualism owes its largest success Charles Lowder and
Alexander Maconachie. And mark, this success is due, not to
millinery and upholstery, but to that which will always bring
success a manly effort to better the condition of the poor. The
Rev. Charles Lowder was vicar of St. Peter's, London Dock.
It was a most dreadful parish. Any one acquainted with Our
Mutual Friend will recollect the horrible scene depicted in the
opening chapter. His curate had been a dashing Life- Guards-
man, and it must have been an awful sacrifice to come and live

1883.] DR. PUSEY ; His LIFE AND DOINGS. 823

where he did. Ratcliff Highway, thronged with thieves and
loose women, abounding in dens of debauchery and murder, was
the scene of their labors. Mr. Statham, the curate, lived with a
high-bred wife and three lovely children in a close little house
bounded on one side by a soap-factory and on the other by a
fat-boiler. When they began their work rotten eggs rose in
price as an agreeable missile for pelting. When Lowder was
carried to his grave it was amid the tears of the poor and the
audible benedictions of the miserable, for whom he had labored
thirty weary years. The Catholic priest of the neighborhood
said '' he had every virtue except the true faith." He was a tall,
spare man with a very ascetic appearance, about the last one
would expect to see where he chose to live and die. Statham,
his curate, who succumbed to an infectious disease, was cut out
for a garrison dandy. The vicar of St. Alban's, Holborn, is of
the same stamp. It is a parish which \vas once the headquarters
of a school of thieves. A noted thieves' kitchen, supposed to be
the same painted in Oliver Twist, stood where the altar now
stands. The neighborhood is composed of Italian image- makers
and fabricators of articles that sell retail for a penny. Twelve
thousand are squeezed into a few wretched streets, which ever
and anon are visited by epidemics and always by want. Ma-
conachie is nobly helped by Stanton, his senior curate. He is
in all particulars a splendid fellow, A duchess called some time
ago to see him, and insisted, notwithstanding many denials, upon
being taken where he was. Stanton was found in a miserable
court with a large apron tied around him, busily engager] in
whitewashing a room where a small-pox patient had just died,
to fit it for a poor family. No workman had been willing to do
it for any money. These men are samples of the real Ritualist.
They try to improve the poor man's home. They start penny
banks, coal clubs, clothes clubs, co-operative stores, blanket
clubs, shoe clubs, and what not. They have a club for youths
and boys, mothers' meetings, maternity clubs, temperance socie-
ties, homes for the outcasts, hospitals for the sick, free dispensa-
ries, and gratuitous doctors. Gentle and high-born women nurse
poor waifs that perhaps never knew before what it was to sleep
in a bed or enjoy a wholesome meal.

Maconachie has earned the love of many of the Irish poor of
London. Last year a lady sent him five pounds to buy a warm
overcoat, his own being thin and threadbare. A fire broke out
soon after and a poor carpenter lost all his tools. Maconachie
took him the five pounds and continued to wear his old coat.

824 DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

These poor Irish will do anything for him but go to his church ;
and the ingenious excuse we once heard a poor Irishwoman make
who was too kind-hearted to wound his feelings was, " Sure, yer
riverence, there's no holy water in yer church, and I can't go to
church where there's no holy water."

Now, here lies the real strength of the Ritualistic movement.
It is an effort to bring help to the poor, so far copying Him
who stooped from heaven to earth to lift up fallen humanity.
But these men will tell you : We could not do this if we were
married. There is an increasing disposition to foster celibacy,
and they aim at this by multiplying monastic orders. Fifty
years ago the idea of a monk or nun in the Church of England
would have made the bristles of Protestantism stand on end.
The first person that imagined it possible to revive monasticism
was the Rev. Joseph Leycester Lyne, a young man in deacon's
orders but of no university standing. He was a very good-
looking fellow, one of those whom young ladies style " a duck of
a man." He was a brilliant musician and singer, 'possessed a
rich contralto voice and a very engaging presence. They say
he had been jilted ; and people invariably do one of three things
under the circumstances commit suicide, turn religious, or mar-
ry someone else. Mr. Lyne did the second. He discarded his
carefully-fitting dress, his patent boots, and his lavender kids,
put on a cowl, shaved his crown, and came forth in sandals a
full blown, self-created monk. He changed his name to Brother
Ignatius and announced that he had a mission to restore the
Order of St. Benedict in England. He managed to procure as
an adherent the owner of the ruins of Llanthony Abbey in Wales,
a spot famous in the wars of Edward III. He has restored it
and calls himself an abbot, wearing a cappa magna and a mitre.
Everywhere he went his sandals used to call forth the cry,
"How's your poor feet?" Nothing could exceed his perseve-
rance. He is remarkable for outspokenness, and it is a treat to
hear a stick called a stick in this mealy-mouthed age. Religious
bullying is the worst kind of bullying, and the late Dr. Pusey,
who was given to this, certainly committed a grave mistake.
Ignatius never does this. Nor can it be said of his richer and
more highly educated imitator, the Rev. R. M. Benson, common-
ly known as Father Benson. This gentleman is vicar of Cowley,
a village near Oxford, and student of Christ Church. Once he
was known as a college swell, whose chief weakness was fine
linen.

Mr. Benson bought some land and built a monastery at

1883.] DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AJJD DOINGS. 825

Cowley, which was chiefly stocked by Americans. As a
preacher Father Benson is profound and eloquent, as a writer
pleasing; but the amount of genuine truth contained in his books
reminds us of Sir Benjamin Brodie's definition of homoeopathy
"a billionth part of a grain of medicine in a hogshead of water."
The effort of these two men has had little success. Each one
desires to make himself the object of vows, and the novices
have no conception of the nature of obedience. An impossible
rule of life, unsuited to climate and wholly rigid and unelastic,
can never win admirers who have not that martyr-spirit which
the Catholic Church inspires. The novices at Cowley used to
supplement the very meagre fare of the monastery by an oc-
casional rump-steak and porter "at the Golden Cross, and Igna-
tius recalled the scandal he felt when he found a quartern-loaf
and a Dutch cheese concealed in one of the cells. But when the
superior takes lamb-chops and sherry in his own room he can
hardly expect his monks to enjoy red herrings down-stairs.

One of the most remarkable and enigmatical figures on the
Ritualistic canvas, now Dr. Pusey is gone, is undoubtedly Dr.
Frederick George Lee. He is a born archaeologist, and is best
known by his work, Directorium Anglicanum. He is vicar of All-
Saints', Lambeth, a parish composed of some of the worst slums
of London, notably the New Cut. To cope with the miser}',
depravity, and intemperance of the locality a herculean will is
needed with an unswerving faith in God. Dr. Lee has never
attempted to reach them. His congregation, at the best of
times very small, is made up of strangers. He is an engaging
preacher, but all his undoubted gifts have failed to win for him
the confidence of either the bishops or clergy. The late Bishop
Sumner for a long time deprived him of the assistance of curates.
He stands completely isolated from his fellows, the head of a
small and mysterious bod} 7 known as The Order of Corporate Re-
union. This organization has for aim the reciprocal fellowship
,of members of the Roman, Greek, and Anglican churches by
the mutual recognition of the orders of each. Dr. Lee is the
author of a book on the validity of Anglican orders, very con-
clusively answered by Father Hutton, of the Oratory. He has
no difference of opinion with the Catholic Church, but cherishes
the hope that if he can produce evidence to the Holy See that
he is the head of a large body of clergy like-minded, he and they
will be accepted as priests without re-ordination. He is much
helped in his propagandist!) by a very clever man who is
nominally a Catholic. The Order of Corporate Reunion has been

826 DR. PUSEY,: His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

denounced by all the ultra-Ritualists, including Maconachie and
Littledale. But it was recognized by a Greek bishop who some
years ago visited London the archbishop of Syra and Tenos.
A very mysterious transaction is alleged to have taken place
between this prelate and Dr. Lee. It is asserted by those com-
petent to judge that the latter was consecrated a bishop ; that,
to prevent the violation of the canons forbidding intrusion into
another diocese, the consecration took place on the high seas.
Certainly the archbishop and a number of clergy did go yacht-
ing, but all the account the prelate gave of the trip was, " Me
much bad with mal-de-mer." Any way, from this time Dr. Lee
dressed as a bishop, with rochet, pectoral cross, and ring. His
adherents of the O. C. R. give him the homage accorded to a
Catholic bishop. At what he calls Mass he is served by a
clergyman dressed like a Greek deacon, with bougie, ablutions,
etc. Moreover, it is positively certain that he confirms and
ordains. We once put the question whether he was a bishop
to a most intimate friend of his, but only received an evasive
answer. It was his Directoriwn that originated Ritualism. It
reduced it to cut-and-dried rules, and these are the recognized
practice of the party. They turn chiefly on the posture of the
priest at the altar called the eastivard position the mixed
chalice, altar-lights, and vestments. One of the most ardent
champions for these points was Mr. Orby Shipley, who gives
a graphic account of the struggle in his work, The Last Thirty
Years in the Church of England. Another is Dr. Richard Frede-
rick Littledale. We recollect, when the eastward position was
discussed in Convocation, the Bishop of Peterborough left some
notes scrawled on his blotter. The question was, What is the
meaning of the word before in the phrase, " the priest standing
before the table " ? The table has but three sides, one being fixed
against the wall. All present contended that before meant at the
north end. So Dr. Magee wrote : " ' The piper played before
Moses.' There are three ways in which he may have done this.
He might have played antecedent to Moses, before he was born ;
or he might have taken precedence of Moses, and so played
before Moses played ; or he might have played in front of
Moses. But he did none of these : he played at the north end of
Moses." A real war has been waged between the clergy and the
bishops on this point. Whenever a church is built the altar is
so constructed that unless you ascend the steps and stand in
front you cannot stand any other way so as to reach the top.
The Bishop of London, who is a small man, once attempted to

1883.] DR. PUSEY : His LIFE AND DOINGS. 827

stand at the north side, but he disappeared into a hole from
which only the top of his head was visible. It cannot be
denied that the Direct or ium produced a wonderful change in
the churches. The services became more ornate and frequent.
The communion was administered weekly. Churches were
open every day for service. The Directorium says : " The priest
shall wear no shirt-collars, no gloves, nor rings, and the hair
shall be cut short and the face shaven." This produced a revolu-
tion in costume, and notably in beards. The first clergyman that
attempted to wear a beard in London was the Broad-Church
rector of Lisson Grove. When he first applied to Tait, then
bishop of London, for a license, that prelate looked horrified.
" Really, Mr. Davies, you must shave." The clergyman stroked
his chin and declined. Very soon the Life-Guardsmen had cause
to be jealous of the clerical beard. From this time, however, the
close shave became a sign of Ritualism.

Dr. Littledale, who is well known in this country, is an Irish-
man of the class that O'.Connell disliked " beware of an Irishman
without humor." He is a fair scholar and a facile writer. He
threw himself heartily into the movement from the first, de-
nouncing the Reformers as ruffians and scoundrels, and nearly
getting his head broken at Liverpool. But as time wore on his
attachment to Ritualism was shown by his hostility to Rome.
His last work is not, we hope, an evidence that for him the day
of the grace of conversion is past. He plainly sees that the
steady progress of the Catholic Church can only be met by some
strong coalition, and he has accepted the pay of those he dislikes
in a common effort to stay the advancing tide.

While the Ritualists profess to be the only true and conscien-
tious members of the English Church, they lavish their .contempt
on everything connected with it. The expressions they employ
would be considered intemperate and bigoted in the mouth of
a Catholic. It is admitted by three very differing writers that
the sentiments of the Established Church on the subject of the
Eucharist have entirely changed since .the first publication of
" Tract XC." ; * that almost everything in the Prayer-Book, not
derived from ancient sources, is " only fit for waste paper." Dr.
Littledale thinks that the non-ritualistic service is of all services
the least attractive.

But the strongest of all the party in this direction is Mr.
Baring-Gould. He has published an interesting book about

* Blenkinsopp, p. 202 ; Pusey's Eirenicon, pp. 30-32 ; Dean Stanley in Contemp. Review,
P- 544-

828 DR. PUSEY: His LIFE AND DOINGS. [Mar.,

Were-wolves, and seems to have himself acquired from his stories
somewhat of a lycanthropic character. Will any one explain the
fact that the most rabid of opponents is always an apostate ?
The middle ages thought that they became possessed with a
demon that excited them to worry the orthodox something
analogous to hydrophobia. No wonder pious evangelicals of
the Tyng type lift up their eyes when Baring-Gould is men-
tioned. We can imagine the deep groans that salute such senti-
ments as these :

" Let us suppose that a collier who reads with difficulty has had his
heart touched and is persuaded by the parson to come to church. He
opens his book at Morning Prayer. The first words he sees are, ' When the
wicked man, 'etc., but the priest begins, ' If we say that we have no sin,' etc.
This puts our friend out till he has discovered the sentence, and in the
meantime ' Dearly beloved ' is half over, and this exhortation, consisting
of three long-winded sentences of a most involved nature, is to him so
much Chinese.' "

The rest of the service is then described in a like strain of re-
fined humor, until at last we are told that

" Like the story of the bear and the fiddle, in the very middle of the
communion service off go the congregation out of church. Our collier
strokes his beard and says : ' Enough of Sunday hide-and-seek ! I'm off to
the Ranters. I don't like to look like a fool among folks what knows their
book. I'm no scollard, so church an't no place for me.' " *

Now, this is by no means overstated. And the failure of the
Church of England to reach the poor is one great charge
against her claim to be a living part of Christ's holy Catholic
Church. The great evidence of the divine origin of the Catholic
Church is its adaptability to all classes, conditions, and climes.
It triumphantly appeals to the test which the Messias himself
pointed out as the proof of his divine mission : " the poor have
the Gospel preached unto them." On the showing of her own
divines the Church of England is unable to claim this preroga-
tive. Mr. Baring-Gould falls back on the monastic system as
the only hope of reviving spiritual life in the church, which
offers to him " the attraction of freedom from all superior au-
thority." Is this a Catholics idea of the religious life ?

We are told, upon the highest authority, " a house divided
against itself falleth." The Ritualist camp is split up into fac-
tions, and every now and then some once ardent supporter be-
comes an opponent. The vicar of St. Mary Magdalen, Munster
Square, lately ridiculed the exhibition of vestments at the church

* Church and the World, pp. 101, 102.

1883.] M. RENA.Y. 829

congress at Derby, which the Guardian calls a "melancholy
assortment of millinery " : " Really, this is such a singularly
happy phrase that I suggest its being adopted for the future as
the proper and special title of this exhibition. Bills might be
printed thus: 'During the congress week a melancholy assort-
ment of millinery will be daily exhibited. Palls, funeral copes,
and Lent vestments will predominate. Chief undertaker, Mr.
Maconachie. Doleful hymns will be sung from time to time,
accompanied by groans from the deeply afflicted. No admission
except in full mourning. Smoking strictly prohibited. Bitters
may be had at the bar. The vestment in which the Knight of
the Sorrowful Countenance did penance on the Sierra Morena
will be exhibited in a room of horrors by itself. Ladies of weak
nerves are advised not to enter this room.' ' When so ardent a
supporter can speak thus it is a sure sign of inherent weakness
in the camp. The attempt to revive spiritual life in the church
by the revival of ceremonial is not new.

WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH MADE M. RENAN

AN INFIDEL?*

NOT long ago La Controverse gave an account of a Christian
scholar's mental struggles between faith and unbelief. M. Val-
son in stirring pages showed how, as a result of false philosophy,
the intellect of the illustrious M. Marie-Andre Ampere was in
his younger days overspread with the darkness of doubt. The
sharp anguish which that scholar underwent for several years
was described, and then the magnificent triumph which faith won
in his heart a triumph that coincided in time with the complete
opening out of his genius, and which brought back to him at the
very flower of his age the pious beliefs and the peace of his
childhood.

The Revue des Dcux-Mondes of November i \ gives us the
story of the interior struggles of another scholar, M. Renan, at

* This article is a translation of an article entitled " Si M. Renan est devenu incredule par
amour de la Verite,' 1 in that excellent French periodical, La Controverse (3 Annee, N. 50,
16 Novembre, 1882).

t Revue des Deux-Mondes, icr Novembre, 1882, "Souvenirs d'Enfance et de Jeunesse le
Seminaire Saint-Sulpice," p. 4.

8 30 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

the end of which the famous author cast aside both his Levite's
garb and the Christian faith. It is worth while, we think, to
give some study' to this moral struggle, the issue of which was so
fatal to the Catholic belief of the young Hebraist of St. Sulpice,
and to the spectacle of which he has himself invited us. Not by
any means that we place the illustrious scholar to whom are due
such magnificent discoveries, whose works will remain an un-
questioned glory of French learning, on the same level with the
skilful writer and Academician whose labors in epigraphy, in
philology, and in ecclesiastical history entitle him to an honora-
ble rank, but among scholars of the second class only, and who
owes the greater part of his renown to the boldness, unheard of
even in France, of his attacks on the divinity of Jesus Christ.
From an intellectual point of view the two men are as wide
apart as the distance between true scientific genius and merely
literary talent could make them.

Nor can we place the same reliance on the correctness of the
data in the two narratives. Ampere's struggles are made known
to us by a long series of familiar papers, by letters in which he
gives to a friend a full account of the long conflict in his mind
between faith and unbelief. The trustworthiness of his narrative,
arranged by a strange hand, is beyond question. But, unfortu-
nately, it is not the same with the story furnished us by the
Revue des Deux-Mondes. Here, in fact, M. Renan is his own his-
torian, and himself shows himself to the public and tells the story
of how he lost his faith. We are bound to believe in the truth-
fulness of his narrative, all the more because he did not promise
to tell all ; but it is difficult for a man to see himself as he is-, es-
pecially when it is for the public that he wishes to make his own
portrait. M. Renan tells us what he thinks about himself ; but
is his judgment correct?

We acknowledge that in going over the pages where he
speaks of the years of his childhood and youth it is difficult to
avoid the instinctive distrust which an autobiography always
raises up. This one, besides, except for its form, resembles a
panegyric. The hero whose history is told commits no fault,
makes no wrong step. He has the more than human good luck
of always sticking to the right road that is pointed out by a feel-
ing of honor and a love of the truth. Ampere found many things
to cause him regret in the incidents of the struggle he relates.
M. Renan has nothing but praise and congratulation for himself ;
in a preceding article * he goes so far as to give as a reason for

* Revue des Deux-Mondes, let Novembre, 1880, " Souvenirs d'Enfance et de Jeunesse,"p. 77.

1883.] MADE M. REN AX AN INFIDEL? 831

not looking as a severe moralist at his own career that " the im-
maculate has a right to be indulgent " !

We shall take his story, nevertheless, just as he tells it to us.
Besides, there are in a great number of passages so many marks
of perfect sincerity that we are shocked to notice, amid the
hearty praise he bestows on his former masters in St. Sulpice,
a rhetorical artifice intended, by its apparent feeling of thank-
fulness in spite of many events, to win the public in favor of
the writer.

But let us come to the principal question. Let us see if, in
abjuring his baptismal faith, M. Renan really followed the course
imposed on him by the love of the truth. Let us see if he really
obeyed the dictates of his conscience and his reason. As a per-
sonal matter it is a question of slight importance. But it bears
on a point of Catholic doctrine which is contradicted by M.
Kenan's narrative, and it is useful, therefore, to examine it clearly.
We are speaking of that one of the church's teachings according
to which no one instructed and baptized can ever lose the faith
except by the fault, and a very serious one too, of not loving the
truth as it ought to be loved.

We shall begin by exhibiting the facts as M. Renan relates
them, using, as far as we can, his own words, and after that we
shall discuss the doctrinal question.

II.

M. Renan entered the Seminar)' of St. Sulpice in 1843. The
management of the establishment was then in the hands of M.
Carbon " one of the men," says M. Renan, " I have had the great-
est love for "while the professors who had charge of the instruc-
tion in the different branches of theology " were without an ex-
ception worthy successors of an honorable tradition."

" In fact, despite some gaps "these are the very words of the narra-
tor "St. Sulpice, when I entered it. forty years ago, was a harmony of
great studies. My craving for learning was fully answered. Two unknown
worlds opened before me theology as an analytical statement of Christian
dogma, and the Bible considered as the deposit and origin of that dogma.
I buried myself in work. My solitude was greater than even at Issy, for in
Paris I knew not a soul. Two years passed without my having been in
any other street than the Rue Vaugirard, through which we went once a
week to Issy, and I talked but little. During all this time these gentlemen
were extremely kind to me. It was my mild disposition, my studious
habits, my absence of talkativeness, and my modesty which pleased them

832 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

and I think caused several of them to say to one another, as I was told by
M. Carbon, ' He will be a useful colleague for us.' "

M. Renan became especially attached to Father Le Hir, and
he thus draws his portrait :

"M. Le Hir was a scholar and a saint, and both in an eminent degree.
This assemblage in one person of two beings so rarely found united pro-
duced no discord in his character, for it was the saint that ruled in him ab-
solutely. There is not one of the difficulties brought forward by rational-
ism which had not occurred to him ; but he had surrendered nothing to
them, for the truth of orthodoxy was never with him an object of doubt,
but was an act of his triumphant will rather than an unexpected result.
Altogether a stranger to natural philosophy and to the scientific spirit
whose first condition is to have no previous faith, and to reject what does
not come within experience, he kept himself in an equilibrium, when one of
a less ardent conviction would have fallen to one side or the other. The
supernatural had no intellectual repugnance for him. . . .

" In other words, he lacked nothing but what would have made him not
a Catholic that is to say, criticism. But I am wrong, for he possessed a
practical criticism in all that touches not faith ; but faith was with him a
coefficient of certitude such as nothing could counterbalance. His piety
was like St. Francis de Sales' mother-of-pearl, 'which dwells far down in
the sea without absorbing a drop of salt water.' His knowledge of error
was entirely speculative ; a water-tight bulkhead prevented the slightest
infiltration of modern ideas into the inner sanctuary of his heart, in which
the little, inextinguishable light of a tender piety burned in safety close to
the petroleum. But as I had not this sort of water-tight partitions in my
mind, the bringing near to one another of those contrary elements, which
with M. Le Hir produced a deep inward peace, caused a strange commotion
within me. . . .

" For some years M. Le Hir had been professor of Hebrew grammar,
and I enrolled myself under him from the first. M. Le Hir's correct philo-
logy pleased me. He was very attentive to me. Like myself, he was a
Breton, and our dispositions were very much alike. At the end of a few
weeks I was apparently almost his only pupil. His statement of Hebrew
grammar in its relations to other Semitic idioms was admirable. At that
time I had an extraordinary faculty of assimilation, and I drew in all that I
heard. His books were at my disposal, and his library was very full. On
the days of our walk to Issy he used to take me with him to the ' Heights
of Solitude,' and there he taught me Syriac, and together we commented
Gutbier's Syriac New Testament. M. Le Hir settled the bent of my life,
for I was a philologer by instinct. I found him to be the man most suited
to develop this aptitude of mine, and whatever I may be as a scholar I owe
to M. Le Hir. Sometimes, indeed, it seems to me as if whatever I did not
learn of him I have not learned well. For instance, he was not strong
in Arabic, and therefore I have always been a mediocre Arabist."

Not long after, in 1844, M. Renan was put to teach Hebrew
grammar to his fellow-students, for which he was offered by M.

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 833

Carbon a stipend of three hundred francs an amount which
seemed colossal to the young Hebraist, who would accept but
the half of it, to buy books. Besides, he was permitted to attend
twice a week M. Etienne Quatremere's lectures at the College
de France. " After that the idea occurred to me more than
once," says he, " that one day at this very table, in this very hall,
I should teach languages, as I finally did with a certain sort of
wilfulness." To these studies M. Renan joined German, and
his initiation into German studies had a prodigious effect upon
him. In his own words, " I seemed to be entering a temple. In
it I found what I sought the conciliation of the critical mind
with a mind deeply religious. At -times I was sorry I was not
a Protestant, that I might be a philosopher without ceasing to be
a Christian."

A terrible conflict, in fact, was begun in the young Levite's
soul between Catholic beliefs and the conclusions which he drew
from his theological, and especially from his Biblical, studies.
He himself explains as follows the doubts brought up in his
mind by the study of theology. Speaking of Catholic theology
as it was taught at St. Sulpice, he says :

" It is an edifice whose stones are bound by iron braces, though its
foundation is extremely feeble. This foundation is the treatise On True
Religion, which is quite in ruins. For not only does it fail to establish that
the Christian religion is more particularly divine and revealed than the
others, but it does not succeed in proving that in the field of realities open
to our observation one supernatural fact, one miracle, has happened. M.
Littre's unanswerable phrase, ' However much we may search, a miracle
never happens where it can be observed and verified,' is an obstacle that
cannot be removed. Not a miracle of the past can be proved, and we
shall wait a long while before one happens under such conditions as to
leave a sound mind certain of not having been deceived.

" If we admit the fundamental proposition of the treatise On True Re-
ligion the field of battle is narrowed, but the battle itself is not over ; for
the struggle will now be with the Protestants and the various dissenting
sects, who admit the revealed texts but decline to find in them the doc-
trines held by the Catholic Church for centuries. The controversy here
ranges over a thousand points, ending in numberless defeats. The Catho-
lic Church is forced to hold that its doctrines have always been as she now
teaches them, that Jesus instituted confession, extreme unction, marriage,
that he taught whatever was afterward decided by the councils of Nice and
Trent. But this is not admissible. Christian doctrine has, like all things,
grown slowly, little by little, by a sort of interior vegetation. Theology,
by maintaining the contrary, raises up a mountain of objections against it-
self and is forced to reject all criticism. Let those who wish to have an
idea of all this read the treatise on the Sacraments in a Theology, and see
with what gratuitous assumptions, worthy of Maria d'Agreda or of Cathe-
VOL. xxxvi. 53

834 WAS IT LOVE OP THE TRUTH [Mar.,

rine Emmerich, all the sacraments are proved to have been established by
Jesus Christ at one moment of his life. A like observation may be made
on the discussion of matter and form in the sacraments. The obstinacy
of finding matter and form in everything began with the introduction of
Aristotelianism into theology in the thirteenth century, and now any one
would incur the ecclesiastical censures who should object to this retro-
spective application of Aristotle's philosophy to the liturgical creations of
Jesus.

" The intuition of growth in history, as in nature, was then the essence
of my philosophy. My doubts were not the result of a single reasoning
but of very many reasonings. But orthodoxy has an answer for every-
thing and never gives up the battle as lost. It is true that criticism, too,
requires that in certain cases a subtile explanation be admitted as valid,
for the truth may sometimes appear untrue. A subtile explanation may
be a true one. Even two subtile explanations may both be true. With
three it is more trying, with ^four nearly impossible. But to defend one
proposition with ten, or a hundred, or a thousand subtile explanations, all
of which must be admitted as true, is as good as to prove that the propo-
sition cannot stand. The calculation of the probabilities involved in all
these petty details has an overpowering effect on an unprejudiced mind.
Now, I had learned from Descartes that the first condition necessary for
one desiring to find the truth is to be without prepossession."

His Biblical studies produced even a still more disastrous
effect on his mind.

" Everything in a divine book," says he with justice,' " is true ; and as
two contradictories cannot be true, it ought to contain no contradiction.
Now, the attentive study which I made of the Bible, while showing rne his-
torical and aesthetical treasures, convinced me also that that book was no
freer than any other ancient book from contradictions, inadvertences, and
mistakes. It contains fables, legends, and the marks of wholly human
composition. The second part of Isaias cannot be maintained as by Isaias.
The book of Daniel, which all orthodoxy places as of .the time of the Cap-
tivity, is apocryphal, and was composed one hundred and sixty-nine or one
hundred and seventy years before Jesus Christ. The book of Judith is an
historical impossibility. The attributing of Pentateuch to Moses is with-
out support, and to deny that several parts of Genesis are mythical is to
compel the explanation as realities of stories such as the Earthly Paradise,
the forbidden fruit, and Noe's ark. But no one is a Catholic who with-
draws from a single one of these points in the traditional thesis. And
what becomes of that miracle which excited Bossuet's admiration ' Cyrus
named two hundred years before his birth ' ? What becomes of the sev-
enty weeks of years, which was the foundation of the Histoire Universelle,
if the part of Isaias where Cyrus is named was really composed in the con-
queror's own time, and if the pseudo-Daniel was a contemporary of Antio-
chus Epiphanes ?

" Orthodoxy requires us to believe that the books of the Bible are the
work of those to whom the titles attribute them. The most mitigated of
Catholic teaching as to inspiration admits of no marked error in the sacred

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 835

text, of no contradiction, even in matters that concern neither faith nor
morals. Now, let us suppose that out of the thousand skirmishes between
criticism and orthodox apologetics over the details of the so-called sacred
text there are some in which, by a chance encounter and contrary to ap-
pearances, apologetics has the best of it; it is nevertheless impossible that
it can be the winner in the entire thousand, yet to lose in only one of these
encounters is sufficient to upset the theory of inspiration. This theory of
inspiration, involving a supernatural fact, becomes indeed impossible to
maintain against the definite ideas of modern common sense. An inspired
book is a miracle. . . .

" Men of the world who suppose that we are determined in our choice
of opinions by likes or dislikes will be astonished at the sort of reasoning
which withdrew me from the Christian faith, which I had so many motives
of feeling and interest to cling to. For those who have not a scientific
mind it is not easy to understand that our opinions are formed outside
of us, by a kind of impersonal concretion, at which we ourselves assist
merely as spectators. In thus letting myself follow the drift of things I
thought I was conforming to the rules of the great school of the seven-
teenth century, especially to Malebranche's rule, whose first principle is
that our reason should be an object of contemplation, and that so little
have we to do with its procreation that man's sole duty is to take his
stand in front of truth, stripped of every personal thought, and ready to
follow the weightier proofs. Instead of aiming at certain results those
illustrious thinkers, in their search after truth, denied themselves every de-
sire, leaning, or personal attachment whatever. What, in fact, is the great
reproach addressed to libertines by the preachers of the seventeenth cen-
tury ? It is having embraced what they longed for, having reached irreli-
gious opinions because they wished these opinions to be true.

" In this great struggle between my reason and my beliefs I carefully
avoided any reasoning from abstract philosophy. As a result of that
method of physical and natural science which had taken hold of my mind
at Issy I had grown to have a distrust of all systems. I had never been
embarrassed by any objections to the dogmas of the Trinity, or the Incar-
nation, regarded in themselves, for these dogmas floating in the metaphy-
sical ether clashed with no contrary opinion of mine. Nor did anything of
the politics or the spirit of the church, however open to criticism, have
the least impression on me. If I could have believed theology and the
Bible to be true, not one of the doctrines afterward grouped in the Syllabus,
and then more or less in vogue, could have caused me the slightest emo-
tion. My reasons were all of the philological and critical order, and were
nowise of the metaphysical, political, or moral order. These latter classes
of ideas seem to me to be altogether vague and intangible. But the ques-
tion whether there are contradictions between the fourth Gospel and the
other books of the New Testament is a question that can be grasped.
These contradictions are so absolutely evident that I would stake my life,
and therefore my eternal salvation, on them without a moment's hesitation.
Such a question has none of those backgrounds that always render moral and
political questions doubtful. I love neither Philip II. nor Pius V., but, were
there no material reasons for not believing in Catholicity, neither Philip II.'s
atrocities nor Pius V.'s burning stakes would embarrass me very much."

836 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

During these struggles, the gravity of which was doubtless
not understood by his spiritual director, M. Renan was called to
the subdiaconate, the first of the Holy Orders bound by an in-
dissoluble tie ; but he refused. Let us hear him speak for him-
self:

" I refused outright, though I had obeyed as to the first degrees of the
ministry. It was he, indeed, who pointed out to me that the very formula
of the obligation involved in them is contained in the words of the psalm
read in conferring them : Dominus pars hcereditatis mece et calicis met. Tu
es qui restitues hcsreditatem meam mihi. Very good ! On my conscience
I have never failed in this obligation. I have never had any other interest
than the truth, and I have made sacrifices for it. A lofty idea has always
borne me up in the pathway of my life ; so much so, indeed, that I release
God from the agreement made between us to restore jny heritage to me, for
my lot has been a good one, and I can add with what follows in the psalm :
portio cecidit mihi in pr cedar is, etenim hcereditas mea pr cedar a est mihi."

During the vacation " the grains of sand of his doubts came
together and became a block." He no longer received the sac-
rarnents, and he dreamt of reforms of Christianity, and finally
resolved to quit the clerical habit and Catholicity. For all that,
he wished to remain a follower of Jesus, as he then conceived
him to be, and as he later described him in his celebrated work.
In a letter, from which we extract the following passage, he told
his director at Paris of his resolution :

" During my stay in this part of the country I have acquired important
data for the solution of the great problem that fills my mind. Several cir-
cumstances showed me from the first the greatness of the sacrifice which
Ood required of me, and the abyss into which the duty urged by my con-
science had cast me. It would be useless to go over these painful details, as,
after all, such considerations ought to have no weight in this decision. To
.give up a path that had smiled for me since my childhood, and that was
leading me on safely to the noble and pure ends I had set for myself, only
.to take up another where I saw nothing but uncertainty and repulse, to dis-
regard the opinions of those who would give me nothing but blame for a
good action all this would have been of slight moment were it not that the
half of my heart was torn out, or, rather, that another heart, to which
mine was strongly attached, was wounded. Filial love had grown in me
all the stronger for my other afflictions having been kept down ! And it
is just in this the most intimate part of my being that duty now requires
the most painful sacrifice. For my leaving the Seminary will be an unin-
telligible enigma to my mother, who will believe that I have killed her to
please a mere whim of mine.

" In fact, it is very disheartening for me to see what a net I have been
caught in when, without consulting my reason and my liberty, I meekly
took up the way which God himself had led me into. And I was simple
.and pure, as God knows, undertaking nothing of myself, rushing forward

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 837

carelessly along this path which opened before me ; and see where it has
brought me ! God has deceived me ! I have never had a doubt that a
good and wise Providence governs the universe, and governs me also so
as to lead me on to my end ; but it required a great effort to prove clearly
how false were appearances in my case. I frequently said to myself that
vulgar common sense is unable to appreciate the providential government
of humanity, of the universe, and of the individual. The consideration of
facts separately would never make me an optimist, and it takes courage to
be thus generous to God despite experience. I hope never to have any
misgiving as to this, and that, whatever ills Providence may still have in
store for me, I shall always believe that he is guiding me for my good and
with as little harm to me as possible.

"How fortunate children are, sleeping and dreaming only, with no
thought of struggling against God himself ! All around me I see pure,
simple-minded men, virtuous alike and happy in Christianity. God pre-
serve them from ever having aroused in them the miserable faculty of a
fatal criticism that must be satisfied at all odds, and that, once satisfied,
leaves the soul so little of sweet enjoyment ! Would to God it depended
on me to suppress this faculty ! I should not recoil at having to lose it,
if to do so were possible and lawful. Christianity satisfies all my faculties
but one ; but that one is the most exacting of all, for it is of right the judge
over all the others. And would it not be a contradiction to impose con-
viction on the faculty which creates conviction? I am aware that ortho-
doxy will answer that if I have fallen into such a state it is through my own
fault; but I shall not argue, for no one rightly knows whether he is deserv-
ing of love or blame. Yet I shall willingly admit that it is my fault if only
those who love me will consent to pity me and to remain friendly to me.

"What seems to me now a certain result of this is that I shall never
return to orthodoxy, but shall follow out on the line I have begun that is
to say, I shall adhere to critical and rational examination. Until now I
had hoped that 1 would go around the circle of doubt and come back to
the place of beginning ; but this hope is now quite gone for me. To return
to Catholicity no longer seems possible to me, unless by a recoil I should
break from the line I am now following, and, spurning my reason as idle
and of no value, should condemn it to a humble silence."

Speaking of the resolution to quit the Seminary, M. Renan
says : " It was a very honorable act, and it gives me pleasure
and confidence now to think of it."

III.

We have faithfully reproduced the arguments of M. Renan's
pleading, or at all events we are conscious of having knowingly
neither omitted nor weakened any of the proofs he alleges.
These proofs, by the way, are specious and well calculated to
beguile the reader, for the advocate has ably mingled truth and
error, and has made his client's faults look like noble sentiments.

838 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

For instance, who would not praise M. Renan for having had
the courage to leave the Seminary and to decline the offer to
confer Holy Orders upon him ? Of course common honor would
require him to do so from the moment he had inwardly abandon-
ed his faith. Yet this common honor brought on at the time a
very painful sacrifice; for it saddened the young Levite's mother,
and it put him into a false position before his former teachers
and his friends, and, finally, it exposed him to certain material
difficulties which, though of less lofty an importance, were none
the less harsh. So that on this head we are perfectly agreed
with M. Renan, and we join with all our heart in the praise he
bestows on himself.

But it is not the same with the other and only really interest-
ing part of his essay. For we cannot admit that in abandoning
his baptismal faith he did an honorable act, and that he behaved
as the love of the truth required him to do. On the contrary,
we believe that M. Renan, like all the apostates who went before
him, cast aside the Christian beliefs only because he had not the
overruling love for the truth which every human soul ought
to feel, as is shown by the fact that his love for the truth was
overcome by another and immoderate love that had won his
heart. In telling the story which we have summarized, M.
Renan has not been mindful of what happened in the secret re-
cesses of his conscience forty years ago ; and the reader will have
no doubt of this, if the considerations which we take the liberty
of submitting are examined.

Two preliminary remarks will show the scope of these con-
siderations. The first bears on the nature of the truths which are
the object of the Christian faith.

Certain truths force themselves inevitably on every human
intellect ; these are first principles of the speculative order, as,
the principle of contradiction ; and of the moral order, as, for
example, it is necessary to do good, it is necessary to shun evil.
No man in his right mind can ever forget these or call them in
question. There are other truths of a less imperious obvious-
ness, but which are, for all that, accepted by a natural bent of
the intellect, and which are not rejected except by an effort of the
will. Such 'are the truths of the existence of God and the future
life, and, once offered to man with their chief proofs, they force
his conviction. To give up believing them is to do violence to
one's self ; and, indeed, such efforts are frequently in vain, so
that, despite of everything, these beliefs continue rooted in the
depths of the soul.

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 839

But there are other truths which, in spite of the proofs that
support them, do not constrain our assent to them. We believe
them because we desire to do so, and the assent we give to them
depends on our free-will. Such are particularly several truths
of the moral order, among them the revealed truths, and indeed
the truth of revelation itself.

It is for this reason that out of a multitude of men to whom
these truths are equally shown some believe, some doubt, and
some deny them ; moreover, as we know, the same person is
sometimes believing and sometimes unbelieving, according to
the changing disposition of his will. An analogous fact, also, is
apparent in other branches of human knowledge, as is evidenced
by the simple reading of two successive editions of any of M.
Renan's own works. We believe, then, in the fact of revelation
and in the revealed truths, because we desire to believe in them.
Therefore when our will is right, and we desire to conform the
workings of our intellect to its sovereign rule, the truth, if reve-
lation be properly presented to us our conscience tells us that
we ought to believe, and we do believe. On the contrary, if
our will is warped in any way, or we do not care to conform the
workings of our intelligence to its sovereign rule, the truth, we
then do not obey the dictates of our reason, and we continue to
doubt, or even to deny. And in such a disposition of mind we
strive to give our attention to contrary reasons, instinctively
avoiding giving weight to the favorable reasons ; the strongest
proofs then seem to us weak, and the most puerile objections
appear triumphant. This is expressed in the maxim, Quisqite
iudicat prout affectus est. Soon, as a result, the truth no longer
appears to us, and conscience ceases to tell us that it is neces-
sary to believe. Sometimes even, if the will continues evil, con-
science ends by declaring that it is necessary to doubt, or even
to deny. There happens then in the soul of him to whom
the revelation is proposed what happens in the soul of the
judge who prefers interest to justice. At certain moments,
perhaps, his conscience may point out to him the side he pught
to take, but this vision of truth fades quickly away, and he
ends by persuading himself that right is on the same side as his
interest.

Such are the principles that ought to be present to the mind
in order to appreciate a fact like the one that now occupies us.
By these principles, too, we can understand how and in what
direction some are sincere in their doubts or in their negations:
because they have not desired to see ; because they have desired

840 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

to cease to see ; or because the truth has not yet been properly
exposed to them.

We observe, finally, that this blindness, which we call a
wrong, or warped, will, an inordinate love, is not always the love
of money or of voluptuousness, as some are inclined to believe.
Especially among scholars it is frequently an excessive esteem
for their own superiority ; a desire to carry this beyond all
bounds, at least in their own eyes : a will not to bend to others,
but to hold themselves up to their own personal opinion as the
supreme rule. In a word, it is pride, an evil affection that gives
the scholar's heart the wish to feel infallible, or at least superior
to others, and that prevents him from seeing the truth. Often
pride has the passion of sensual pleasure for an attendant, but
with scholars it not seldom happens that it remains alone, for a
while at least.

Our second remark bears on the particular circumstances of
the moral struggle which M. Renan describes for us. When
temptation first assailed him M. Renan was a believer. His
mother and his teachers had, by their example, by their instruc-
tions, and by proofs proper to his age, impressed him with the
Christian faith, so that his reason was convinced and his con-
science enforced upon him the obligation of repelling tempta-
tions against his faith by all the means in his power. Besides, it
is to be noted that the attack was not one of those which strike
a soul, as one might say, with the suddenness of a thunderbolt,
leaving scarcely time enough to use one's liberty. M. Renan's
doubts were at first but grains of sand, which in the course of
time accumulated together and became a great mass.

Now, he attributes the issue of the struggle to his love of the
truth, and he found pleasure, he says, after the combat was over,
in repeating the Hebrew saying, " Naphtule elohim niphtalti"-\
have fought the fights of God. Indeed, he assures us that it was
in the interest of truth that he made the sacrifices we have
spoken of. But his story appears to us to prove quite the con-
trary that he failed in the love that was due to truth, and this
failure of his was the cause of his losing his faith. The sacri-
fices he made had their cause in the circumstances only, and in
the natural feeling of honor which forbade his becoming a Catho-
lic when he no longer believed in the divinity of Christ.

The motives on which we found our opinion are these :

The most certain proof that a man loves the truth is to be
found in the effort he makes to acquire it if he does not already
possess it, or to preserve it if he thinks he has it. The most

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDFL ? 84!

certain proof that he does not love it is in the negligence he dis-
plays, whether in seeking it or in defending it. Could it be sin-
cerely maintained that a man was devoted to virtue when he
nevertheless omitted taking the necessary steps to protect it
when, despite the advice of those whose office it was to watch
over his conduct, he willingly exposed it ?

Now, before yielding to the first temptation M. Renan had
the absolute certainty of possessing religious virtue, and he knew
that its possession could not be assured except with the particu-
lar help of heaven which God only accords in answer to prayer.
His first duty, therefore, at the moment of trial was to pray, to
beseech from the Father of Light the necessary grace to pre-
serve the faith. Did he do so? There is nothing in his account
to warrant us in supposing that he did. It is true he had a sort
of fancy for the church's psalms and prayers, but to resist a
special temptation he ought to have asked for a special grace
the grace of a supernatural light. This M. Renan knew, as every
Christian knows, yet nowhere does he tell us that he so pra}^ed,
nowhere does he indicate that he even felt, during his struggle,
the need of heavenly aid. Quite the contrary is apparent from
his account. He failed, then, in the very first of the obligations
which a love of the truth imposes on every Christian, and, indeed,
on every believer in God. In our opinion this of itself upsets
M. Renan's boasted claim of having acted from a love of the
truth.

But prayer alone does not suffice to maintain the possession
of religious truth. During the struggle the necessary means
suggested by prudence ought to be taken, and one of the first of
these means is -not to begin the consideration of the difficulties
in the way of faith until the soul has been brought into a suitable
disposition, and in the interim to keep them as much away from
the mind as possible. M. Renan was aware of the necessity of
employing this means, and, indeed, he had been expressly recom-
mended by his director to do so ; but he did not. Instead of
keeping to the study of philological questions he chose rather to
rush into the examination of the difficulties raised against the
truth and religion, and that at a time when both his experience
showed him and his teachers told him that he was not suitably
prepared. Is not this manifestly a sign that M. Renan was led
on by some other love than the love of the truth ? Nothing
could have been wiser than his director's advice in this matter ;
for to undertake to study and decide a question which his know-
ledge and ripeness did not permit him to grasp was only will-

842 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

ingly to put himself in the way of being deceived ; and whoever
willingly puts himself in the way of being deceived does not love
the truth.

Had M. Renan loved the truth 'he would have put off the
examination of the difficulties which the study of the Bible
raised in his mind until a fuller knowledge and a riper judg-
ment had rendered him competent to undertake it usefully.
That an unbeliever, who knows not on which side is the truth,
should begin by an examination of the difficulties of a religious
doctrine we can readily understand. But for a believer to fol-
low this method ; for one who knows the truth, who is warned
by prudence through his teachers, who tell him of the danger
that lies in this course of not seeing things as they are for such
an one to take the false for the true is an unanswerable proof
that he does not love the truth.

Moreover, Providence, which measures out to every one the
necessary means of resisting the strength of the attack, had
given to M. Renan, among his teachers, a man who was eminently
learned and holy, and had drawn the two into a gentle intimacy.
M. Le Hir won the absolute confidence of his pupil, who did not
and could not have any doubt of his master's superior know-
ledge, nor of the purity and firmness of his faith, nor of his entire
sincerity. What little M. Renan then knew he had learned from
his master. All the objections against Catholic doctrine that he
might discover in his research, besides many others that he had
not yet come across, had long before been known and been
looked into to their very inmost by M. Le Hir ; and, indeed, it was
through him only that they came to M. Renan. Now, M. Le Hir,
whose knowledge of Biblical studies and theology as M. Renan
had no doubt, and says he had no doubt was incomparably
greater than his pupil's, saw no contradiction between the data
of science and the teachings of religion. The love of the truth
as taught by Catholicity and the love of the truth as engendered
by science harmonized admirably in that superior mind. Was
not M. Renan, then, logically bound to conclude that the apparent
contradictions which troubled his own mind had no substance?
Was he not bound to conclude that a deeper study of theology
and the Bible would some day give him that means of reconcilia-
tion, of accord, which now eluded him ; that he ought for the
present to submit to his master's authority, certain that the
future would bring him greater light? But he settled on the
opposite conclusion. Because the solution which his master had
found still escaped himself, he judged the problem to be insolv-

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 843

able. Such conduct evinces a supreme esteem of one's self, a
supreme love of one's own opinions; but it shuts out the love of
the truth as a sovereign, for it is a betrayal of truth by pride.

Perhaps, though, M. Renan will ask us what he was to do if
his doubts remained after he had studied much and prayed much.
But we should reply that such an hypothesis is not to be admit-
ted, or, to use a phrase of his own, that he supposes what " does
not happen " ; for had he worked and prayed as did his master he
would have seen as clearly as did his master. Besides, this is
not the place to handle an hypothesis which M. Renan, unfortu-
nately, did not realize.

But let us go a little in detail- into the reasons that decided
him to quit the Christian faith. The first is given shape in M.
Littre's phrase, " Whatever research has been made, never has a
miracle happened where it could be observed and verified." A
thousand times has this objection been brought forward, both
before and after M. Littre, so that we shall not pause over it in
this article.* But were the objection true in itself how could
M. Renan at that time of his life have taken up the answer to it ?
How could he have done the enormous work that such an
answer requires? In fact, t it was a study that so far he had
not even begun ; yet without understanding the case he pro-
nounced an opinion, because this opinion pleased him. What
share could the love of the truth have had in so blind a de-
cision ?

The church, he then goes on to say, binds itself to what is
impossible when it undertakes to hold that Jesus Christ taught
all that the councils have defined, and that he established all the
sacraments, as, in reality, Christian doctrine, like all other things,
has become what it is slowly, little by little.

The church gives proofs of what she advances; but what
proofs could the young seminarian of St. Sulpice, absorbed in his
philological studies, have then had of the theory he puts forward
to-day of the slow and progressive formation of Christian
dogma? "The intuition of growth in history, as in nature, "-says
he, " was then the essence of my philosophy." In other words,
he judged without demonstration that it must be so, and, sup-
ported by this judgment, he regarded as unsuccessful all the
proofs accumulated in favor of Catholic doctrine. In such a
matter intuition is the way of minds infatuated with themselves,
but not of minds which have the love of the truth ; for these last

* See for this subject the series of articles on miracles published during the last two years by
the Rev. Father De Bonniot in La Controverse.

844 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

follow reasoning, which alone ends in the certain possession of
the truth.

M. Renan supposes that the church undertakes to teach at
what moments of his life Jesus Christ instituted each one of his
sacraments, which merely proves that M. Renan has forgotten,
or that he never studied, the treatise on the sacraments. The
church teaches that all the sacraments were established by our
Lord, and as to some of them she knows to a certainty the time
when they were instituted. But there are other sacraments in
which this time is not known, and the more or less plausible
suppositions on this subject made by theologians do not belong
to the church's teachings. Nor is there anything in the doctrine
of matter and form to shock the most skittish of critics. The
church does not teach, as M. Renan seems to suppose, that our
Lord Jesus Christ intended to conform to Aristotle's philosophi-
cal conceptions, or that he spoke to his apostles of matter and
form. She declares simply that every sacrament is composed of
a sensible thing and of words, which she compares to matter
and form, according to the scholastic philosophy the two neces-
sary elements of all beings.

But the argument, drawn from theology, which seems to
have made the deepest impression on M. Renan's mind is in the
great number of subtile answers to which theologians have re-
course. " One subtile answer," says he, " may be true. Even
two subtile answers may, for once in a way, be both true. With
three it is more difficult ; with four it is almost impossible. But
in defence of the same proposition to admit ten, a hundred, or a
thousand subtile answers as all true is merely a proof that the
proposition will not stand." We might begin by requiring M.
Renan to explain what he means by a subtile answer. If he
means an answer which he did not fully grasp, it would not
astonish us to know that he met many such answers after two
years of theology, devoted principally to the study of languages.
But this would be a proof of his ignorance, not an argument
against the truth of Catholic teaching.

Besides, before declaring that the number of subtile answers
ought to beget a distrust of any system, it would be nothing but
right to consider on one side the nature of the questions touch-
ed upon by this system, and on the other the subtility of the ob-
jections themselves. When a doctrine touches upon questions
that are in their nature very abstruse and very subtile such
as are the questions of the Finite and Infinite, the Creation, the
Trinity, Grace and Liberty several of the arguments by which

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 845

this doctrine is demonstrated are naturally subtile ; but this
proves nothing against its truth. Furthermore, nearly all cul-
tivated minds having for many centuries made a religious system
the principal object of their study, they have necessarily ac-
cumulated difficulties of numberless varieties and of an incredi-
ble subtility, as well as solutions of a similar nature. The great
number of subtile answers, which seems to have struck M. Renan,
proves the activity and the acuteness of the human mind, and
not the falsity of the doctrine attacked with subtility and defend-
ed with subtility.

Finally, when M. Renan speaks of " thousands " of subtile an-
swers he undoubtedly means those which have been brought
forward, not in defence of the truths defined by the church, but
in favor of the various opinions agitated in treatises on dogmatic
and moral theology. Now, there are thousands of points treated
by theologians. As not one of these points is without several
objections, and an equal number of answers, some very simple,
others very obscure, it is not astonishing that many of these last
are found in works on theology. All this proves, not that theo-
logical teaching is false, but that it has had very many develop-
ments in the course of ages.

M. Renan, therefore, has violated, not obeyed, the laws of
logic when he regarded the subtility of the answers he met dur-
ing his theological studies as demonstrating powerfully against
the truth of religion. But are the objections drawn by him from
his Biblical studies any more serious, and do they justify the
step he took ?

The element in his Biblical studies that made him judge the
church's doctrine to be false was his believing himself able to
establish that the second part of Isaias and the book of Daniel
were composed later than the epoch adopted by Catholic tradi-
tion ; that the Pentateuch was not by Moses ; that some of the
stories of that work given as real, such as the Earthly Paradise,
the forbidden fruit, and Noe's ark, are mythical ; and, finally, that
the fourth gospel contradicts the other three. These truths
in fact unfolded to him by science were condemned by the Ca-
tholic faith.

We might remark first of all that on this last point M. Renan
is in error ; for, excepting the two last, it is not certain that these
assertions are irreconcilable with the church's doctrine, as M.
Renan ought not to have been unaware after two years of theo-
logy at St. Sulpice. Thus, it is not a matter of faith that Isaias and
Daniel were the authors of all parts of the works that bear their

846 WAS IT LOVE OF THE TRUTH [Mar.,

names ; it is not of faith that they wrote them themselves or
that the collection in which we read them was edited during
their lifetime, though the traditional theory affirms this ; but
this theory does 'not belong to faith, for one may deny it with-
out ceasing to be a Catholic. If the part of Isaias where Cyrus
is mentioned were composed at the time of that conqueror, the
prophet, of course, mentioned him without miraculous aid, and
apologetics loses one of its finest arguments for demonstrating
the inspiration of Isaias ; but it still has others enough. As for
the prophecy of the seventy weeks of years, one of the strongest
of the proofs used to demonstrate that Jesus is truly the Mes-
sias, we cannot see that any of the value is lost if it be admitted
that it was written at the time of Antiochus Epiphanes, and not
at that of Cyrus. It was no less miraculous to determine pre-
cisely the date of the Messias' death, of the end of the sacrifices,
and of the destruction of the Temple and of Jerusalem two cen-
turies and a half before the realization of these events than it
would 'have been to make these announcements two or three
centuries still earlier. But, however this may be, the church
has defined nothing on these points, so that one can abandon the
traditional theory and still not contradict her teaching. Now, it
is chiefly on the contradiction between these alleged discoveries
of science with regard to the age of the prophetical writings and
the traditional theory that M. Renan relies to justify his resolu-
tion of abandoning Catholicity. Either his memory leads him
astray or else he behaved in this matter with a frivolity that de-
notes very slight care for logic and for the truth.

The same conclusion results, but more evidently, from a con-
sideration which we have already presented : we mean the moral
impossibility of M. Kenan's having pronounced with certainty
on the points in question aftev two years of Biblical studies. In
fact, rationalists sustain their opinion by bringing forward two
principal arguments. The first and more fundamental of these
is that all prophecy is nonsense and impossible. For example,
the thirteenth chapter of Isaias points out the Medes as the
future conquerors of Babylon ; now, that chapter was not by
Isaias, who was always concerned with the Assyrians and knew
neither Babylonians nor Medes. But this reasoning evidently
could not have influenced M. Renan's determination before his
apostasy, since it supposes unbelief in him who makes it.

The other argument is drawn from style, and is the only one
which could have determined the young philologer's conviction.
Now, to judge of the antiquity of a word, of a form of phrase-

1883.] MADE M. REN AN AN INFIDEL? 847

ology of a language the vocabulary of which is known to us to
a very limited extent only, one must needs possess a knowledge,
practice, and a skill such as it is impossible to acquire in two
years. So that M. Renan could have formed such a conviction
by relying on the authority of the rationalists only, setting aside
that of Catholic and Protestant scholars, and doing this before
he was in a condition to appreciate the value of either side from
a scientific point of view. He did this, too, at a time when he
had under his eyes the example of a Catholic scholar of the first
order, and from whom he had learned all that he knew. The
commonest prudence should have made him wait, before forming
an opinion on these philological questions, until he had studied
enough until, in fact, he had left the school-boy's bench. And
still less ought he to have decided so serious an affair as the
abandonment of his religious faith on an opinion which he
knew himself incompetent to judge, and which, besides, might
perhaps have been not irreconcilable with his beliefs. M.
Renan, then, sinned both against prudence and logic;' and to
sin against prudence and logic cannot be called the love of the
truth.

We reason in the same way as to the pretended contradic-
tion between the fourth gospel and the others. To-day this
contradiction is so evident to M. Renan that he " would stake"
his " life " and his " eternal salvation " on it. We do not deny
it. For thirty-seven years M. Renan has been studying these
matters with the desire of convincing himself that he did right
in quitting the church. It is not astonishing, therefore, that he
has formed this conviction which he talks of with so much
energy. But he knows, too, that if Catholic scholars from time
to time have to shed their blood in testimony of their beliefs, no
such proof of sincerity is ever to-day required of free-thinkers.
Still, it is the M. Renan of 1845 tnat is under discussion, and not
the M. Renan of 1882.

These questions of the contradiction between the different
gospels were put and answered a long while ago, but to form a
deliberate opinion for one's self on this point one must go over
the whole case, examining both the various difficulties and their
still more numerous solutions; and to do this needs a thorough
acquaintance with the history, the customs, the languages, and
the writings of the first two Christian centuries. Now, all this
was lacking to M. Renan thirty-seven years ago. So that it was
not from a love of the truth, but from a personal fancy, that he
then adopted the rationalistic opinion on this (matter as an

M. REMAN. [Mar.,

absolutely certain doctrine, on which he has staked his eternal
salvation.

We are now through with the examination of the motives
M. Renan alleges for transfiguring the abandonment of his Chris-
tian beliefs into an act of virtue. With the light of ordinary
common sense we have clearly, shown that the love of the truth
did not enter into his decision at all, that it counted for nothing
with him, that manifestly it was scorned and trodden under foot
by him. But what impulse did he obey ? The reader, we think,
can easily answer this question. .

M. Renan, as we have just seen, had an inordinate esteem for
his own superiority, and he found it distasteful to bend his un-
derstanding before any superior understanding whatever. He
reckoned upon no superior rule of truth but what he could find
within himself, and he was not accustomed to admit that he was
in error. In plain language, he was proud. Consequently he
had not the love of the truth. When we love the truth as we
ought to love it we are ready to sacrifice anything for it, even
our pride. But M. Renan could not summon up courage enough
for this sacrifice; he did not love the truth as it ought to be
loved, and therefore he lost it.

His blindness to-day is so great that he does not hesitate, in
reference to his clerical promises, to write this blasphemy : " 1
release God from the agreement made between us to restore my
heritage to me, for my lot has been a good one." M. Renan
forgets the warning voice of ancient wisdom- let no man be
called happy till he is dead and perhaps he will some day ac-
knowledge that ancient wisdom was right.

No doubt it has been very pleasant for him to occupy a chair
in the College of France, which even before his leaving the
Seminary was the object of his ambition and his hope ; it has
been very pleasant for him to receive the academic palms ; it has
been very pleasant to become celebrated, to be flattered by a
crowd of writers ; and if he compares his " lot " to the one re-
served for him by St. Sulpice, he can say, " Portio cedidit mihi
in praeclaris." But can this lot be the last end, the supreme
beatitude of a human soul? A kit, Domine, absit a corde servi tui,
ut, quocnmque gaudio gaudeam, beat urn me putem!*

*St. August. Confess*, lib, x. c. aa.

1883.] IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 849

THE IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUES-
TION.

WE place before the readers of this magazine the following
document, verbatim et literatim, issued by the governmental bu-
reau at Washington. Our motive in giving a wider circulation
to this translated paper from the French on education is to show
a Christian people, if needed, the views held by the head of this
new department and the animus of those who control the ex-
isting system of common schools. If the impressions gathered
from this and many other sources are not incorrect, their aim is
to place the public schools upon a purely secular basis, and thus
give them a more decided bias in favor of secularism, and to
fasten this secularized education upon the general government.

There is more in this French circular than meets the eye.
The late Senator Wilson, of Massachusetts, aimed at establishing
a grand national university at Washington and a national and
uniform system of education controlled by a central board at the
seat of the general government. Had he lived to succeed in
fastening his vast despotic scheme on the country, its machinery
would have given the political party in power the means of per-
petuating 'its rule as an absolute political dynasty. The absurd
impression was fast gaining ground that the destinies of our
country could not be safely trusted in any other hands. It re-
quired to complete this conspiracy against liberty only to make
this impression upon the plastic minds of the American youth.
The present Bureau of Education, if we are not misinformed,
sprang out of this threatening movement and answers as its en-
trance wedge. But a reaction has set in, and let us hope that it
will not stop until it sweeps Senator Wilson's grand national
project and every trace of it into the tomb of oblivion along
with its author.

We are not willing that this opportunity should pass without
voicing the earnest protest of millions of our fellow-citizens,
without distinction of creed, against this delusive scheme of secu-
lar education. Whatever may be the views of a few fanatics on
the point, the nature of this scheme may be fully determined by
the fact that there is not an irreligious publication here or else-
where, or an infidel in the land, who does not favor it. The
great majority of the American people are not influenced bj
VOL. xxxvi. 54

850 IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. [Man,

bigotry, nor are they yet, in despite of the influence exerted by
the education of the public schools, secularists that is, rationalists
or infidels. They earnestly desire to remove ignorance and de-
stroy vice ; but no religious body, whether Catholic, Protestant,
or Jew, will consent, under the pretext of this purpose, to be
taxed to support infidel or atheistic schools ; and there is no
power upon earth which has the force to compel them to place
their children under such influences. It is acknowledged pub-
licly that the existing common schools are rapidly losing the
favor in which they were once held by the American people.

Moreover, we put in here and now a protest for another rea-
son. It appears that strenuous efforts are being made to induce
the Congress of the United States to appropriate large sums of
money to promote this intolerable system of education and thus
fasten it more firmly upon the country. Among the foremost
advocates of this use of the public moneys is this very Bureau of
Education. Now, moneys raised by general taxation are imposed
for the common good and ought never to be appropriated ex-
cept in such manner as .to satisfy the conscientious demands of
all citizens. If the American people were agreed upon a system
of education, in that case a question might be raised just here
whether it be prudent or economical to start on a fresh enter-
prise with large expenditures. But they are not agreed on any
one system of education, and, what is more, they have not spoken
on this important point or settled the constitutionality of the
general government entering upon this new departure. A bur-
den of this magnitude is not lightly to be undertaken, and it is
a serious question whether the general government has the con-
stitutional right, suppose it were competent, to embark in the
expensive and delicate business of instructing the children of the
parents- of this land. Illiteracy in a popular government such
as ours should be, must be remedied, but not in disregard to the
Constitution of the land. It is not good policy to break one's
back to mend a finger.

Moreover, it is not one million of dollars that is asked from
the public treasury of the federal government to promote what
President White, of Cornell University, calls " our educational
chaos"; nor fifty millions, as proposed by Senator Logan that
does not suffice to satisfy the lusty appetite of the promoters
of this scheme ; nor one hundred and five millions, to be given
during the period of ten years this is Senator Blair's proposi-
tion. But it craves more ! General John Eaton, Commissioner
ot the Bureau oi Education in the Department of the Interior,

1883.] IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 851

modestly puts forth as the sum required, in his address delivered
recently before " The Union League Club " of this city, the small
amount of one hundred and ten millions of dollars, and that in
one lump !

Let those who are responsible for the appropriation of the
public moneys beware ! What greatly helped to the overthrow
of the political party recently in power was its misappropriation
of the public moneys. Take heed how you touch the nerve
which leads to the pockets of the people of this country ; it is
sensitive !

Henceforth and for all time to come there is one feature
which should characterize all legislation and the appropriation
of public funds for education. That feature is, no special fa-
vors or exclusive support by public authorities for the benefit
of any one class of schools. This is the impending issue which
is now forcing itself upon the attention of the intelligent people
of this country in the matter of education.

Henceforth whatever moneys are drawn from the public
treasury for the promotion of education should be granted to
all alike. Payment for results should be the rule. No discrimi-
nation or preference should be made in favor of any special
system of imparting necessary instruction, whether public or
private, whether Christian or secular, whether white, black, or
mixed. The American people are not theorizers or schemers,
but a practical people. What they want to see is the practical
results, the fruits of instruction an instruction adjusted to the
genuine spirit of the genius of our free country. They are
wedded to no peculiar system of education, but go in for
liberty, free institutions, and fair play. The ideal of American
civilization is not in building up a powerful national government,
but a strong, great, free people. The world is governed too
much.

Germany and France, under their Bismarcks and Gambettas,
have abandoned the line of liberty and religious toleration in
the matter of education. These despotic men have succeeded in
stirring up strifes and creating animosities by their violations of
religious liberty. The recent legislation of these despotic gov-
ernments is no model for a free people, who understand what
religious toleration means and are determined it shall be main-
tained inviolably. Whatever may be the personal convictions of
the men who have held control of France until the present time,
the American people are not quite ready to put the state in the
place of God, or to substitute the school for the church, or patri-

852 IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION-. [Mar.,

otism for Christianity. This specious circular on education by
A. Vessiot, the academic inspector of schools at Marseilles, in
France, has altogether that drift. Whether Commissioner Eaton
saw it or not, the public moneys of our people can be put to bet-
ter use than their application for the translation, printing, and
circulation of documents of this sort. Let us not transplant
European infidelity upon our soil under the delusive " hope that
it may prove of service in this country " ; but let us indulge the
hope that the day is gone by when exclusive legislation in favor
of monopolies of any kind, or their support from the public
treasury, will find encouragement by the great body of the
American people either in the halls of legislation or at the polls.
A scramble after wealth needs not to be fostered by legislation,
nor is such a spectacle a noble sight to witness.

If a general tax needs to be levied for the sake of making
intelligent voters by means of education, then let us have in this
free country free education. Like everything else here, in or-
der to enjoy vigorous health education must be open to the
stimulant of competition. It is wrong to heap upon political
government responsibilities which do not belong to it, then blame
it for blundering. It is not the province of the state to under-
take what the family or private enterprise or voluntary associa-
tion can do as well, and in such cases the watchword of Ameri-
cans to politicians is, " Hands off! " Let all who do the work of
education satisfactorily, without discrimination to creed, party,
or color, share equally in its rewards. This is not communistic,
but democratic, republican, and fair!

Let, then, education be open to competition. Let education
be compulsory, if you like it, for if free there can be no valid
objection. Then, and not until then, shall we see what every
American ardently desires education common and universal.

DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR,

BUREAU OF EDUCATION.

INSTRUCTION IN MORALS AND CIVIL GOVERNMENT.

DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR, BUREAU OF EDUCATION,

Washington, July, 1882.

The importance of training in morality as a feature of the public-school teacher's work has
engaged the attention of most writers on educational topics and has been frequently adverted to
in the different publications of this Office. The scope and character of the instruction in citizen-
ship which our public schools may reasonably be expected to impart were wisely considered, and
the need of such instruction warmly urged, in the valuable paper of Mr. Justice Strong that was
read before the Department of Superintendence at a recent meeting and printed in Circular of
Information No. 2, 1879. The circular which A. Vessiot, the academic inspector of schools at

1883.] IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. 853

Marseilles, France, recently addressed to the teachers of his district respecting moral and civil
instruction, seems to me to contain such valuable suggestions as to the nature of the instruction
that may properly be given under this head, and such useful hints as to the manner in which it
ought to be conveyed, that I have caused it to be translated, in the hope that it may prove of
service in this country. JOHN EATON,

Commissioner.
1142.] WASHINGTON: GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE, 1882.

MORAL AND CIVIL INSTRUCTION.

We advise our teachers to assign hereafter a large place in their work to instruction in
morals and civil government.

Moral and civil instruction meets the wants as well as the wishes of the country ; it is a
necessary consequence of the profound change which is taking place in our institutions, in our
laws, in our manners. The establishment of the republic and of universal suffrage, which is its
basis, has given to the school a new character ; it imposes upon the teacher new duties. The
primary school is no longer merely local, communal ; it has become in the highest degree a
national institution, on which even the entire future of the country depends. It is no longer a
place to which the child resorts to acquire certain information that may prove useful to him in
private life ; it is the source from which is to be drawn, together with the principles of universal
morality, a knowledge of his rights and duties in regard to public life ; it is the school of citizen-
ship and patriotism.

The function, then, of the teacher is notably increased, and his responsibility extended.
The teacher usea to drill his pupils in reading, writing, and arithmetic ; now, without neglecting
that portion of his duty, he ought to have a higher ambition, namely, that of raising up for the
country defenders and for the republic citizens.

The children now under his care will one day be voters and soldiers ; they will have their
share of influence in shaping the future of the country ; their souls must then be well tempered,
their minds must be enlightened ; they must be acquainted with the intelligence of their times,
with the society of which they are to become members, the civil duties they will have to fulfil, the
institutions they will have to strengthen. They must be inspired with a generous patriotism ;
this does not mean that they are to be taught to hate foreign peoples-^Jet us leave that cruel in-
struction to others but that they are to nourish a passionate love of their own country. True
patriotism consists in love, and not hate ; it does not consist in any attempted systematic altera-
tion of well-established historical facts or jealous depreciation of the greatness and glories of
other peoples. No, it does not involve the humiliation of others ; it is inspired by justice, it is
allied to a noble emulation. This it is that France needs, and this is what French youth should
be taught.

Undoubtedly this double instruction is not entirely new, and it would be erroneous to sup-
pose that moral and civil instruction now first makes its sudden appearance in our schools.
Many of our teachers are now, and long have been, giving lessons calculated to make their pupils
worthy people and good citizens. In fact, all instruction, the humblest and that the furthest
removed from morality properly so called, has nevertheless a certain improving influence, and
every virtuous person by the mere fact of frequent intercourse communicates to others, and espe-
cially to children, something of his own moral elevation. But what has heretofore been in some
degree the involuntary effect of the instruction itself and of the morality of the teachers per-
sonal in its inspiration and consequently unequal and intermittent will now be due to a com-
mon and sustained effort towards a clearly defined object, to a general and persistent endeavor,
in a word, to a branch of instruction. What shall be its character ? What its form ? . . .

The teacher must grapple with the problem how to render lucid and pleasing those truths
which flow from the very nature of man and the existence of society, and to induce children to
make them the rfiles of their conduct. What is needed is that there should be awakened, devel-
oped, fortified in them those sentiments which give dignity to man, honor to families, and power
to states.

Moral and civil instruction ought not then to be confined to one division or subdivision of
the scholastic programme, restricted to one class or to a prescribed hour, pressed in the narrow
mould of a few inert formulas or solemn maxims ; it ought to permeate all parts of the work of
instruction, blossoming out in varied developments and reappearing every day and every hour ;

854 IMPENDING ISSUE OF THE SCHOOL QUESTION. [Mar.,

it ought to be the life, the soul, of the school. It is in the school that a child should draw in
morality and patriotism as he inspires air, without noticing it ; for to teach morality successfully
there is no call for too much moralizing. That moral lesson which is announced risks being
lost. Moral instruction should be combined with everything, but insensibly, like those nutritive
elements which the scientist finds reappearing in all sorts of food, but which are concealed under
the infinite variety of color and form in which nature clothes animals and plants, and which
man unwittingly assimilates without a suspicion. Thus moral instruction will enter into the
various work of the class, the readings, recitations, dictations, the stories related by the teacher,
the selections drawn from the poets and romancers, the familiar and sprightly conversations, the
grave reflections on history, the games, the promenades being everywhere present, in short,
without making its presence remarked.

Does ft follow that theory should be absolutely banished from the school ? No, but it
should have only the smallest place. It will suffice if once a week, and preferably at its close,
the teacher expresses the substance of the last lessons he has reviewed and puts it into didactic
form.

As far as practicable, it is the child himself who ought to draw the rules and moral laws
from the facts which contain them, as the fruit contains the seed ; and this is not so difficult as
it appears. A reading finished, a story related, the teacher by means of questions invites the
judgment of the child on the actions of this or that character who has figured in the recital ;
rarely does the child err as to the moral value of the actions submitted to his consideration. The
teacher then asks the child if he would pronounce a similar judgment on all men who should act
in the same way, and thus leads him to generalize his decision, that is, to formulate a principle,
a rule. The child thus becomes his own legislator ; he has himself discovered the law ; having
made it he understands it, and he obeys it more willingly because it has imposed itself upon his
reason instead of being imposed upon his will. It does not seem needful to us to mark out for
teachers a programme of moral instrnction ; such programmes are to be had in abundance ; but
we prefer to leave with them the responsibility of incorporating thfs instruction with their other
work as they deem proper. The weekly report, however, should contain a resume of what has
been done. These resumes themselves, collected for a period of several months, will gradually
form a real course in moral instruction which the teacher, in the light of his experience, can ex-
tend or limit as he desires.

But our teachers should not forget that the work of giving moral instruction imposes upon
them a moral obligation 9> make their conduct accord with their instruction. Of all lessons the
best is the living lesson, the example of the teacher himself. Like teacher, like pupils. Children
have a wonderful shrewdness in detecting inconsistencies between the conduct of the teacher and
his counsels. The efficacy of this instruction is to be measured by the moral value of those who
give it ; and from this point of view we are confident that moral instruction will exert a benefi-
cial influence on the teachers themselves and that they will profit by their own lessons.

As to instruction in civil government properly so called, aside from the sentiments which it
is its mission to encourage and disseminate, rt ought to afford the child an image of society,
to present to his eyes the different parts of a vast and rich whole ; in this there is the material
needed for methodical training, and, consequently, for a programme in which its limits are
indicated and its work laid out.

We confidently entrust this double instruction to the enlightened zeal of the primary inspec-
tors, to the tried patriotism of our teachers. We trustingly ask them to make a great and gen-
erous effort to elevate national education, to worthily respond alike to the solicitude of the
government and the Chambers and to the ever-increasing sacrifices which the country has im-
posed on herself ; finally, we ask them to raise up for the country a generation both bealthy
and strong.

1883.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 855

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

DIE HOLLE. Von J. Bautz, Privatdocent Acad. zu Miinster. Mainz : F.
Kirchheim. 1882.

The author speaks in his Introduction of a previous work from his pen,
entitled Der Htmmel, which we regret not having received. The present
treatise on hell is an abstract of the mediaeval theology in respect to this
topic, or we may call it a theoretical and argumentative exposition of
what is represented in the imaginative pictures of Dante's Inferno. It
shows careful study of scholastic autrrors, and the writer is master of a
precise, vigorous, and at times vivid style. He adheres very closely to the
literal interpretation, and reproduces in very definite lines much that
modern theologians generally pass by or touch upon more lightly and with
less positiveness of assertion. For instance, he maintains very positively
that the locality of hell is within the interior of the earth.

The doctrine of the early Fathers of the church is very briefly handled,
consisting chiefly in a reference to Petavius. Following this celebrated
author, whose manner of making exposition of the teaching of ancient
ecclesiastical writers we agree with Mohler in regarding as sometimes
hazardous, he ascribes to Origen the erroneous doctrines which have been
heretofore generally imputed to him, and includes in the same category St.
Gregory of Nyssa. That is, he asserts it as indubitable that " notwith-
standing all the attempts at vindication and explanation formerly made by
the Patriarch of Constantinople, Germanus, and in our own times espe-
cially by Vincenzi (and also by Patuzzi, the Wurtzburg theologians, and
Knoll), St. Gregory of Nyssa did sometimes express Origenistic opinions
concerning the final conversion of the reprobate, devils as well as men."
This matter being just now treated of quite fully in THE CATHOLIC WORLD,
we refer to the respective articles for a refutation of this opinion i.e., that
St. Gregory was " Origenistic " in the author's sense of the word. More-
over, he asserts that " the like is true also in respect to St. Jerome, who
was inclined to admit a final redemption at least of those Christians who
had been condemned. St. Gregory Nazianzen, also, and likewise St. Am-
brose, express here and there at least a doubt respecting the eternity of
the punishment of men. And yet the same Fathers express themselves in
many other places in an entirely opposite sense. We must therefore sup-
pose that the Fathers in question, as Petavius explains it, in their great
reverence for the authority of Origen, were sometimes wavering in their
views " (pp. 48, 49).

Now', although Origen, if convicted of error, may be set aside at once, by
those who follow St. Jerome's opinion of him, as a heretic, for whom the
church does not stand sponsor, it is a much more serious matter to allow
that St. Jerome himself, before he took up the controversy against Origen,
the two Gregories, and St. Ambrose, were even wavering and doubtful on
such a doctrine as the eternity of punishment. How could such learned
men have any doubt about any part of the Catholic faith explicitly and

856 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Mar.,

distinctly taught in Scripture and handed down by an equally explicit Ca-
tholic tradition ? Petavius unhesitatingly declares that the faith of the
church was not so clear in their time as to exclude the possibility of a
doubt on the part of such sincere and learned Catholics, and our author
adopts his explanation one, in our opinion, far from satisfactory. In re-
spect to St. Gregory Nyssen, we are convinced that he held as a private
and probable opinion that, besides the eternal punishment of sinners, there
is a temporary and purgative punishment which terminates in a restora-
tion within the bounds of the natural order only, leaving intact the pro-
per punishment of supernatural demerit viz., the eternal banishment
from heaven into hell. We have examined the passages from the other
Fathers referred to by Petavius, and though their brevity and obscurity
render it difficult to appreciate their exact import, yet, by the aid of the
fuller and more explicit statements of Gregory Nyssen, they may be in-
terpreted in a favorable sense. That is, we may suppose that these
Fathers sometimes doubted whether the positive, physical, and sensible tor-
ments of hell might not become mitigated, or even be entirely remitted, in
the case of some or of all the damned. According to such a theory or
conjecture the essential and eternal penalty of sin would have accidental
and temporal penalties conjoined with it. Such an opinion, even if not
well founded, would not be heretical, and the expression of it, by way of
doubt, conjecture, or even of positive affirmation, in no way compromises
the orthodoxy of any of these early writers, or lends countenance to the
hazardous supposition that the dogma of faith which is now defined and
certain was ever less explicitly a part of the Catholic faith than it is now.

It seems to us that in these days it is requisite in theological writers to
do something more than restate the conclusions of theologians who have
preceded them, and to attempt some deeper and more comprehensive ex-
positions from the original sources and from the data furnished by rational
philosophy.

THE WORKS AND WORDS OF OUR SAVIOUR. Gathered from the Four Gos-
pels. By H. J. Coleridge, S.J. London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

This is substantially a republication in one volume of The Life of our
Life, with omission of the Harmony of the Gospels and some additions. It
is really an epitome of the larger work, still unfinished, which Father Cole-
ridge has been issuing in distinct parts for several years, which in all its
completeness will include a Harmony, an epitome of the life of Christ, and
a minute commentary upon the four Gospels. All that has been thus far
published is marked by very thorough and critical learning, sober and
sound judgment, and copiousness of instructive, edifying exposition, drawn
from the purest sources of Catholic commentary and from the excellent
reflections of the author's own mind. When finished the work of Father
Coleridge will be the most valuable commentary on the Gospels in'the Eng-
lish language, and one of the best in existence. From the fact that its
plan and method make it a quite extensive work, we think that the pre-
sent epitome is likely to be the most suitable portion of it for popular use.
Since it goes over the whole ground of the larger work, presenting a com-
plete Life of Christ, with a succinct commentary on all the four Gospels,
and copious extracts from the sacred text, it has its own separate and in-

1 883.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 857

dependent character and value apart from the other volumes. Alone, by
itself, it suffices for the majority of intelligent and devout readers of the
Gospels as an aid in understanding their connection and contents. We
recommend it to them most warmly, as decidedly the best book of its kind
and worthy of their most careful and continued perusal, as a means of in-
struction in the highest and best of all branches of Christian knowledge.

THE SODALITY DIRECTOR'S MANUAL. By Rev. Father F. X. Schouppe,
S.J. Boston : Thomas B. Noonan & Co. 1882.

The well-known Jesuit scholar, Father Schouppe, to whom the Catho-
lic preacher is so much indebted for his admirable Compendium Theologtce
and his Evangelia pro Domtntcis et Festts, has conferred an additional favor
by the publication of the above work. It is a collection of plain, familiar
instructions for Sodalities of the Blessed Virgin, and is the most complete
and useful work of its kind with which we are familiar. The great impor-
tance of pious confraternities, as aids to the most effective part of the pas-
tor's work the training and instruction of the young cannot be overesti-
mated. It is a fact well known to Catholic missioners that those parishes
in which such associations abound and flourish are precisely the ones
where their labors are lightest ; the people are found better instructed,
more dutiful, more fervent, the children more orderly and more intelli-
gent, the growing youth more attached to their church, better appreciat-
ing her lofty mission, and more keenly alive to their responsibilities as
members of her communion.

The prosperity of such sodalities and confraternities must depend much
upon the nature and treatment of the stated instructions given at the meet-
ings. They should be well chosen and adapted to the needs of the different
ages, conditions, and circumstances of the members ; they should embrace,
as far as practicable, the entire body of Christian faith and the whole round
of Christian practice ; and they should be fervent, full of tenderness, and
redolent with an enlightened and solid piety.

The volume before us is intended simply to suggest subjects for instruc-
tions of this sort, and to give a few broad outlines of the best methods of
treating them. And sodality directors cannot do better than to use this
work in the way intended by its author to select here the doctrine and
substance which is to form the groundwork of their preaching, and then to
adapt and modify and illustrate and apply according to the special needs
and individual capacities of their hearers.

A MEMOIR OF THE LATE FATHER A. H. LAW, S.J., formerly R.N. Part II.
London : Burns & Gates. 1882.

We welcome this second instalment of the Life of Augustus Henry
Law, during the early part of his career, from the pen of his venerable fa-
ther. This part completes the history of Mr. Law's life as a naval officer,
recounts the circumstances which led to his conversion, and leaves him a
postulant at the door of the Jesuit novitiate. We repeat what we have
already said in noticing the first part, that this Life is a charming portrai-
ture of a most amiable and admirable character. We trust soon to see the
narrative of Father Law's holy life as a religious and a priest, and of his
heroic death on the African mission.

8 5 8 NE iv PUBLIC A TIONS. [Mar. ,

TRUE WAYSIDE TALES. By Lady Herbert. Second Series. London :
Washbourne. 1883.

We have not seen the first series of these Tales, but we suppose that
they are equally good with those of this present volume. The story of
Moothoosawny we find specially interesting. We may say the same of
the stories of Saveriammal and Victoria. All three are taken from public
or private narratives of the Foreign Missions. The reading of them has
suggested the thought that there is far too little information generally dif-
fused through the Catholic press concerning these modern missions in
heathen countries. Could not some one of our newspapers make a spe-
cialty of this department, and furnish regularly from the reports published
in Europe abstracts and statistics, together with remarkable and interest-
ing events related by missionaries?

Some of the other stories are very beautiful, especially one entitled
"The White Necktie " ; all are well told and edifying, with the exception of
the one called "Beautiful Eyes," which in one respect we must consider
liable to criticism on the score of prudence. It is a thrilling tale, and the
author's word must be taken that it is probably a true narrative. Yet the
incident related in it of a beautiful young girl who went astray, and after-
wards in her remorse, believing herself directed by a divine inspiration,
destroyed her eyes and then led a penitent life, seems too tragical and
horrible to be suitable for young readers. It is difficult to believe that
the unfortunate young person was led to commit an act which of itself is
criminal, by a really divine impulse. It is not safe to set forth such things
for indiscriminate reading. We think it was a mistake to insert this inci-
dent at all, still more to appear to approve of the young woman's self-in-
flicted punishment.

Young people will find these Tales very entertaining, and the accom-
plished author is rendering them a most laudable and acceptable service
by the work she has undertaken.

THE BLIND FRIEND OF THE POOR: Reminiscences of the Life and Works
of Mgr. de Segur. By one of his spiritual children. Translated from
the French by Miss Mary McMahon. New York : Benzigers. 1883.

Gaston de Segur, the subject of this brief memoir, was a son of that
Madame de Segur after whom little girls name their dolls as a tribute of
gratitude for her beautiful children's stories. He was a priest, a Roman
prelate, and a canon-bishop of the chapter of St. Denys, though he never
received episcopal consecration. He was ordained in 1847 and died in 1881.
In 1854 he became totally blind, yet continued for the twenty-seven re-
maining years of his life a career of laborious and truly apostolic activity in
good works at Paris. His name is illustrious in the annals of the church
of France, and his character was most admirable and lovely. The short
sketch of his life which Miss McMahon has translated is a charming little
piece of biography, a prelude to a more elaborate memoir which is in course
of preparation. It makes a neat little i6mo volume.

SOME OF THE CAUSES OF MODERN RELIGIOUS SCEPTICISM : A lecture by
Right Rev. P. J. Ryan, D.D. St. Louis : B. Herder. 1883.

Whatever comes from the lips or the pen of the distinguished coadju-

1883.] NEW PUBLICATIONS. 859

tor to the venerable Archbishop of St. Louis is sure to be eloquent, solid,
and interesting. There is only one regret that we feel in his regard, and
that is, we hear of him too seldom.

He is a man who knows his age and its deficiency and wants. He
knows, too, what will supply these needs, and the oftener he addresses him-
self to the public the more good he will do and the more his gifts will be ap-
preciated. He grapples in this lecture with some of the causes of modern
religious scepticism, and deals with them and their remedies as a master.
A volume from his pen on this and kindred topics of actuality would be of
great service at this moment. Read this lecture and judge for yourself.

LIFE OF THE REV. FATHER HERMAN, IN RELIGION AUGUSTIN-MARIE DU
T.-S. SACREMENT, Discalced Carmelite. Translated from the French
of the Abbe Charles Sylvan by Mrs^F. Raymond-Barker. London : P.
Washbourne. 1882.

The conversion of Herman Cohen, the Israelite and celebrated pianist,
was one among the remarkable conversions of this century. His life is full
of interest and displays the power of divine grace in a remarkable manner.
The one who wrote this volume was in love with his subject. The special
devotion of Pere Herman was towards the Blessed Sacrament, and the
reading of his Life will stimulate those of like attrait.

PEN AND LUTE. Richard Storrs Willis. Detroit : Thorndike Nourse, Pub-
lisher. 1883.

Mr. Willis, in the dedication of this dainty volume, speaks of it as con-
taining " poems attuned to music and in part wedded thereto," and cer-
tainly the lyrical quality of Mr. Willis' verse is excellent. In one of his
" Minnesongs of Student Life in Germany " he sings :

" When, as silent night comes down,

Not a waking soul is nigh,
And my lute and pleasant thoughts

Bear me sweetest company ;
Musing, then, I dream along.
Dream and sing my quiet song.

Throb ! my lute, thy tuneful pain,

While my heart-beat times the strain."

The songs he sings to that key are those which best please the ear and
quickest find a response in the heart. . The quiet side of nature has an at-
traction for him which he describes with a poet's truthfulness and in the
most limpid of verse.

And Mr. Willis' meditative and devotionSl poems, some of which have
appeared in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, deserve a place alongside of Father
Faber's ; for instance, the poem he entitles " Before the Cross," begin-
ning :

" Jesu ! my prayer would tell thee all

A grateful heart could say ;

But when I seek befitting speech

The words glide all away."

This was undoubtedly suggested by that lovely Latin hymn, Jesu dulcis

860 NEW PUBLICATIONS. [Man, 1883

memoria. What makes Mr. Willis' devotional poetry the more grateful is
that its piety is a genuine piety, a piety of the heart, not a fictitious senti-
ment put into pretty or pathetic sounds.

LITTLE HINGES TO GREAT DOORS, AND OTHER TALES. By F. S. D. Ames,
author of Marion Howard, etc. New York : The Catholic Publication
Society Co. 1883.

Here is a model little book for Catholic Sunday-school libraries, and
for little Catholics' reading generally. It is ap English book, written in
England, and full of the English local flavor and of English peculiarities ;
but, for all that, the well-told stories it contains, with their artless air of
truthfulness and with their sound piety untainted with pietism or with
mock medievalism, will be enjoyable to American children. The stories
severally illustrate the virtues of faith, hope, and charity. The story of
"The Stepmother" has a certain dramatic force about it, and the portrait
of Miss Trevor, once " an arrant flirt and fortune-hunter," who, " after pass-
ing through all the many gradations of Low Church, High Church, and
Ritualism," had "become a Catholic, and as such had made a very great
show of her new religion," will be easily recognized even in this country.
This Miss Trevor, who marries and turns out to be "the stepmother" of
the story, goes back again to her Protestantism, but undergoes a genuine
conversion at last through the Catholic loyalty of the little stepchildren
she had endeavored to pervert as a means of gratifying her own small
ambition. The stories are all such as would delight Catholic children of
eleven or twelve. The cover is tasteful and attractive.

A CROWN FOR OUR QUEEN. By Rev. Abram J. Ryan. Baltimore : John B. Piet & Co. 1882.
ANNUAL REPORT OF THE CATHOLIC UNION OF NEW YORK, 1882. New York : Grogan &
Martin (printers).

THE CATHOLIC'S COMPANION. A Selection of Choice Devotions for General Use. Baltimore :
John B. Piet & Co. 1882.

PASTORAL LETTER 'ON CHRISTIAN EDUCATION, addressed to the Clergy and Laity of the
Archdiocese of Baltimore. By the Most Rev. James Gibbons, D.D., Archbishop of Balti-
more. Baltimore : Printed by John B. Piet & Co. 1883.

A HISTORY OF THE COUNCILS OF THE CHURCH, from the original documents. By the Right
Rev. Charles Joseph Hefele, D.D., Bishop of Rottenburg, formerly professor of theology
in the University of Tubingen. Volume iii., AD. 431 to A.D. 451. Translated from the Ger-
man, with the author's approbation, and edited by the editor of Hagenbach's History of
Doctrines. Edinburgh : T. & T. Clark. 1883.

THE LIFE OF ST. LEWIS BERTRAND, Friar Preacher of the Order of St. Dominic, and Apostle
of Granada. By Father Bertrand* Wilberforce, of the same Order. Illustrated by Cyril
James Davenport, of the British Museum. London : Burns & Oates. 1882.

THE WORKS OF ORESTES A. BROWNSON. Collected and arranged by Henry F. Brownson. Vol-
ume ii., containing the second part of the Philosophical Writings. Detroit : Thorndike
Nourse, Publisher. 1883.

[NOTE. Notices of the above three books will appear in our next number.]

AP The Catholic world

v.36

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